This Time, She Walked Away First

After hanging up, Lena wiped her tears, grabbed her documents, and headed for the door.

The second she opened it, she nearly crashed into Andrew.

Faint red kiss marks trailed down his neck, stark against his skin. Even though she'd braced herself for what went down between him and Nicole, her gaze instinctively flicked away.

Andrew caught the reaction. Paired with her red-rimmed eyes, it wasn't hard to figure out what she was thinking.

His tone was firm. "Lena, whether you like it or not, Nicole and I are together now. I'm marrying her.

"Since you're staying here, show her some respect and drop those ridiculous things you used to say."

Lena's voice was steady. "Got it, Uncle Andrew."

He froze.

It had been years since she called him that. When she first moved into his place, it was always "Uncle Andrew" in that sweet, little voice. But the second she caught feelings? She dropped the title, refusing to use it again.

His frown deepened, about to say something—

"Andrew, I brought my luggage! Which room should I take?"

Andrew snapped out of it, turning to pull Nicole into his arms. "You like sunlight. Lena's room faces south and gets the best light. I'll have her move to the guest room—you can stay there."

A flicker of triumph flashed in Nicole's eyes, though her voice dripped with fake modesty. "Oh, I don't want to impose. Compared to Lena, I'm the newcomer. Maybe I should take the guest room instead?"

She started down the stairs, but the next second—

A startled yelp.

Andrew had swept her back into his arms. "You're going to be my wife—the lady of this house. How could you stay in the guest room?"

"But Lena's been in that room for so long. Moving all of a sudden... won't that be hard on her?"

Andrew glanced at Lena by the doorway. "She'll have to get used to it. She needs to accept that I'm getting married, that this house has a mistress now, and that she's nothing more than an outsider."

Lena's lashes trembled. A self-mocking smile tugged at her lips.

An outsider.

He wasn't wrong. That's exactly what she was.

She exhaled softly. "I'll pack up now."

It didn't matter. Soon, she'd be gone—back to her father, never stepping foot here again.

This house belonged to Andrew and Nicole.

***

Lena buried herself in embassy paperwork, leaving early, coming back late—anything to dodge Andrew.

Didn't matter. She still saw it. His over-the-top devotion to Nicole.

If Nicole had no appetite, he flew in world-class chefs.

If she felt sick, he ditched billion-dollar deals to stay by her side.

If she so much as glanced at a piece of jewelry, it was in her hands within minutes—hand-delivered by him.

Lena just watched. No drama. No tears.

While waiting for her immigration papers, she started packing. Clothes first. Then, every pathetic love letter she'd ever written him. Sketches, too. All of it went into a box.

She planned to throw it all away.

Box in hand, she headed for the door—only to collide straight into Andrew. He was carrying desserts. Probably for Nicole.

She ignored him, kept walking.

Pain shot through her wrist. He had grabbed her.

"You've been avoiding me?"