The scent of fresh paint and new beginnings hung in the air, a cruel irony that choked me. The bookstore was finished. Perfect. Gleaming hardwood floors, shelves that smelled of sawdust and promise, and a warm, buttery light that spilled from the new fixtures, kissing the spines of books that had waited so patiently for their home. It was everything I had dreamed of.
And in the center of my dream stood a nightmare in a bespoke suit.
Bennett was on one knee.
Not with a ring—he’d already done that, a lifetime ago in a sterile Manhattan restaurant—but with a stiff, cream-colored envelope and a single plane ticket held between his manicured fingers. He presented them to me like a king bestowing a pardon upon a foolish, wayward subject.
“This is it, Chloe,” he said, his voice a low, reasonable hum that grated on my every nerve. “The final offer from Sterling Properties. It’s more than fair. It’s generous. We sign, we pack, and we’re on a 7 a.m. flight tomorrow. Back to our life.”
Our life. The words echoed in the cavernous space between us. A life of galas I despised, of conversations that skimmed the surface like dragonflies on water, of being an accessory to his ambition. He wasn’t offering me a future; he was offering me a beautifully decorated cage.
“Get up, Bennett,” I said, my voice dangerously quiet.
He frowned, a flicker of impatience crossing his handsome features. “Don’t be dramatic. This is a grand gesture. This is me, fighting for you.”
“Fighting for me?” I let out a laugh, sharp and humorless. “This isn’t a fight. This is a corporate takeover. You’re trying to acquire me, not love me. You walk in here, into this place I have poured my soul into, and you call it a ‘hometown fantasy.’ You don’t see me, Bennett. You see a project that’s gone off-schedule.”
I reached for the papers, not to take them, but to push them away. My fingers brushed his, and I flinched from the cold, smooth contact. And in that exact, damning moment, I heard it. A soft scuff of a work boot on the threshold.
My head snapped up.
Liam.
He was standing in the open doorway, framed by the late afternoon sun. He wore his work jeans, dusted with flour-fine sawdust, and a plain grey t-shirt that stretched across his chest. In his hand was a small, crudely carved wooden bird, its wings half-spread. A gift, I realized with a pang. A peace offering after our last stilted conversation.
His eyes—those kind, sea-green eyes that had seen right through me from day one—found mine for a single, breathless second. I saw the hope in them. The question. He’d come to see the finished store. To see me.
Then his gaze dropped.
It fell to Bennett, still ridiculously poised on one knee. It fell to the plane ticket in his hand, angled like a diamond. It fell to my hand, which was still touching Bennett’s.
I saw the story write itself across his face. The easy smile he’d walked in with faltered, then crumbled. The light in his eyes didn’t just dim; it was extinguished, snuffed out by a tidal wave of pain so profound it stole the air from my own lungs. I saw his jaw clench, a muscle feathering in his cheek. He interpreted the scene with brutal, devastating simplicity: the rich fiancé had come back to claim his prize, and she was accepting.
“Liam,” I breathed, his name a ghost on my lips.
I tried to pull my hand back, to stand up straight, to shout across the sun-drenched floor that this was all wrong, a grotesque parody of what it looked like. But my feet were rooted to the spot, my voice trapped behind the lump of grief forming in my throat.
He didn’t say a word. He didn’t need to. His silence was an accusation, a verdict, and a farewell all in one. He gave me one last look, a look so empty and shattered it felt like a physical blow. Then, his shoulders slumped in a way that spoke of final, crushing defeat. He turned, the little wooden bird still clutched in his fist, and walked away.
The sunlight where he’d stood seemed dimmer now, colder.
“Well, good,” Bennett said, rising to his feet and brushing a nonexistent speck of dust from his knee. “Looks like the local help finally got the message.”
Something inside me snapped. A fine, taut wire of control I’d been holding onto for years. It broke with a silent, searing heat that flooded my veins. I turned to face him, and the look on my face must have finally wiped the smug satisfaction off his.
“Get out,” I said. My voice was no longer quiet. It was raw, shaking with a fury I hadn’t known I possessed.
“Chloe, don’t be absurd. We need to discuss the logistics—”
“There are no logistics!” I snatched the plane ticket from his hand and ripped it in half, then in half again, the pieces fluttering to the floor like dead leaves. “There is no ‘we.’ There is no 7 a.m. flight. There is no New York. Not for me.”
He stared at me, his mouth agape. It was the first time I had ever truly rendered him speechless. “You’re throwing away everything. Our life. Your future.”
“Your life! Your future!” I jabbed a finger at his chest, my whole body trembling. “A future where I’m just another one of your assets. A pretty wife to host your dinner parties and smile blandly at your clients. I would rather burn this bookstore to the ground with my own two hands than go back to that.”
“This is about him, isn’t it?” he spat, his face twisting into an ugly sneer. “That… carpenter. You’re really going to throw away a life of comfort and security for some small-town fantasy with a guy who smells like sawdust?”
The insult, meant to wound me, only clarified everything. The memory of Liam’s scent—woodsmoke, sweat, and something uniquely, warmly him—rose in my mind, a comforting anchor in the storm of Bennett’s sterile world. Liam’s hands, calloused and strong, had built these shelves. His belief had helped build me back up.
“His hands built this place,” I said, my voice dropping, thick with emotion as I gestured around the beautiful, empty room. “His hands are honest. They create things. All you’ve ever done is try to tear things down or buy them off. You see this store as a liability on a balance sheet. He saw it as my dream.”
“It’s a failing business, Chloe! A hobby!”
“It’s my life,” I whispered, the fight draining out of me, replaced by a hollow, aching certainty. “And it’s not the one you want a part of. And I don’t want a part of yours. We’re done, Bennett. The engagement is over.”
I pulled the diamond ring from my finger. It felt strangely light, its weight a burden I hadn’t realized I’d been carrying for two years. I didn’t throw it. I didn’t make a scene. I walked over to him and pressed the cold, hard metal into his palm.
“I believe this is your asset,” I said. “It’s non-negotiable.”
He looked from the ring in his hand to my face, his expression a mixture of disbelief and wounded pride. He searched my eyes for a hint of doubt, a crack in my resolve he could exploit. He found nothing. Only the calm, desolate plain of an ending.
“You’ll regret this,” he said, his voice clipped and cold. “When this little fantasy implodes, and you’re alone in this dusty town, you’ll call me. And I won’t answer.”
He turned and strode out, his expensive shoes echoing on the floors Liam had laid. The door swung shut behind him, the little bell above it giving a final, mournful jingle.
And then, silence.
A profound, suffocating silence that was heavier than any sound.
I stood alone in the heart of my finished dream. The sunlight slanted through the windows, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. I ran my hand along the smooth, sanded edge of a bookshelf, my fingers tracing the grain of the wood. It was sturdy. Real. It was everything Bennett was not.
But it was cold to the touch.
I walked to the doorway, looking out at the empty street where Liam’s truck had been just minutes before. He was gone. He’d seen the worst possible version of the truth and accepted it without a fight. He thought I had chosen a life of glittering emptiness over a chance at something real with him.
The victory of saving the store, the triumph of finally standing up to Bennett, all of it turned to ash in my mouth. I had won. I had my bookstore, my independence, my freedom.
I had everything I wanted.
And I had never, ever felt so completely alone.