My Fiancé Chose Her So I Chose Myself Chapter 02
The next morning, I woke to the beeping of the electronic lock.
Brooke punched in the code and pushed the door open, not bothering to wipe her shoes. Muddy water tracked across the floor behind her.
“Natalie, were you asleep? I sent you a ton of messages. Why didn’t you answer? I couldn’t even get you on your private link.”
“I turned it off.” I sat on the edge of the bed and looked at her. “What is it?”
Brooke snorted.
“Jenna caught a chill last night. She has a headache and couldn’t sleep.”
She walked over to my desk and started pulling open the drawers as if she owned the place.
“Travis said you have some music box that helps you relax. Jenna thought maybe she could sleep if she listened to it, so I’m taking it to her.”
It was the limited-edition music box Travis had brought back from Switzerland for my birthday last year.
I treasured it. I’d kept it in its original case.
Brooke found the carved wooden box and casually stuffed it into her bag.
“That was my birthday gift,” I said.
She paused, then rolled her eyes.
“Are you seriously going to make a thing out of this? You know Jenna’s wolf is weak.”
She zipped her bag shut.
“Besides, Travis already said it was fine. We’re pack. We’re just borrowing it for a few days.”
Before, I would have snatched it back. I would have called Travis, demanding to know why he thought he could give my gift away to comfort another woman.
This time, I watched the music box disappear and felt nothing at all.
“Take it.”
I stood up and opened the closet to start sorting through my clothes.
Brooke clearly hadn’t expected me to agree so easily. She couldn’t scent the anger that usually came with a fight. She eyed me suspiciously for a moment before saying, “Well, at least you’re not making things complicated for once.”
She turned and left, slamming the door behind her.
The apartment fell quiet again.
After showering, I put on a suit and went to our realtor’s office.
Two weeks ago, Travis and I had put a deposit on a new three-bedroom apartment, planning to move in after we completed our partner vow.
The realtor saw me and hurried over.
“Ms. Whitman, perfect timing! The seller just accepted your revised offer. We can review the contract today. The pack registry has already confirmed your residency qualification.”
I sat on the sofa and slid the reservation agreement across the table.
His smile faltered.
“What’s wrong?”
“Please start the cancellation process. I’m not buying the apartment.”
The realtor sat down across from me, his expression shifting to concern.
“Is it the financing? The price? Mr. Vale was just in here the other day asking about renovation permits. He seemed to really love the place.”
He had.
Jenna had commented that the north-facing bedroom got lovely, soft light and would make a perfect art studio. Then she could stay over more often.
Travis had loved the idea. He was ready to turn our home into her second home, and he had never once asked if I agreed.
“We’re over,” I said calmly. “If any part of the deposit is nonrefundable, just handle it according to the contract. Please return the remainder to my account as soon as you can and notify the registry to withdraw our shared-residence application.”
By the time I left the office, it was noon.
Sunlight glinted off the wet sidewalk. A notification popped up on my phone.
Evan had posted a photo ten minutes earlier.
The four of them were sitting in an expensive seafood restaurant. Lobster, crab legs, and oysters covered the table.
Jenna sat in the middle, smiling for the camera. Travis had his head down, cracking crab legs for her. Brooke held up a hand beside her face in a heart shape.
The caption read: *A good lunch fixes low blood sugar and soothes a rattled wolf.*
I zoomed in on the photo.
My music box was sitting on the table next to a butter-smeared napkin. The bottom of the wooden case was already stained with grease.
Travis had commented below: *Eat more. You’re getting too thin again.*
None of them remembered that I was severely allergic to shellfish.
None of them remembered that I hadn’t eaten last night, either.
I looked at the picture for a few seconds, tapped Like, and turned off the screen.
Then I hailed a cab.
“Where to?” the driver asked.
“Northstar’s Chicago office,” I said. “I’m going to file my transfer and pack relocation.”