Chapter 4

Stella's POV

I gripped the phone, staying silent for a long moment before letting out a flat, "Oh."

Nathan sounded like he couldn't believe his ears. "What do you mean, 'oh'?"

"I mean, I heard you," I said evenly. "If that's all, I'm hanging up."

"Wait, did you even hear what I just said?" Nathan's voice spiked in disbelief. "I said Chase is doing the Death Run! The Death Run, Stella! That's the exact track where he almost died five years ago!"

"And? What does that have to do with me?"

Nathan choked on his words. "...What does it have to do with you? Aren't you always terrified of him getting hurt racing? I'm calling so you can haul ass over here, talk some sense into him, and keep him from getting himself killed!"

"In all these years, when has he ever listened to me?"

I spent years chasing after Chase, years trying to keep him safe, yet I never once made him care about me, never once got him to listen.

I was exhausted.

Now that I wasn't even his fiancée anymore, what right or reason did I have to step in?

I cast my eyes downward. "I'm not stopping him. Whatever he does has nothing to do with me anymore. Moving forward, I'm staying out of his life."

Without waiting for Nathan to respond, I ended the call.

That night, as I scrolled through my phone, a breaking news alert popped up on my screen:

*Chase Miller, Sole Heir to the Miller Fortune, Involved in Horrific Crash on Notorious 'Death Run' Track; Rushed to Emergency Care.*

The attached photo showed a crushed guardrail and a sports car twisted into unrecognizable scrap metal.

In the past, seeing a headline like that would have made my vision blur with tears, sending me racing to his side, dropping everything just to keep vigil by his bed.

This time, I glanced at it for a second and swiped it away.

I stayed in the hospital for a few more days, keeping to a quiet routine of eating, sleeping, and taking my meds, completely disconnected from the noise outside.

Once the hives and swelling cleared up entirely, I checked myself out.

When I arrived back at the villa, I paused by the front door, taking in every corner of the house.

Our parents had forced Chase to move in here with me to "build our relationship" before the wedding.

Back then, I was thrilled. I spent months designing and decorating the place, agonizing over paint swatches, curtain fabrics, couch layouts, and porcelain vases, desperate to build the warmest home imaginable.

Now, none of it belonged to me.

The Mitchells' real daughter would be back in a few days. I had to hand everything over.

Oddly enough, I didn't feel devastated. Instead, a wave of profound relief washed over me.

Maybe it was because I had spent a lifetime suffocating under the Mitchells' endless, rigid expectations.

I didn't have to be their flawless heiress anymore. From this point on, I could finally live however I wanted.

With that thought, I took a deep breath, walked upstairs, and began packing my bags.

I didn't touch the designer jewelry or expensive clothes. I only packed the modest personal items and clothes that truly belonged to me.

When my fingers brushed against the worn, leather-bound diary tucked away in the nightstand drawer, they paused.

I started this diary when I was sixteen. Page after page, crammed with a single name.

I flipped to the first entry:

*Met someone completely different today. He moves like nothing can hold him back. I hope that one day, I can live free of rules, just like him.*

Page two:

*Found out his name is Chase Miller.*

Page ten:

*I'm engaged to Chase Miller? How is this real? I can't breathe, I'm so happy! God is looking out for me, right? He really is.*

Page thirty-three:

*Saw him again today. He still ignored me, but I'm not giving up.*

The penmanship was neat and precise, every line brimming with a teenage girl's stubborn devotion.

As I stood there debating whether to take the journal or burn it, the bedroom door was kicked open with a violent bang.

The crash made me jump. I looked up and saw Chase standing in the frame.

He was wearing hospital scrubs, his head wrapped in white bandages, his right arm bound in a plaster cast and resting in a sling. His face was ghostly pale and completely drained.

In the past, seeing him in this state would have had me running to his side, asking where it hurt and why he wasn't resting in bed.

This time, I just paused, then asked calmly, "Why aren't you resting at the hospital? What are you doing back here?"

Chase's face was dark as a thundercloud as he glared at me. "I came back to see if you were still breathing."

I had no idea why he was lashing out the second he walked through the door.

Without getting angry, I answered evenly, "As you can see, I'm doing just fine."

Chase let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "So what, are you blind, or are you deaf? Or did your cell service get cut off so you couldn't make a call or send a text?"

I furrowed my brow. "What are you trying to say?"