Chapter 2

After the party, all I wanted was to head straight home, but there was Jillian standing with Jason—they looked like the picture-perfect couple.

She turned to me with a cold expression. "Liam, you'll have to grab a cab back. Jason twisted his ankle; I need to get him to urgent care first."

It was like she'd completely forgotten I was hurt too. Her eyes were filled with worry—for Jason.

Back in the day, I would've probably gone on about how much pain I was in, begging her to take me to the ER too. I would've cried, asking why I had to apologize when I hadn't done anything wrong.

But now, I just nodded quietly. "Sure."

Jillian visibly relaxed, her expression softening slightly. "Liam, be careful getting home alone."

No sooner had she spoken than Jason stepped forward and took her arm.

"Jill, my ankle's killing me. Can we please hurry?"

Jillian's blazer was draped over his shoulders, and he was practically leaning his full weight on her. She didn't spare me a second glance—even though I was pale and in pain myself. She just helped him to the car and got him settled in the passenger seat.

"Stay still, don't jostle it."

It wasn't until she'd gotten him settled and was about to drive off that she finally looked over at me standing on the side.

"We've known each other since we were kids, Liam. He's basically family. Just head on home."

I managed a faint, bitter smile. "Right. Family."

Afraid she'd think I was mad, I quickly added, "You already used one of our get-out-of-jail-free cards. I'm fine."

Jillian hesitated, as if she wanted to say something.

Jason let out an overdramatic groan, and she immediately turned back to him.

"We're leaving now."

With that, Jillian drove off, leaving me standing alone at the hotel entrance. I pulled my jacket tighter against the chill.

Once home, I grabbed the reconciliation vouchers from the side table. The stack Jillian used to keep locked safely in a safe now just sat there casually.

I stamped the 97th voucher, then pulled out the divorce papers I'd prepared earlier.

Having trouble finding a lawyer, I decided to call my old professor.

"Professor Hayes, if I'm looking to get divorced, do you have any lawyer recommendations?"

Professor Hayes sounded shocked. "Divorce? You? Who's getting divorced here?"

"I remember you two were the campus sweethearts. It's only been a few years. What happened?"

Professor Hayes had even witnessed our proposal.

How did we ever get here? There's no going back now.

From the first time she chose others over me.

From all the inside jokes she shared with Jason—jokes I couldn't even join in on.

From the nights she stayed out with Jason instead of coming home.

A third wheel always spells the end for a relationship.

We'd grown too far apart. There was no fixing this.

Professor Hayes sighed. "Leave this with me. I'll have someone reach out soon. Just tell them what you need."

I stared at the last two vouchers in my hand and said slowly, "Okay, thanks Professor."

Jillian walked in just then.

"Who were you talking to? Professor Hayes?"

She was carrying a shopping bag, which she set on the table.

I hung up and turned to her. "Nothing important, just asking about something."

Jillian frowned, eyeing me suspiciously. "What kind of questions? At this hour?"

I furrowed my brow. "Nothing important, just some lab data."

She finally sat on the couch and pushed the bag toward me. "Here, this is for you."

The bag was from my favorite French patisserie.

Jillian used to bring me desserts from there all the time. That place was always packed—lines out the door daily. She'd wake up early and wait for hours, just because I mentioned wanting to try it once.

I never wanted her going through all that hassle.

But she'd just kiss my forehead and smile. "If you want it, I'll get it myself. Even if you wanted the stars, I'd find a way to grab 'em for you."

We really did have some great memories, back in the day.

"How did you... What's this?"

I opened the bag. No desserts inside—definitely not what I was expecting.

Just a stained shirt and a crumpled bedsheet.

I looked at Jillian. She shifted uncomfortably under my stare.

"Jason's clothes got dirty, and the bedsheet has a bad stain. He hurt his hand, so he can't get it wet. I thought I'd bring them home and ask you to take care of it."

The more she talked, the more defensive she sounded. Her expression hardened.

"Don't be so difficult, Liam. You're both guys—you get it. If it's too much trouble, just use another get-out-of-jail-free card."

I couldn't even find the words to respond.

I'd just had surgery myself and couldn't overdo it, but she didn't seem to remember that at all. And there she went again, bringing up those stupid vouchers.

Only one left.

But with that indifferent look on her face, I bit back my objections.

Jason's clothes were expensive tailored suits—each piece needed special care.

Looking back, I'd been so naive. All that so-called "thoughtful care" I prided myself on? Honestly, it would've been easier to just take them to the dry cleaner.