Unclaimed Vows

NYX The rain had cleared off around four in the afternoon, leaving the city pavement slick and black like oil. My shift at the clinic had run two hours over because a resident managed to misplace a chart, so by the time I finally reached the high-rise on Michigan Avenue where I lived with my fiance Ethan, my feet were already throbbing inside my leather flats. All I wanted was a hot shower, a cold glass of Pinot, and ten minutes of absolute quiet before Ethan started talking about our wedding seating arrangements again. There was a reason why we hired wedding planners, to get most of the work done. Ethan just wanted to invite more business associates as if our wedding was for him to make business connections instead of our happy union. While I just wanted a very intimate close family and friends only event, and that was where the sitting arrangements got some problem. My dream private intimate wedding was becoming a business convention. When I arrived at our floor, I pressed the brass fob against the sensor, waiting for the soft chime before pushing open the heavy mahogany door. The penthouse was quiet. Too quiet for a Tuesday evening. Normally, Ethan had his phone blaring on speaker while his assistant rattled off stock quotes, or he was pacing the floor and complaining about his father’s board members. Instead, there was just the hum of the central air and a faint, sweet smell clinging to the entryway. It was fruity and flowery and it was obviously not my perfume. I set my tote bag on the entryway console, the sound of my keys dropping onto the marble dish echoing down the long hallway. "Ethan?" No answer. Just a rustle from the master bedroom at the end of the hall, followed by a muffled laugh that cut straight through my ribs like a frozen blade. I knew that laugh. I’d heard it at every family dinner, every holiday gathering, every single time my stepmother brought her daughter around to remind me who really mattered in that house. Chloe. My legs moved on instinct, heavy and numb, as if I were walking underwater. The bedroom door was pushed inward, resting an inch from the frame. A thin sliver of warm yellow light spilled out onto the dark rug. I didn't knock. I just pushed it open. The silk sheets we’d picked out together in Paris were tangled around two pairs of legs. Ethan was on his back, his dark blonde hair a mess against the pillows, his broad shoulders bare. Chloe was draped over him, her bleach blonde hair spilling across his chest, her bare back was facing me on my position at the doorway. She was laughing, her hand that looked fresh and flawles with her french manicute, was resting over his chest while Ethan's hand was caressing her pale bare back slowly and lovingly. I narrowed my eyes even more and my grip on the door knob tightened, making the hinges creaked. They both froze when they heard it. Ethan’s eyes snapped to mine first. For a fraction of a second, his face went completely blank, the smooth, polished executive mask slipping entirely off his features. Then came the panic. "Nyx," he breathed, scrambling to pull the sheet up, his elbow striking Chloe in the ribs, that made Chloe accidentally tumble and roll out of his arms. It would have been comedic if this situation was happening in a drama series rather than my reality. Chloe didn't look panicked. She quickly composed herself from her short tumble and sat up slowly, dragging the silk sheet with her to cover her chest, though she made no real effort to hide the red marks blooming across her neck. Her blue eyes locked onto mine, and the corner of her mouth twitched into something sharp and entirely deliberate. "You're home early," Chloe said, her voice smooth, dripping with that soft, pampered lilt she used whenever she wanted something from my father. "We thought you had night rounds." "Get out," I said. My voice didn't shake. It didn't sound like mine at all. It was flat, cold, and stripped of any warmth. Ethan threw his legs over the side of the bed, yanking on his boxer briefs as he stumbled toward me. "Nyx, wait. Look at me. It’s not—it isn't what it looks like. We had too much to drink, she came over to discuss the rehearsal dinner, and—" "Don't touch me," I told him, stepping back before his hand could graze my arm. The heat in my face was gone, replaced by a strange, icy clarity. I looked at him while I raised my hand and took off my diamond engagement ring from my fingers. After taking it off, I held it up between two fingers. "Nyx, please. We can talk about this. You're exhausted, you're not thinking straight—" I dropped the five-carat diamond onto the glass coffee table near the foot of the bed. It landed with a hard, sharp crack, echoing in the silence. "Keep it," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "Give it to her. It seems to suit her better anyway." Chloe let out a tiny, breathless gasp, but I was already turning around. "Nyx! Stop!" Ethan shouted, his bare feet slapping against the tiled floor as he followed me down the hall. "You’re being hysterical! You can't just walk out over a mistake!" I didn't answer. I walked straight into the walk-in closet, dragged two oversized leather duffel bags off the top shelf, and began pulling clothes off the hangers. Sweaters, jeans, my scrubs, my medical journals, my leather jacket. I didn't care if they were folded. I didn't care if they wrinkled. I just stuffed them inside until the zippers nearly burst. Ethan stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his face turning an ugly shade of red. "Where do you think you're going? You have nothing outside of this city, Nyx. Your father’s firm controls your trust until next year, your license is barely printed—" "I have my SUV," I said, zipping the second bag shut and throwing it over my shoulder. I grabbed my medical bag from the chair by the door. "And I have my freedom." "You're making a massive mistake!" he yelled as I pushed past him into the foyer. "If you walk out that door, we are done! Do you hear me? Done!" I paused at the threshold, my hand resting on the heavy metal door handle. I turned back just enough to catch sight of Chloe standing at the end of the hall, wrapped in Ethan's silk robe, watching me with a quiet, triumphant smirk. "We were done the second you let her into this apartment," I said softly. I slammed the door behind me, the heavy click of the lock sounding like a gunshot in the quiet corridor. Fifteen minutes later, the elevator deposited me into the underground garage. The air smelled of concrete and damp exhaust. I tossed both duffels and my medical kit into the back of my dark grey SUV, shut the hatch, and climbed into the driver's seat. My hands hit the leather steering wheel, and for three full minutes, I just sat there in the dark, watching my breath fog up the windshield. No tears came. Just an empty, hollow quiet. I turned the key. The engine roared to life, filling the concrete space with a low rumble. I shifted into reverse, backed out of the space, and drove toward the exit gate. As the metal grate lifted, the night air hit my face. It was cold, wet, and carrying the faint scent of rain. I didn't look at the rearview mirror. I turned the wheel south, hit the interstate on-ramp, and set my sights on Texas.