Chapter 3 Cutting Ties
1083 Words
"Is it true? What they're saying?" Emma's mind spun, chaos swirling in her chest. She reached for Matthew, her voice trembling. "But you told me yesterday you loved me..."
This time, Matthew didn't pull away. He let her grip his wrist for a few seconds, standing in the middle of the crowd. Then, without a word, he slowly pried her fingers off one by one, pushing her aside with cold detachment.
"That was just part of the bet."
His brow arched high, his ice-blue eyes devoid of any warmth. With a mocking smile, he added, "Oh, you actually believed it?"
Emma stumbled, falling hard onto the ground, staring up at him, frozen in disbelief.
'So, all these months... it was just a game?' Everything they had shared—what did any of it mean now? Their instant connection at school, the embraces and cheers at the boxing club, the kisses under the mistletoe, the dreams they whispered beneath the stars, the nights they clung to each other, soaked from rain, struggling under debt, their love the only thing keeping them going.
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but Emma refused to let them fall. She locked her gaze on Matthew, her voice soft but steady. "Why me?"
Matthew frowned, clearly irritated. He had always been kind and gentle to her, even distant with other women, but now she was seeing a side of him she never imagined.
"You just happened to be the first girl who walked into the bar that night." His words were clipped and dismissive, like he couldn't be bothered to explain. "Could've been anyone."
He pulled the redhead closer, eyes filled with nothing but disdain as he looked down at her. "Any more questions?"
"Oh, so you're the one they were talking about!" The redhead suddenly clapped her hands, her face lit up in amusement as she bent down, her voice sugar-coated with fake sympathy. "Don't be mad, sweetheart. Matthew had to pretend to be broke for months just to date you. That's commitment!"
Her tone was light, but every word felt like a blade twisting in Emma's heart. "Honestly, you should be flattered. Someone like you could never even dream of dating a Fitzgerald." Her smile turned icy. "Oh, and I heard you're one of those prudes? Never even took your clothes off for him, huh?"
She gave a casual shrug, her fingers trailing down Matthew's chest suggestively. "What a waste. Not experiencing that? Biggest mistake of your life, honey."
The crowd burst into laughter. One of the guys even thrust his hips forward mockingly. "Hey, babe, how about we all give you a little lesson? We'll make sure you never forget it!"
The redhead giggled, but with a flick of her hand, the crowd instantly silenced.
Smirking, she stepped forward, towering over Emma with the kind of confidence only someone born into wealth could have.
Everything about her screamed luxury—her clothes, her flawless makeup, the gemstone earrings worth more than Emma's entire life savings. With a condescending grin, she leaned down to plant a kiss on Matthew's lips, her voice dripping with superiority.
"Just so we're clear, he is my fiancé."
"Well, aren't you sweet for taking out the trash," Emma said, her voice unexpectedly calm as she slowly stood up. She wiped away her tears, standing tall, a smile tugging at her lips, revealing the slightest flash of sharp canines.
"He's just some man. Not exactly worth hanging onto."
The redhead blinked in surprise, clearly not expecting that response. Matthew's expression darkened like an impending storm.
"Well then, sweetheart, maybe you should reconsider my offer?" Brandon appeared behind her, the little dagger necklace dangling in front of Emma's eyes, swaying mockingly. He grinned, his tone sleazy. "I'm not like Matthew. I'll be really gentle with you... hey!!"
Before he could finish, Emma had already snatched the necklace from his neck. With the same motion, she slipped off a silver ring from her finger. Without hesitation, she hurled both into the river beside them.
The necklace and ring arced through the air, disappearing into the water with a soft splash.
"There. Now we're done for good," Emma said, lifting her chin, her voice steady, unflinching. "Goodbye, Mr. Fitzgerald. And as for..."
She faltered, and Brandon smoothly finished for her, "Agnes. Agnes Whitmore."
Emma nodded quickly. "Ms. Whitmore. I hope you get married soon."
Before anyone could respond, Emma turned and walked to her car, her movements quick and decisive. The engine roared to life, and she sped off. After driving for a few miles, she glanced in the rearview mirror. No one was following. She exhaled a shaky breath, her grip on the wheel loosening.
It all made sense now. No wonder those rich kids treated the redhead like royalty. Even Emma, a nobody with no ties to high society, had heard of the Whitmore family. They were one of the oldest, wealthiest families in the country, controlling half the nation's economy.
Agnes was born into that life—destined for wealth, status, and luxury. She would have the perfect boyfriend, a flawless love story, and a future filled with nothing but privilege.
People like her would never cross paths with those who have to fight for every inch of their lives.
'But what does that have to do with me?' Emma thought, the sharp sting of Matthew's betrayal cutting deep. Matthew was no longer hers.
The thought of his lies—his total deception—made Emma's anger flare again. She checked the time and then pressed harder on the gas, racing toward the theater. What she didn't know was that back at the racetrack, Matthew had changed into his racing gear and was sitting in his car, lost in thought.
"Well, well. The great Matthew Fitzgerald, dumped by a girl. How's that feel?" Brandon tapped on the window, grinning.
"She can't break up with me," Matthew said around the cigarette in his mouth, his expression cold. "I never agreed to the breakup."
Brandon paused and then laughed, disbelief in his eyes. "You're serious?"
Matthew closed his eyes, leaning back in the seat. Emma's face floated in his mind—her smile, her tears, the way she'd walked away without a backward glance.
The sunlight felt too harsh. He lifted a hand to block it, a bitter smile curling at his lips as if for the benefit of those around him.
"She thinks she can walk away from me? Not a chance."
- Writer
