Fiancé Chose Bestie, I Chose His Rival

Chapter 2

"Happy now?" He tucked his phone into his pocket.

I stood up and nodded.

"Make yourselves at home."

I turned and walked into the bedroom, pulling my suitcase down from the top of the closet.

I didn't have much, really. Most of them I had bought over the years to suit Charles's tastes—the plain-colored dresses, the expensive jewelry I'd bought to accompany him to galas. I didn't want any of it.

I packed only a few casual outfits I actually wore, plus some documents.

At some point, Charles had come to lean against the doorframe.

He watched me drop a wine-red tie into the trash.

It was a limited edition. Last month I had queued for two hours to buy it for him.

"Wait. What's that supposed to mean? I haven't even worn that tie." His brows knit.

"I bought it, but I can't take it with me. So I'm throwing it out." I didn't look up.

I opened another drawer. My fingertips touched a velvet box, and a chill ran through me.

Inside was a pair of matching rings.

In my previous life, Charles had knelt on one knee with one of those rings and proposed, promising to take care of me for the rest of my life.

In this life he hadn't even opened the box. He had tossed it into the drawer without a thought.

I threw the box straight into the trash.

It landed with a dull thud.

Charles's expression finally changed. He strode in and seized my wrist.

"Calm down. You're being intense. If we can't be a couple, does that mean we can't even be friends?"

His grip was strong. My bones ached under it.

But I didn't struggle. I just looked at him calmly.

"Charles, do you actually think we can be friends?"

"Why not?" He sounded utterly justified.

"I do have feelings for you. They're just not love. I don't want to lie to you for a lifetime. Clearing things up now is better for both of us."

He lowered his voice, and a charitable sort of tenderness crept into it.

"Don't worry. Even if we don't get married, I'll still help you out if you ever need it."

I looked at this face and suddenly felt that those 50 years of my previous life had been a long, revolting joke.

My stomach turned over. My throat tightened, as if something had lodged there.

"Let go." I stared at him, my voice icy.

Charles stiffened. It wasn't until Amber's voice floated in from the living room that he slowly released me.

"Charles, I don't really like the color of this sofa cushion. Can we replace it?"

Charles turned and called toward the living room.

"If you don't like it, throw it out. Have someone bring new ones tomorrow."

Then he looked at me again.

"You heard that? This is Amber's home now. Take whatever odds and ends you can carry. Anything you leave, I'll have cleared out tomorrow."

I wheeled my suitcase out of the bedroom.

"No need to wait for tomorrow."

Amber was sitting on the sofa I had chosen with such care, holding the mug I always used.

When she saw me come out, she set the cup down in a hurry.

"Cece... Are you all packed?"

I ignored her, walked to the entryway, and changed into my own shoes.

Charles followed me.

Just as I was about to push the door open, he spoke, "The wedding the day after tomorrow—it's still on."

My hand froze on the door handle. I turned and looked at him.

Charles stood with both hands in his pockets, perfectly composed.

"The invitations went out a long time ago. My relatives, friends, and business partners—they're all coming. I can't afford to call off the wedding. Now the bride is Amber; the wedding goes ahead as planned."

He stared at me; his tone was cold and businesslike.

"And you need to be there."