Chapter 3: Poisoned Promises and Past Regrets

During the process, the officer kept glancing at Carter.

He watched for a reaction, for any sign of grief or anger. But Carter’s face was unreadable.

Honestly, when he was at the scene, he’d thrown up badly.

The officer remembered the metallic smell, the sight of blood pooling on the concrete. He’d seen a lot, but this had shaken him.

After my fall, my body had been violently smashed, my limbs broken, sprawled limply on the ground.

It was a mess of bone and blood, nothing like the person I used to be. The kind of image that stays with you long after you close your eyes.

My head was caved in, my face covered in thick blood, congealed in my hair.

No one would have recognized me. Not even Carter.

I was no longer recognizable as human.

Just a shape, a memory, already fading.

The fear of death is written in our genes. Very few people can stay as calm as Carter Langley when seeing a corpse.

The officer wondered if it was shock, or something colder. Some people break. Others just shut down.

Once everything was done, Carter stood in the darkness with his hands in his pockets. “Can I go now?”

His voice was low, almost bored. He didn’t look back.

The officer nodded numbly, and Carter left without looking back.

He walked away, footsteps echoing down the hallway, each one quieter than the last.

As if I, as a person, had never meant anything to him.

It was as if I’d never existed at all. Just a name on a form, a memory to be filed away.

Carter didn’t go back to Savannah, but returned to our home instead.

The apartment was dark when he walked in. He didn’t turn on the lights, just stood by the window, staring out at the city.

When Savannah called, he rubbed his brow and soothed her gently. “Savvy, I’m fine. You don’t need to come.”

His voice was soft, careful. The kind of tone you use with someone fragile. He paced as he spoke, the phone pressed tight to his ear.

Savannah was probably saying something comforting on the other end, and Carter replied with “Mm, mm” every so often to reassure her.

He listened, nodding along, offering small reassurances. His words were automatic, practiced.

Later, Carter’s voice rose a little, sounding a bit angry:

There was a sharpness to it, a flash of something real.

“Savvy, it was her choice. She did this to herself. This isn’t your fault.”

He spoke quickly, defensively. There was a note of desperation in his voice, as if he needed her to believe it.

His eyes darkened. “Even if there’s retribution, let it come for me.”

He stared at his reflection in the window, jaw clenched. The city lights blurred, turning his face into a stranger’s.

There was a moment of silence on the other end, and Carter realized his tone was too harsh. He softened. “Savvy, go to bed early. Don’t make me worry.”

He let out a breath, his voice gentle again. “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

The room went quiet. Carter lay on the leather sofa, eyes closed, silent as a statue.

The only sound was the hum of the fridge, the occasional creak of the building settling. He didn’t move.

For so long, I thought he’d fallen asleep.

He looked peaceful, almost serene. But I knew better. Rest doesn’t come easy to the guilty.

Suddenly I heard a barely audible, mocking whisper: “Idiot…”

It slipped out, bitter and soft, barely more than a breath. Maybe he was talking to me. Maybe to himself.

Idiot?

The word echoed in my mind, sharp as glass.

Yeah, I am an idiot.

I let the thought settle, heavy and familiar. It was easier to blame myself than to face the truth.

If I weren’t, how could I only realize after ten years of loving him that Carter Langley had fallen for someone else?

Ten years—college sweethearts, shared dreams, endless promises. And still, I missed it. I missed all the signs.

If I weren’t, how could I, after exposing his hypocritical lies, still stubbornly insist on marrying him?

I’d known. Deep down, I’d always known. But I held on anyway, desperate for something that was already gone.

Carter and I were college sweethearts.

We met in the fall, leaves turning gold on the quad. He was charming, ambitious, with a smile that could light up any room. I was quieter, bookish, drawn to his energy like a moth to a flame.

From the start, his parents disapproved of us.

They were old money, the kind that comes with rules and expectations. I was never what they wanted for their son.

The phrase “a good match in social status” was like a mountain between us.

It came up at every holiday, every family dinner. A subtle reminder that I would never quite measure up.

Carter’s family was well-off; he grew up spoiled.

He never wanted for anything. Private schools, summer homes, ski trips in Aspen. The world bent to his will.

He was a young man who always got what he wanted.

He moved through life with an easy confidence, certain the universe would deliver.

All the setbacks this golden boy suffered were because of me.

That’s what his mother said, anyway. I was the storm that disrupted his perfect world.

First, when we were young, I was cold and distant to him, making him fall for me—a withdrawn girl from a messy family.

He chased me, relentless. Maybe it was the challenge. Maybe it was something more. But I let him in, little by little.

Second, he fell in love with someone else, but I trapped him with a pregnancy, forcing him to marry me.

I told myself it was love, but deep down I knew it was desperation. I clung to him, afraid of what it would mean to let go.

I still remember when I forced him to marry me with a positive test, his eyes full of pain. “Lillian, you set me up.”

He said it quietly, the accusation heavy between us. I didn’t deny it. I couldn’t.

Back then, I had a “let’s all be miserable” attitude. I sneered and said recklessly, “Carter, just admit it. Will you or not?”

My voice was sharp, brittle. I was daring him to walk away, even as I begged him to stay.

Carter finally gave in, maybe out of guilt or responsibility.

He agreed, but the light in his eyes was gone. I’d won, but it didn’t feel like victory.

Either way, I got what I wanted.

A ring, a wedding, a promise. But not love. Not really.

After Savannah heard the news, she slit her wrists.

The call came in the middle of the night. Carter rushed out the door, leaving me alone in our new apartment, the sheets still warm from where he’d been.

When Carter abandoned me to stay at the hospital with Savannah, I went to the hospital for an abortion.

I walked the sterile halls alone, the fluorescent lights buzzing overhead. No one held my hand. No one waited for me.

As the cold instrument entered my body, I remembered that rainy night when Carter’s parents summoned me.

The memory flashed—Mrs. Langley’s cold stare, Mr. Langley’s clipped tone. They didn’t want me. They never had.

After hearing the news, Carter anxiously waited for me outside my dorm. The rain and wind lashed him, splattering mud everywhere.

He was soaked through, shivering. I watched him from the window, torn between pity and resentment.

The tip of his nose was red from the cold wind. When he saw me, his eyes were misty. He cautiously came close: “Lilly…”

He said my name like it was a prayer. I wanted to believe him. I wanted to believe we could still be saved.

I responded with a hum, and he tried to tug my sleeve, whispering: “Do you still want me?”

His voice was small, hopeful. I looked away, afraid to answer.

When had this pampered young man ever been so pitiful?

He was always so sure, so in control. But that night, he was just a boy, lost and scared.

When I came out, leaning against the wall, I happened to run into Carter.

He looked at me like I was a ghost. I felt like one.

I looked at the takeout bag in his hand and smiled at him. He approached, guarded: “Lillian, what do you want now?”

He was defensive, wary. The walls between us had never been higher.

“Savannah can’t take any stress right now. Whatever you want to say, let’s talk at home. Don’t make a scene.”

He said it through gritted teeth, as if I were a problem to be managed.

With that, he pushed me out of the hospital.

His grip was rough, his steps hurried. I stumbled, pain flaring in my side.

The rough pulling made me cry out in pain, but Carter acted like he didn’t hear and kept pushing me forward.

He didn’t slow down, didn’t look back. His focus was on Savannah, always Savannah.

I was stunned. Did he love her that much?

The realization hit me like a punch. I’d lost him. Maybe I never really had him at all.

I just smiled at him—I didn’t even say a word.

My lips curled up, but it didn’t reach my eyes. There was nothing left to say.

But he was sure I’d hurt her.

He looked at me like I was the villain in his story. Maybe I was.

I stubbornly shook off his hand and walked to the nurse’s desk, loudly asking for Savannah’s room number.

My voice rang out, sharp and clear. Heads turned. Carter’s face darkened.

Carter rushed up and covered my mouth, his breath hot with warning: “Lillian, that’s enough.”