Chapter 3: The Truth About Riley

After he left, a friend came to visit me.

Jessica burst in with a giant bouquet and a box of Godiva truffles, her eyes wide with concern and curiosity. She perched on the edge of the bed, immediately scanning my face for clues. The hospital room felt a little less cold with her there, her energy filling up the cracks I hadn’t noticed until she arrived.

“The Caldwell family is in a mess right now, but when Ethan carried you in earlier, he looked really freaked out.”

She grinned, nudging my arm gently. “Honestly, he looked like he was about to punch the ER nurse for asking too many questions.”

She leaned in, eyebrows raised. "So, is this your secret crush finally paying off, or are you guys actually catching feelings post-nuptials?"

She waggled her eyebrows, teasing, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. “C’mon, Nat, did he finally fall for you? You always said he was an iceberg, but even the Titanic hit one and went down hard.”

“I’m so happy for you. When you first got married, I was worried. But now, I think winning over this ice prince is just a matter of time.”

She squeezed my hand, her optimism infectious. “I mean, look at you two—tragic accidents, dramatic rescues. It’s straight out of a soap opera.”

Sunlight streamed through the window.

The late afternoon glow painted everything gold, dust motes spinning in lazy circles. For a second, I let myself imagine the scene from the outside: two young women, talking about love and heartbreak, the city humming below. The world felt big, but also strangely safe.

I suddenly remembered that just half an hour ago, I was unwrapping gifts in my room.

The memory came rushing back: glossy ribbons, tissue paper rustling, the warm clatter of bracelets and perfume bottles against the marble. I’d felt so lucky, so chosen—if only for a moment.

At the end, I saw Ethan’s gift—a necklace.

A delicate gold chain with a sapphire pendant, sparkling in the light. My heart had skipped when I read the card, his handwriting neat but impersonal.

A really famous brand.

Tiffany’s, the blue box unmistakable. The sort of present that made other girls gasp with envy. I’d slipped it on, feeling its weight against my collarbone, letting myself pretend for a second it meant something more.

I put it on right away.

I’d admired it in the mirror, holding my breath, hoping for a sign that I mattered. That he’d thought of me, even a little, when he chose it.

But just now, I noticed a bracelet from the same brand on Riley Monroe’s wrist.

That flash of turquoise peeking out from under her sleeve at the party—it was unmistakable. My heart dropped as the pieces fell into place.

The gift that had made me so happy was actually something he picked up while buying a bracelet for someone else.

It stung more than the cut on my arm. My pulse pounded in my ears, the room spinning as I tried to keep my face neutral. I pressed my lips together, willing myself not to cry in front of Jessica.

I suddenly said, “I’ve already agreed. In two years, I’ll divorce him.”

The words tumbled out before I could stop them, cool and matter-of-fact. The shock on Jessica’s face was almost comical—eyes wide, mouth open, her hand frozen mid-air.

My friend jumped up, shocked and angry.

Her voice shot up an octave. “What? Are you nuts?”

She paced the tiny room, arms flailing. “Nat, you can’t just walk away like this! I mean, sure, Ethan’s not perfect, but he’s your husband! You guys are Maple Heights royalty now.”

“Is he seeing someone on the side?”

She demanded, her face twisted with indignation. “Tell me, and I’ll go burn his suits myself.”

I gave a faint smile.

It was all I could manage, a wry twist of my lips. I appreciated her outrage, but it wasn’t the answer she was hoping for.

That’s not it.

I shook my head, more to myself than to her. The words felt heavy on my tongue, too tangled to say out loud.

Ethan’s not that kind of guy.

If anything, he protects Riley Monroe really well.

He loves her quietly, afraid someone will hurt her or ruin her reputation.

Besides me, only a few of his close friends know he fell for a girl outside our world.

Jessica’s eyes widened as I explained, her anger fading into a kind of grudging admiration. “So he’s… actually a good guy. Just not your guy.”

“No.”

I met her gaze, willing her to understand. There was nothing scandalous here—just a story of three people, each caught in their own trap.

“As for why… I can’t say yet. But it’s settled. I keep my promises.”

Jessica frowned, but she didn’t press. She knew me well enough to see the stubborn set of my jaw. In our world, a promise wasn’t just a word—it was a lifeline, a shield.

To spend my life with a man who doesn’t love me, versus the practical benefits he could bring me and my family—anyone would know which to pick.

It was a calculation every daughter in a legacy family understood. I’d made my choice, and for now, I’d live with it.

My friend was stunned, but didn’t push.

She sat quietly, chewing her lip. The silence stretched, filled with everything neither of us said.

In the end, she just said, “But you’ve liked him for so many years.”

Her words were soft, almost an accusation, almost a plea. She was the only one who knew the whole story—the way my heart had always, stupidly, belonged to Ethan Caldwell.

I sighed.

It was a long, shaky breath, like letting go of something I’d held too tightly for too long.

So what?

The question hung in the air, echoing off the white hospital walls. What good did old crushes do when reality hit?

I met Ethan when I was sixteen, and we sat next to each other for half a year.

He borrowed my calculator before the first AP test, flashing that crooked grin that made half the cheer squad swoon. I remembered the first day of junior year, the smell of new textbooks, his effortless confidence.

When I was sick, he carried me to the nurse’s office and stayed with me all morning, missing a big basketball game.

I remembered the warmth of his hands, the way he rolled his eyes at my stubbornness. He’d propped my head up on his jacket, told the coach he had more important things to do. The whole team grumbled, but nobody dared question Ethan Caldwell.

When kids gossiped that my mom was a homewrecker and I was the illegitimate kid, he cussed them out one by one and told me to keep my head up.

His voice, low and steady, echoing in the locker-lined hallway: “You listen to me, Nat. Nobody gets to talk about you like that. Not while I’m around.” I’d believed him then—believed that maybe, just maybe, I mattered.

We competed in math competitions together, hosted New Year’s Eve parties together. He said, “Hope everything goes your way,” and I replied, “Let’s start a new chapter together.”

Our lives intertwined in ways that seemed effortless back then—late nights at the diner, dreams whispered under fireworks, the world wide open in front of us.

But at twenty-three, when we were about to get engaged, sitting across from each other at the same table—

I remembered the mahogany dining table, the clink of crystal glasses. Everyone was watching, holding their breath for the fairytale. But he looked right through me, eyes cold, lips pressed in a tight line.

He looked at me like a stranger and said just one thing: “Have we met before?”

The words were a slap. I felt my face burn, my heart pounding in my chest. I glanced around, half-expecting someone to laugh and say it was a joke, but the silence was deafening.

He’d forgotten me.

For a second, the world tilted. The boy who’d once fought for me couldn’t even remember my name.

I was speechless.

No words came, just a bitter taste in my mouth. My hands shook under the table, but I forced a smile, pretending it didn’t matter.

Honestly, I hadn’t changed much. Still calm, long hair, blue dress, not big on smiling.

The reflection in the mirror was mostly the same—a little older, maybe a little wiser, but still the same girl who’d once believed in fairy tales.

The only change—

Was maybe a touch of makeup instead of my old bare face.

A flick of eyeliner, a swipe of lipstick—the armor of womanhood. I wondered if he even noticed.

But forgetting is forgetting. The things I clung to as lifelines were just things he did for anyone.

The realization settled in my bones. The kindnesses I’d treasured, the moments I’d replayed—they were just Ethan being Ethan. Nothing special, nothing meant for me alone.

He was just a good guy, not someone who was good to me in particular.

That truth was sharper than any gossip, any cut. The kind of thing you learn to swallow with a smile.

So I smiled, pretending it didn’t matter. “You forgot? Junior year, homeroom 7. I’m Natalie Summers.”

I forced a lightness into my voice, as if we were just old friends meeting by chance. My heart hammered in my chest, but I wouldn’t let it show.

Ethan looked up, the frown on his face fading.

Something flickered in his eyes—recognition, maybe, or just relief that I’d filled in the blanks for him. The tension in his shoulders eased just a fraction.

He sighed. “So it was you.”

The words were soft, almost apologetic. For a second, I let myself hope that maybe, just maybe, it mattered. But then he looked away, and the moment was gone.