The house was too quiet.
Not peacefully so. Not like the comforting hush of early mornings or the drowsy stillness before sleep. No, this silence had sharp edges. It scraped at her skin as she stepped inside, heels clicking too loudly against the polished marble floor.
Jade didn't bother turning on the lights.
She didn't need to see the framed wedding photo on the console table—she knew it by heart. Knew the way she'd smiled too widely, her bouquet trembling slightly in her hands. Knew how Cole's arm had been wrapped around her shoulders with all the warmth of a tailored mannequin.
A lie framed in silver.
She kicked off her shoes at the foot of the stairs. One slid beneath a nearby chair. She didn't go after it. She just stood there for a long moment, her fingers twitching at her sides like they didn't know what to hold on to anymore.
Upstairs, the dress came off in the hallway. Not dramatically. Not in some cinematic sweep of satin and vengeance. She simply reached behind her, undid the zipper with shaking fingers, and let the silk fall around her ankles like a breath she'd held too long. The sapphire pin slid from her hair and hit the hardwood with a quiet ting.
Her necklace caught on the edge of her collarbone. She yanked it off. The clasp snapped.
By the time she made it to the bathroom, her legs were trembling.
She turned on the tap, sat on the edge of the tub, and stared at the water running into the sink. Steam clouded the mirror. That was good. It meant she didn't have to look herself in the eye.
She didn't cry right away.
First came the numbness. The kind that settles in the marrow. That presses on your ribs like a ghost you can't shake.
Then the pressure in her chest. The kind that claws at you from the inside, like something trying to escape.
And then, finally—she broke.
It started with a single sob. Quiet. Almost apologetic.
Then another.
And another.
Until she folded forward, arms wrapped around her waist, rocking slightly as the grief she'd held in for weeks—months—finally spilled out, hot and salt-stained and agonizing.
She cried for the humiliation.
For the whispers and the laughter. For the sidelong glances. The knowing smiles.
For the way Cole had looked at her, like a stranger. Like an inconvenience. Like he was the one who had to endure her.
But more than anything, she cried for the girl she used to be.
The one who believed in kindness. In effort. In earning love with patience and devotion.
The girl who had waited at countless dinners alone. Who had smiled through cold silences. Who had brushed her fingers against his sleeve in the hopes he might take her hand.
The girl who still believed that being good was enough.
Jade had walked into that rooftop party wearing a dress stitched from hope.
And she had left with nothing but shame.
At some point, she ended up on the bathroom floor, knees curled to her chest, her hair a tangled mess against the tile. The tears didn't stop until her throat was raw and her limbs numb.
She wasn't sure how long she stayed like that.
Eventually, she pulled herself up, wrapped herself in the thickest robe she owned, and curled up in the corner of her bed—not the center. Never the center. That belonged to him, even in absence.
Even now, she left space for him.
The room smelled faintly of his cologne. His cufflinks still sat in a glass dish on the dresser. His book lay untouched on the nightstand—opened to a page he'd never finish.
Outside, the city lights blinked indifferently.
Somewhere, music still played. Glasses still clinked. Laughter echoed in high places where she did not belong.
Inside, Jade Carter lay still.
Not asleep.
Not awake.
Just… gone. Somewhere deep inside herself. Somewhere safer than this house, this life, this name that had never truly been hers.
And in that silent, shivering stillness, one thought remained:
She would never let them do this to her again.
Not Vivien.
Not the whispers.
Not even Cole.
Not ever again.