"The marriage certificate's fake..."

The clerk in the County Clerk's Office shot Serena a sympathetic look.

"Vincent Schit legally married Maggie Cheape. Two weeks ago."

Serena didn't even blink. Of course the guy she'd spent six years loving married his ex behind her back.

"Thanks."

County Clerk's Office, Ardenburg

"The marriage certificate's fake..."

The clerk shot Serena a sympathetic look.

"Vincent Schit legally married Maggie Cheape. Two weeks ago."

Serena didn't even blink. Of course he married his first love behind her back.

"Thanks."

She slid the bogus paper into her bag, threw on her shades, and walked out.

Outside, she fired off a text to her senior in college, Arya Ace:

[Arya, I'm in. Let's do Seavora. Let's start that business.]

No reply yet—Arya was probably swamped.

Serena tucked her phone away, flagged a cab, and gave the address.

She didn't get back till dusk, drained. Just as she pulled out her keys—ding.

Elevator doors opened.

Vincent stepped out, all smiles. "Serena, where've you been?"

She stared at that dumb smile.

"I went by the spot where we 'got married.' Thought I'd snap a few pics. But guess what? It's just an empty lot now. You know anything about that?"

Her eyes didn't move, locked on his face, waiting for even a flicker of guilt.

Vincent stiffened for half a second, then bounced back, smooth as ever.

"You probably went to the wrong place. We've already got the certificate. We can take pictures later. I brought macarons—the new ones from your favorite place. Try them."

He handed over the bag and headed straight to the bathroom.

Serena looked down, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

"Vincent, there is no later for us."

She went to the study and slid the fake certificate back into the safe.

Three days ago, right after their so-called marriage registration, he showed it for a second before locking it up.

She really thought it meant something to him.

Last night changed everything.

She'd gotten up for water and caught Vincent whispering on the balcony.

"Vincent, why are you back with Maggie? You chased her for three years. She dumped you and ran off with some guy overseas. She almost wrecked you. Don't tell me you still love her?"

Silence. Then his voice, low.

"We registered our marriage two weeks ago. Her parents were trying to force her to marry some old dude... I couldn't let that happen."

Serena froze, like she'd stepped into ice water.

She and the guy on the phone both knew—it wasn't about pity.

Vincent had never stopped loving Maggie.

Six years. She thought she'd finally earned forever with him.

But the truth? She was never even part of his heart.

The 'County Clerk's Office' was fake. The marriage certificate—fake.

Their six years? Might as well have been a dream.

What a joke. What a mess.

Vincent had already picked Maggie.

So Serena made her choice too.

This time, she was done—for real.

Vincent's phone lit up on the coffee table.

The ringtone—custom, just for one person—blared through the silence.

Serena hesitated, then stepped toward it.

Before she could get there, something wet slammed into her.

Her shin cracked against the corner of the table, pain shooting up like fire.

Vincent—the culprit—didn't even look back.

He grabbed his phone and disappeared into the bathroom.

Serena limped to the couch, breath shaky.

From behind the door came his voice, low and tense, trying to sound chill—but it wasn't.

"Don't be scared. Stay in your room. I'm coming right now."

Bitterness surged up in her chest.

Six years, and Vincent had always kept his cool around her.

But one phone call and he cracked.

So that was it—he wasn't cold. He just didn't care.

Vincent came out of the bathroom, still looking rattled.

Didn't even stop.

"Something came up at work. Don't wait for me."

He didn't notice the girl who used to hand him his coat, who always told him to come home early, didn't say a thing this time.

Didn't even look at him.

Serena sat on the couch, frozen.

When the sting in her leg finally dulled, she got up and headed to the bedroom.

Time to pack.

The couple's mugs—hers chipped, his never touched.

The rings she made but never gave him.

That charm bracelet she made for the wedding.

The scrapbook—pages of memories she'd written, decorated, loved.

Straight into the trash. No hesitation.

Two hours later, half the room was empty.

Just as she exhaled, her phone buzzed.

Arya's voice came through, bright and wired.

"Serena! I just woke up overseas and saw your message—so pumped you're joining! I'll be back in a week, then it's Seavora time. But... didn't you say you were getting married? Your boyfriend cool with you leaving?"

Serena paused.

After six years with Vincent, barely anyone even knew they were a thing. He hated attention.

It wasn't until three days ago, when Arya brought up the studio, that she'd mentioned the wedding.

Funny how fast everything crumbled.

Her voice stayed steady.

"It's fine. The wedding's off."

Vincent froze in the doorway.

His eyes flashed—panic, sharp and sudden.

"What do you mean, the wedding's off?"

Serena flinched at his voice but recovered quick.

"A friend had something come up. So, wedding's canceled."

He didn't push.

"Didn't you want couple photos for your birthday? The photographer called. We can go tomorrow."

Her instinct screamed no.

But before she could answer, his gaze swept the room and landed on the now-empty table.

"Were you cleaning? Kinda feels like half the stuff's missing."

She nodded, cool and collected.

"Yeah. We weren't using it. No point keeping clutter."

For some reason, that hit Vincent weird.

Vincent stared at the empty table like it still had answers.

Serena swallowed the comeback sitting on her tongue. No drama. She just wanted to leave clean.

"Get some rest. We've got the shoot tomorrow," she said, all calm.

He didn't catch anything weird in her face, so he let it go.

They climbed into bed, backs turned, heads loud.

Next morning, Serena dragged a trash bag down the stairs, arms straining.

Vincent grabbed it. "Why's this so heavy? What's in here?"

He started to peek inside.

She pushed his arm down. "Just junk."

The elevator dinged. He dropped it without a second thought.

Watching him toss it in the dumpster made her feel ten pounds lighter.

At the studio, someone led them to the racks.

Serena was about to ask if they had anything non-wedding-y when Vincent stopped.

"Serena, try this one. Didn't you say you liked this style?"

She froze, eyes locked on the vintage dress.

A couple weeks ago, she'd shown him one just like it. Back then, it would've meant something.

Now? Nothing.

Still, she didn't bother choosing another. Let him think he scored a win.

A few minutes later, a staffer was fluffing her gown, all bubbly.

"Miss Saun, you and your boyfriend must really be in love. This dress is perfect on you. The photos will be gorgeous."

Before Serena could react, another girl leaned in, voice low.

"Mr. Schit had a work emergency. He said to go ahead with your solo shoot—he'll do the couple shots later..."

Her smile was stiff, like she was ready to dodge flying objects. They'd clearly seen meltdowns here before.

Serena just nodded, chill and unreadable.

After the shoot, she caught a cab home—alone.

She hadn't even made it past the front door when a soft voice floated from the living room.

"Vincent, I can't believe I'm eating your cooking again after all this time."

He was at the table, slipping a shrimp into her bowl like it was totally normal. He turned—then froze when he saw Serena.

Took him a beat.

"Serena, this is Maggie. She ran into some trouble, so she's crashing here for a few days."

Maggie gave her a quick once-over, barely hiding it.

"You must be Vincent's girlfriend," she said sweetly. "He's talked about you. Sorry for the trouble. Oh, he made my favorite baked shrimp—come sit with us."

She stood, surrendering the seat across from Vincent and sliding in beside him like she never left.

Serena had thought this was just Vincent stuck in the past.

Now she saw it—birds of a feather.

"You two enjoy. I'm wiped. Going to bed."

She turned toward the bedroom—then stopped cold at what was behind the door.