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.

A huge wedding photo dominated the wall.

Maggie, strapless gown and all, was wrapped around Vincent like they were soulmates.

Noses touching. Eyes locked. Total fairytale vibe.

Vincent burst in from the living room.

"Serena, you should crash in the guest room. Maggie's not feeling great. This one gets good sun, so I figured she could stay—"

His words hit the brakes when he spotted the photo.

He stiffened. "It was just to calm her family. That's all."

The marriage certificate? Just helping out.

The photos? Pure PR.

Serena stared him down, ice cold.

Vincent scrambled, reaching for her hand. "It's not what you think. I just—"

She backed off.

"Don't touch me."

First time in six years she'd ever pulled away.

His chest clenched. He opened his mouth—

But Maggie stormed in, voice shaky and tear-soaked.

"Miss Saun, please don't fight with Vincent. It's my fault. I shouldn't have come. I'll leave right now..."

Vincent cut in, stepping between them.

"This has nothing to do with you."

Maggie's tears spilled fast.

"Vincent, you've already done so much for me. I can't be the reason she's upset. Maybe I deserve this—maybe it's karma for all my screwups. I'll take it."

Her puffy eyes and broken look hit him hard.

He softened.

"Don't worry. As long as I'm here, no one's forcing you into anything. Serena won't be mad. You're staying. End of story."

Serena let out a cold, crooked smile.

"Of course I'm not mad. This is your house now, after all."

She turned and walked out.

Maggie whimpered behind her. "Vincent, is she still mad at me...?"

Vincent stayed quiet.

Serena's words rattled something in him. He chased after her, grabbed her wrist.

"What's that supposed to mean? Her house? Maggie's getting forced into some sketchy marriage—she's being harassed. I was just trying to help. You're a woman too. Can't you just try to understand? Do you have to be so jealous and dramatic right now?"

Before she could clap back, a loud crash exploded from the bedroom.

Vincent's face dropped. He shoved past Serena and bolted.

"Maggie! What are you doing?"

Full-blown panic.

Maggie was on the floor, crying hard. Blood streaked down her wrist.

"Just leave me alone. No one cares about me anyway. If dying makes Miss Saun stop hating me, at least I'll have peace..."

Vincent ripped the broken glass from her grip, pressing on the cut.

He spun toward Serena, shouting—

"This what you wanted? You happy now? Feel even a little guilty? No wonder people say you're heartless. You didn't shed a single tear when your dad died. How could someone that cold ever care about anyone else's life?"

His words hit like a punch to the gut.

Serena froze. Her whole body went cold.

Her dad had been a drunk. The beatings were constant.

So when he died in that accident, she didn't cry.

Relatives called her a monster.

Vincent had been the one who held her through it—who swore she wasn't broken.

Now he was the one tearing her open.

Whatever love she had left? Dead.

"Vincent, I never said she couldn't stay. I wasn't being dramatic. I stepped back because I'm SEVERELY ALLERGIC to seafood."

Only then did he notice the rash blooming across her wrist where he'd grabbed her.

Her eyes were red—not with anger, but from the weight of what he'd just thrown at her.

Guilt flickered across his face.

"I..."

But Maggie started thrashing, her voice raw and wild.

"Vincent, don't stop me! Just let me die..."

Blood started dripping again.

Vincent didn't think—he scooped her up and ran.

"I'm taking you to the hospital. I won't let anything happen to you!"

Serena didn't move.

Just stood there.

Silent.

Watching them disappear.