Not long after, Sloan’s phone buzzed with a message. It was a video from Carol.

In the video, Wyatt was holding Carol’s hand, his voice low and coaxing. “My little princess, stop hanging around with those guys. They’re no good for you. Come on, be good and come home.”

“No!” Carol’s voice wavered, thick with hurt. “Aren't you about to marry that woman? Why are you even here?” A bitter smile curled her lips. “Since you don’t want me anymore, why shouldn’t I find someone else? I can be with any man I want—I could even marry him if I wanted to. What are you gonna do about it?”

Wyatt’s expression darkened, jealousy flashing in his eyes like a storm about to break loose.

He grabbed Carol’s arm and pulled her into his arms. “You’re not allowed to be with anyone else,” he said, his voice sharp and possessive. “I’m the only one you’re allowed to be with.”

Carol gave a taunting smile at the camera before leaning down and kissing him.

Sloan couldn’t watch the rest of it. Her vision blurred with tears.

Because Wyatt had said those exact same words to her once.

Back then, her adoptive mother had been seriously ill. The Tanner Family had promised to help her find the best doctor and cover the expensive medical bills—but the catch was that Sloan had to become a pawn in a strategic marriage.

With no other option, she told Wyatt and broke up with him. She could still remember how Wyatt’s eyes had turned bloodshot that day as he clung to her desperately, swearing that he would marry her no matter what.

Later, after cutting ties with his family, he had knelt down and begged the family head for forgiveness, enduring humiliation and paying a steep price to make the marriage between the two families possible.

But Sloan had never been the long-lost heiress everyone envied. She was just a bargaining chip, a convenient piece in a calculated deal.

And she wasn’t the beloved fiancée everyone thought she was—she was just the catalyst that made this whole mess possible.

This moment confirmed what she had always feared: she was nothing more than a placeholder in Wyatt’s life.

A week passed. Wyatt never came to visit her, not even when she was discharged from the hospital.

Sloan ignored the messages and calls from Harper Kemp, choosing instead to return alone to the Grant estate.

As soon as she stepped inside, the sound of carefree laughter echoed through the house. Carol was running around barefoot in Sloan’s pajamas.

Wyatt followed behind her, holding a pair of matching slippers. “Carol, stop running around. Come here and put these on. You’ll catch a cold.”

“No.” Carol pouted like a spoiled child. “Carry me! I want piggy back!” 

Without hesitation, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hooked her legs around his waist, her fingers teasing the back of his hair.

Wyatt’s jaw tightened, but instead of pushing her away, he carried her effortlessly to the dining table, setting her down. His expression softened as he brushed his thumb across the tip of her nose. “Stop being difficult, or I’m going to punish you. You’re not a kid anymore, Carol.” 

The two of them were so wrapped up in each other that they didn’t notice Sloan standing by the floor-to-ceiling window. She clenched the door handle, forcing down the hurt rising in her chest. Then, with a calm expression, she punched in the code and walked inside.

Hearing the door open, Wyatt instinctively pushed Carol away.

“Sloan… You’re out of the hospital?” His smile was tight. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Maybe it was guilt, but Wyatt immediately started explaining. “This is Carol. She is my mom’s goddaughter. You’ve met her before. She just got back in town yesterday and needed a place to stay for a few days. About the pajamas—”

“It’s fine. Just fabric,” Sloan cut him off. Without waiting for a reaction, she turned and headed upstairs.

If she was going to leave, she needed to cut all ties—wipe out every trace of him from her life.

Upstairs, Sloan began rummaging through her closet, gathering all the gifts Wyatt had ever given her—bracelets, handwritten notes, clothes and tossing them into a cardboard box.

Wyatt panicked at the sight of her packing. His voice trembled. “Sloan, I’m sorry. I know I screwed up. I didn’t know Carol took your pajamas—I’ll tell her to leave right now if that’s what you want! You can yell at me, punish me the way you want but just don’t leave me!”

Same old story. That's how men are. They commit mistakes, they realize when they do it and they always apologize—never change.

Wyatt knew Sloan was a clean freak and she hated people touching her stuff, yet he still brought someone into their home and let them touch her personal things.

Was it all for the thrill of it? Testing the waters again and again, pushing her limits just to get her on edge? Did he really not know?

That nightgown was her favorite—the one she had blushed over when he first bought it for her. He had been so young and earnest back then, whispering in her ear over and over, “I love you, Sloan. Having you is the luckiest thing that’s ever happened to me. I swear I’ll never let you down.”

And she had believed him–thought her Cinderella moment had finally come. But not every Cinderella gets her prince.

If she weren’t the daughter of the wealthy Tanner Family, they would’ve split up a long time ago.

Tears spilled down Sloan’s cheeks. Wyatt panicked, fumbling to wipe them away. “Oh, no. Please, don’t cry. Seeing you cry hurts me more than anything. I swear I’ll never let anyone else into our home again, okay?”

Wyatt’s voice trembled with sincerity as he knelt on the floor, his hands clutching hers like a lifeline. His eyes were wide with desperation, silently begging for her forgiveness.

Sloan studied his remorseful face for a long moment, then smiled faintly through her tears. “That’s alright. It’s just a nightgown. I’ll throw it away. Not a big deal.” Her tone was calm, almost too calm. “While I was tidying up, I suddenly remembered that my mother’s death anniversary is coming. I guess I got a little carried away.”

“You scared me for a second there,” Wyatt said, exhaling sharply. He pressed a hand to his chest as if trying to steady his racing heart. His tone softened, almost childlike. “When you started packing without saying anything, I thought you were leaving me.”

He nuzzled her neck, his arms tightening around her as if afraid she might slip away.

“I promised you, didn’t I?” Sloan said softly, pushing him away with gentle firmness. “As long as you don’t betray me, I’ll never leave you.”

Her voice sharpened slightly as she added, “By the way, why are you so nervous? Are you hiding something from me? Did you cheat on me?”

Wyatt’s breath hitched. His eyes widened in alarm. “Of course not! You’re the only love of my life, Sloan,” He quickly held up his hand, his voice trembling. “You have to believe me. I swear to God—if I ever betray you, may I die alone and miserable!”

Then she chuckled softly. “I’m just messing with you,” she said, her eyes glinting with quiet amusement. A soft laugh slipped past her lips. “You love me too much to betray me.”

But deep down, she knew better. Men are greedy. They want the comfort of home and the thrill of something new. Lies come so easily to them.

She wondered if, when the day finally came, he would feel even the slightest trace of regret.

Wyatt rubbed the back of his neck, his gaze darting away. “Yeah, you’re the only one I love.”

The tense moment was broken by the sound of something heavy crashing to the floor downstairs, followed by Carol’s delicate sobbing. Wyatt’s expression remained calm, but his body tensed.

“I’m going to check it,” Wyatt said baring light smile. “Please, stop crying, okay? Or you'll get your eyes swollen and you won’t look good for the wedding.” 

Sloan nodded wordlessly and he left the room. His steps were quick and slightly uneven—a subtle giveaway of his guilt.

Sloan had no intention of going downstairs to watch them play out their little drama.

But the noise from below was impossible to ignore.

First, someone shouted for a private doctor. Then, there was talk of possible amputation. It all sounded like a full-blown emergency.

Curiosity got the better of her.

When she walked downstairs, she found Carol sitting on the couch, her foot propped up on Wyatt’s lap. Her ankle had a faint bruise—barely enough to warrant a bandaid.

Yet Wyatt was handling it as if she were made of glass. He cradled her foot with both hands, gently massaging the injured spot, his face lined with worry.

Carol’s cheeks were flushed, her breath coming out in soft gasps.

An uncomfortable tension hung in the air between them, charged with an intimacy that went beyond sibling affection.

Anyone watching would’ve assumed they were lovers.

Sloan felt like the intruder—the other woman coming between them. Her gaze dropped to her arm, where faint scars trailed down her skin.

All those years ago, Wyatt had said he just wanted to know what it felt like to have a real home. So she had learned how to cook. How to keep their home clean. She had tried to make their house feel warm and inviting.

At first, Wyatt had been touched. He would bandage her cuts, kiss her wounds and tell her to be careful. But over time, his kindness faded. Eventually, he started telling her not to bother cooking because he’d be working late.

She hadn’t seen this tender side of him in a long time. 

Maybe it was her burning gaze that made Wyatt finally notice her standing there. He tensed slightly and set Carol’s foot down, his tone soft as he explained, “Sloan? Why are you come down? The doctor said massaging the ankle would help with the pain.” 

Sloan barely keeping a laugh escaping from her at how pathetic that excuse sounded. The house was full of staff. There was no reason for him to be the one tending to Carol personally.

Before she could say anything, Carol let out a breathy whimper. “Ow! Wyatt, you’re hurting me.”

Her voice was soft and pleading. Wyatt’s attention immediately shifted back to her.

Sloan’s nails dug into her palms, the sting doing nothing to dull the ache in her chest.

Carol ended up staying the night. Even though Wyatt had promised to never let anyone else into their home. But of course, how could he turn away from the delicate rose he had nurtured so carefully?

After all, Sloan was starting to feel like the outsider here.

***

Night fell.

Sloan lay in bed, unable to sleep.

Wyatt finally returned hours later, slipping into bed beside her. But just as he settled in, his phone buzzed. He sat up abruptly, shut off the ringer and checked his messages.

The glow from the screen reflected the curve of his lips. Whatever he was reading had clearly put him in a good mood.

Sloan’s eyes narrowed in the darkness.

Sensing her gaze, Wyatt tucked the phone away and leaned down to kiss her forehead.

“Sorry, Sloan. Did I wake you? Work’s been crazy. I need to head to the study to take care of some work. You’re pregnant—you should get more rest. I’ll come back to bed once I’m done.”

Sloan murmured, “Okay.”

Wyatt waited until her breathing evened out before slipping out of bed.

Once he was gone, Sloan’s eyes shot open. She followed him.

Wyatt didn’t stop at the study. He walked past it and headed to the guest room.

After a brief pause, the door creaked open. A pale hand shot out and caught the front of his tie, pulling him inside.

A flash of black lace peeked from beneath the robe as Carol wrapped her leg around his waist, her tone teasing and seductive. “What’s wrong? You don’t like this outfit? Or…” Her eyes glinted mischievously. “Would you prefer the bunny costume?”