…my lawyer.
Yup. Full suit, briefcase, and everything. I figured if Jared wanted to treat our engagement like a game, I’d treat the end of it like a contract termination—swift, cold, and with legal backup.
“Jared,” I said sweetly, “you forgot to sign one last thing before your little closure vacation.” I handed him a manila envelope.
He looked at it like it might explode.
Miranda blinked. “Is this—are you serious?”
My lawyer—God bless him—smiled politely and said, “This is a pre-marital agreement nullification and request for return of all gifted property. Since the marriage clearly won’t be happening.”
Jared stammered, “Wait, babe—it’s not what it looks like!”
“Oh really?” I tilted my head. “So Cancún with your ex just days before our wedding isn’t what it looks like? Dylan must be confused. And so am I. I thought you were going hiking.”
He looked like a melting snowman. Miranda stepped away.
“You’re blowing this out of proportion—”
“No, Jared. You blew it. I’m just here to sweep up the ashes. Have a great trip. You’re going to need it.”
Then I handed him my engagement ring, dropped it into his open palm like it weighed nothing at all, and walked away. The terminal echoed with gasps and whispers behind me.
As I left, Dylan texted:
“Girl. I had NO idea. Respect for how you handled that. Savage and classy.”
Closure vacation?
He got it.
And I got the freedom I didn’t even know I needed.