Caroline snatched my phone, scrolling through to make sure I hadn't hidden anything. Satisfied, she zipped up her suitcase and dragged it toward the door.
At the threshold, she paused.
"Harry."
Her voice softened—the nickname she hadn't used in months.
I looked up. Despite everything, a lump formed in my throat.
"People have to look out for themselves, don't they?" Her eyes held no guilt. "Don't blame me. Blame yourself. You're just... not exciting enough. Not outstanding."
With that, Caroline Henson walked out of my life.
I listened to her footsteps fade down the hallway. Light. Bouncy. She was already surging with excitement, eager to call that second-generation heir from the Manhattan elite circle she'd been bragging about.
I walked to the window and looked down.
Her best friend was waiting at the curb. Beside her, a man leaned against a luxury car—slicked-back hair, arrogant smirk.
He leaned against a car worth millions, a Rolex glinting on his wrist. Every inch of him screamed old money.
"Caroline!" her best friend called out, waving. "Congratulations on the divorce! You've finally escaped that sea of misery!"