Elise's POV
Carter decided to stay at my apartment for the remainder of his visit—an arrangement that made perfect, logical sense but still left my chest tight with unease. The place was small, barely enough for me, and having him here was like watching two pieces from different puzzles trying to fit together. Everything looked right on the outside, but something underneath didn't quite click anymore.
That morning, the sound of sizzling butter drifted into my bedroom. I stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around myself, and stopped for a moment—listening to the faint rustle of utensils, the clatter of pans, and the quiet hum of someone humming an old tune.
For a second, it felt normal, peaceful even.
As the steam fogged the bathroom mirror, my gaze caught the faint glimmer of the engagement ring resting on the table by the sink. I stared at it for a bit longer than I should've before slipping it back on.
[Flashback]
Five years ago, the first time I met Carter Lewis, he had been nothing like what I expected.
He was standing at a fundraising gala for a local orphanage, a polished teenager with a sharp suit and a quiet confidence that screamed old money. And maybe out of pride—or stubbornness—I assumed he was just another privileged man who thought showing up at charity events meant doing his part for the less fortunate.
He'd caught me glaring, of course. Later, he teased me about it.
"You looked like you wanted me exiled for owning cufflinks," he'd said, laughing.
But as weeks turned into months and conversations stretched beyond small talk, the version of Carter I'd built in my head fell apart.
He wasn't arrogant. He wasn't spoiled.
I remembered the day I first saw him sitting cross-legged on the orphanage floor, holding a paintbrush with a child's hand wrapped around his. He didn't flinch when the little boy accidentally dripped blue paint over his white polo shirt. He just smiled.
He cooked meals when the staff was short-handed, carried laundry baskets twice his size, pushed wheelbarrows full of soil for the new garden. No cameras, no pretense—just quiet sincerity.
"Not every gold spoon is hollow," he'd joked when I apologized for misjudging him.
And maybe that was the moment I fell for him.
[Present]
I stepped out of the bathroom, towel still around my shoulders, and there he was—standing by the stove, humming softly as he flipped pancakes. His hair was slightly messy, sleeves rolled up, and sunlight from the kitchen window hit him just right, painting him in a faint, golden glow.
"Morning," he said without turning around.
"You're up earlier than I thought."
"I was going to make breakfast," I replied, suppressing a smile. "You beat me to it."
He glanced over his shoulder, eyes warm. "You've done enough already. You should rest. You barely stopped working yesterday."
I rolled my eyes playfully and disappeared into the room to get dressed. "You always say that," I called out.
As I opened the closet, I noticed his luggage tucked neatly by the corner. Without thinking, I knelt to pull it open, planning to fold his clothes into the drawers.
Before I could even touch the first shirt, I heard quick footsteps behind me.
"Elise."
I turned, startled, as Carter stood at the doorway, eyes wide but teasing. "I knew you were doing something like this."
"Doing what?" I asked, laughing a little.
He walked over and closed the luggage again, his voice filled with gentle mock scolding. "You can't help yourself, can you? I told you to rest, not play housekeeper."
I raised my hands in mock surrender. "Fine, fine. I'll stop."
He gave me that disarming grin again, the one that made it hard not to smile back. "Good. Now, out of this room. I'm nearly done with breakfast."
"Alright, Chef Carter," I teased, standing up and leaving the room.
He followed behind me, guiding me toward the dining table, and—like he always did—pulled a chair out for me. "Sit down please."
"Yes, sir."
A few minutes later, he emerged from the kitchen carrying two plates piled with chocolate pancakes. My favorite. Warm steam rose from them, filling the small space with the sweet scent of cocoa and syrup.
I couldn't help the smile tugging at my lips. "You remembered."
"Of course I did," he said, setting the plates down. "You told me chocolate pancakes are your comfort food."
"They still are," I said softly.
He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "Then I got it right."
I looked at him for a moment too long, feeling warmth in my chest—and guilt blooming right beside it.
We started eating, the quiet clatter of forks our only conversation for a while. Then, halfway through breakfast, Carter set his fork down with that thoughtful expression he always had when he was about to bring up something serious.
"Elise," he began.
"Mhm?"
"Mom called last night," he said. "She wanted to talk about… our wedding."
My fork hesitated in midair. "Our—right."
He nodded, smiling faintly, as if picturing it all. "She's excited. Maybe too excited. She's already looking at venues, saying we should start dress fittings next month. She really wants to pick your gown with you."
I stayed quiet for a moment, pretending to chew while my stomach knotted itself into cold, sick loops.
Carter continued, oblivious to the turmoil brewing beneath my calm expression. "I told her we'd start planning once the semester ends. It's only a few more months now, right? You graduate, and then we finally get married."
He reached over, brushing his thumb gently against the back of my hand. "It feels like it's all coming together."
My lips curved into a small smile. "Yeah… it does."
But even as the words left my mouth, my throat felt tight. I couldn't taste the food anymore. The chocolate sweetness turned bitter.
"Makes you happy too, right?" Carter asked, glancing at me. "You've been waiting for this as long as I have."
I looked at him—and for a moment, I wanted to say yes and mean it. Because there was a time I did. There was a time I couldn't wait to become Mrs. Carter Lewis, to build a quiet life with the man who once showed me that kindness could exist in privilege.
But that time felt like a distant photograph now—something framed, perfect… and faded.
So I nodded, keeping my smile steady. "Of course. Once summer's over and we're back in the city, we'll start for real."
He smiled, satisfied, leaning back in his chair. "That's my girl."
We went back to eating. The syrup dripped down the edge of my plate, his voice half filled the silence as he spoke about caterers and invitations.
I nodded, smiled, laughed in all the right places.
But inside, all I could see was Mason's face—the way he looked at me the day before, his eyes burning like they could see right through the lies I was living.
And as Carter reached for my hand again, calling my name softly, I realized I had completely lost my appetite.