Chapter 4: The Guest Who Was Never Family

That’s right—you’re Lily’s father’s guest.

The moment the staff member finished speaking, Graham came over.

He didn’t look at the sticker on my chest or my expression. He just touched my arm and guided me toward a middle-aged man holding a champagne glass.

“Nora, come meet Howard. He’s on the school board.”

Howard smiled and shook my hand.

“Pleasure to meet you. Are you family of Lily’s as well?”

Graham paused.

Just for a second.

“This is Nora, my…”

His gaze flicked toward Sloane and Lily in the distance, as if crossing out an inappropriate title at the last second.

“One of my guests.”

A guest of mine.

The exact words written on the sticker on my chest.

Something slammed shut inside me, and for a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

Four years of engagement, a ring, countless family schedules and wedding checklists—and to him, I was nothing but a guest.

Howard looked briefly confused but recovered quickly enough to remain polite.

“Well, welcome. I hope you enjoy the evening.”

“Thank you.”

My voice was steadier than I expected.

Graham seemed satisfied with my cooperation. He patted my arm.

“The auction’s about to start. Feel free to look around. I need to get back to Lily.”

Then he walked toward them.

Sloane was adjusting Lily’s volunteer badge while Graham bent to hear something she said, and all three of them laughed.

The photographer called out to them.

“The Mercer family, right here.”

No one corrected him.

Graham stood on Lily’s left, Sloane on her right. When the flash went off, they leaned into each other with practiced ease, just as they must have countless times before.

I didn’t walk over. I didn’t remind him I was the woman he was supposed to marry.

There was no point.

I placed the bidding paddle back on the table where I’d found it and turned to leave the hall.

From check-in to exit: twenty minutes.

Graham didn’t text to ask where I had gone.

I drove to his house and let myself in with my temporary access code.

The smart lock chimed in the entryway.

“Temporary Guest Nora Bell has entered.”

Every time I’d heard that before, I told myself that after the wedding, it would say *Resident*.

Now, as I slipped off my coat, I thought for the first time that the announcement was accurate. Almost considerate.

I dragged the twenty-eight-inch suitcase out of the storage room and set it on the guest-room carpet.

A narrow section on the far right of the closet belonged to me.

Three shirts. Two pairs of slacks. One navy dress I wore to family events. Not because I didn’t need more, but because Graham had said there was no need to move too many things in before the wedding—Lily might not adjust well.

I folded the clothes and packed them.

In the bathroom, my toothbrush sat in a disposable cup. My face wash, moisturizer, and a small bottle of makeup remover were tucked into a clear toiletry bag in the corner, always ready to be carried away.

There was a half-finished novel in the nightstand.

There was no space for me on the bookshelf, so I never left behind the books I finished.

There was no mug in the kitchen that was mine, no pair of slippers for me in the entryway, no document in the study with my name on it.

Everywhere in this house, there were traces of Sloane.

The curtains she had chosen. The plates she had bought for Lily. The old photo albums she and Graham had organized together.

And I had been coming and going for four years without a single mug of my own.

I opened every drawer where I might have left something and checked the guest room and bathroom one last time.

Ten minutes later, the inventory was complete.

A few changes of clothes, one set of skincare, two books, and a spare charging cable.

That was everything I owned in this so-called future home.

It didn’t even fill half the suitcase.

I stood before the open case as the final, tight ache in my chest slowly dissolved.

So leaving wasn’t hard after all.

Graham had never really let me move in. That meant I didn’t have to struggle to move out.

I closed the suitcase and zipped it shut.

In the place that was supposed to be my home, everything I owned couldn’t fill a single twenty-eight-inch suitcase.