Chapter 20: The Proposal Was Never What I Thought

I sat down slowly.

The envelope trembled in my hands.

“What was the reason?” I asked.

The woman across from me looked uncomfortable.

“I don't know everything. But I know what happened nine years ago.”

Nine years.

The same year Noah and I started dating.

The same year I thought he had finally realized he loved me.

She slid the first page toward me.

It was a printed message.

Noah's name was at the top.

The recipient was someone saved only as Marcus.

The message was short.

“If I marry Rowan, her inheritance becomes part of the family eventually. Diane says she's the easiest person to convince.”

I stopped breathing.

I read it again.

Then again.

My hands went numb.

“Inheritance?”

The woman nodded.

“Your grandmother's estate.”

I stared at her.

My grandmother had died when I was twenty.

She had left me a small investment account, a house that was later sold, and several valuable pieces of jewelry.

I had never thought of myself as wealthy.

I had simply assumed my grandmother wanted me to have something that would give me security.

The woman continued.

“Your mother knew about the estate before Noah proposed.”

My throat tightened.

“How much did my grandmother leave me?”

She hesitated.

“More than you were told.”

The café suddenly felt too warm.

“How much?”

“Enough that someone who knew about it would see you differently.”

I looked back at the papers.

For years, I had believed Noah fell in love with me when we were young.

Maybe I had been wrong.

...

There were more messages.

Some were from Noah.

Some were from Diane.

One message from my mother made my chest ache.

“Rowan trusts him completely. If he keeps her happy, she'll never question where the money goes.”

I covered my mouth.

The woman watched me silently.

“When did you find these?” I asked.

“After your grandmother's estate was settled.”

“Why didn't you tell me then?”

“Because I was afraid.”

“Of them?”

She nodded.

“They were very good at making people disappear from their lives.”

I looked down at another message.

This one was from Noah.

“I'll make sure she doesn't get suspicious. She already thinks I'm serious about her.”

My vision blurred.

I remembered our first date.

Our first kiss.

The night he told me I was the only woman he could ever imagine marrying.

How many of those moments had been real?

...

“There's one more thing,” the woman said.

She pulled out a photograph.

It showed Noah standing beside Diane outside a law office.

The date was printed on the back.

Two days before his proposal.

I stared at the photograph.

“What were they doing there?”

“Discussing your grandmother's trust.”

My heart sank.

“Why?”

“Because there was a condition.”

I looked up.

“What condition?”

“The money couldn't be transferred or accessed by anyone else unless you voluntarily gave them control.”

Everything suddenly clicked.

The financial forms.

The joint accounts.

The pressure to marry quickly.

The constant insistence that what was mine was really ours.

They hadn't simply wanted my money.

They had wanted control over it.

...

I left the café with the envelope tucked inside my bag.

Outside, the Arizona sunlight felt almost painfully bright.

I stood on the sidewalk and took a long breath.

For the first time, I wasn't mourning my relationship with Noah.

I was mourning the version of my life I had believed existed.

My phone rang.

My lawyer.

I answered.

“Rowan, where are you?”

“I'm outside.”

“You need to come back to the office.”

“Why?”

“We received a letter from the trustee handling your grandmother's estate.”

My heart skipped.

“What does it say?”

“Apparently, there's an additional trust account you were never informed about.”

I went completely still.

“How much?”

My lawyer paused.

“Enough to explain everything.”

...

An hour later, I sat across from her again.

She placed a document in front of me.

“Your grandmother created this trust shortly before she died.”

I scanned the first page.

My name was there.

The beneficiary was me.

The trustee was an independent financial institution.

And beneath that was the amount.

I stared at the number.

It was far beyond anything I had imagined.

My grandmother hadn't left me a fortune I could casually spend.

She had built me a future.

A future Noah and my mother had spent years trying to get their hands on.

I looked at my lawyer.

“Can they touch it?”

She shook her head.

“Not unless you authorize it.”

I let out a slow breath.

“Then they never will.”

My lawyer gave me a small smile.

“That's exactly what I wanted to hear.”

...

That evening, Noah called from an unknown number.

I answered only because I wanted to hear what he would say.

“Rowan?”

His voice sounded broken.

“How did you get this number?”

“Please don't hang up.”

I said nothing.

“I know you've seen the documents.”

“Which ones?”

Silence.

“The money? The insurance? The messages?” I asked.

His breathing changed.

“I can explain.”

“Then explain.”

He didn't speak.

I waited.

Finally, he whispered, “I did love you.”

I closed my eyes.

“But?”

“At first, your family made me believe marrying you would solve everything.”

“Everything for whom?”

He didn't answer.

“Noah.”

My voice was quiet.

“Did you propose because you loved me, or because of my grandmother's money?”

The silence lasted so long that I already knew the answer.

“Both,” he finally said.

Something inside me broke.

Not because I still wanted him.

Because I finally understood that the person I had loved had never loved me in the same way.

“Goodbye, Noah.”

“Rowan, wait—”

I ended the call.

Then I blocked the number.

This time, I didn't cry.

I simply opened my laptop and began making a list.

Every account.

Every document.

Every person who had ever been given access to my life.

I was going to take everything back.

And this time, nobody was going to stop me.