Too Late For His Desperate Proposal

Chloe Waller POV:

The car drove aimlessly through the rain-slicked streets, the rhythmic sweep of the windshield wipers a hypnotic counterpoint to the turmoil in my heart. I couldn' t go home. Not yet. My parents would see the ravages of my unshed tears, my mother' s astute gaze would pierce right through my carefully constructed facade.

"Just… drop me at the nearest hotel," I told the driver, my voice hoarse. "I' ll get a room for the night."

He hesitated, a worried frown creasing his brow. "Are you sure, miss? Maybe you should wait…"

"I' m sure," I said, a little too sharply.

He pulled up to the curb in front of the Grand Astoria, a monolith of glass and steel that catered to the city' s elite. I paid him, mumbled a thank you, and stepped out into the cold, damp air.

As I pushed through the revolving glass doors, a wave of warmth and the faint scent of lilies washed over me. I was just about to head to the front desk when a familiar laugh stopped me cold.

There, by the check-in counter, stood Holden and Fabiola.

He was leaning against her, his arm draped casually around her shoulders as she spoke to the receptionist. He looked drunk, his usual sharp features softened by alcohol and fatigue. She was supporting his weight, her posture radiating a triumphant possessiveness.

They were checking in. Together.

They got their key card, and Fabiola looped her arm through his, guiding him toward the elevators. They were laughing, their heads close together. As they waited, Holden leaned down and pressed a lingering kiss to her lips, right there in the brightly lit lobby.

I stood frozen in the middle of the entrance, feeling like an invisible spectator at a play I never wanted to see. The air in my lungs seemed to turn to ice. I couldn't move. I couldn't breathe. My feet were rooted to the plush carpet.

"Miss? Are you alright? Do you need some help?" A concerned-looking bellboy was standing in front of me.

I opened my mouth to reply, but all that came out was a choked sob. Tears I hadn' t even realized I was holding back began to stream down my face, hot and unstoppable. The bellboy' s eyes widened in alarm.

"They… they' re staying together?" I whispered, the words tearing from my throat. I pointed a trembling finger towards the elevator, where the doors were just sliding shut on Holden and Fabiola. "In the same room?"

The young man' s expression softened with pity. He glanced at the reception screen, then back at me. "Yes, miss. A king suite on the 25th floor."

The confirmation was a final, brutal blow. The last sliver of hope, the naive belief that maybe, just maybe, he was just being a gentleman and getting her a room, shattered into a million pieces.

I stumbled back out of the hotel, my body trembling uncontrollably. The rain had intensified, plastering my hair to my face, but I barely felt the cold. I sank onto a stone planter by the curb, the rough edge digging into my thighs, and stared blankly at the blurs of headlights passing by.

Some insane, masochistic part of me refused to leave. I sat there, in the rain, a pathetic, sodden heap of misery, and I waited. I don't know what I was waiting for. For him to come back out? To tell me it was all a mistake?

I waited as the sky turned from inky black to a bruised purple, then to a soft, hazy gray.

And then I saw them.

They walked out of the hotel hand in hand, looking refreshed and ridiculously happy. Fabiola was wearing the same dress, but Holden had changed into a fresh shirt. He opened the passenger door of his car for her, then jogged around to the driver's side and slid in. The car pulled away from the curb and disappeared into the morning traffic.

The last ember of hope inside me died, leaving nothing but cold, gray ash.

I finally dragged my heavy, aching body home. The house was empty; my parents had already left for work. I collapsed onto my bed, the events of the last twenty-four hours playing on a relentless loop in my mind. Every smile, every touch, every laugh they had shared was a fresh stab of pain.

I cried until I had no tears left, and then I fell into a deep, exhausted sleep.

When I woke, the afternoon sun was streaming through my window, casting long shadows across the room. I reached for my phone, a sense of dread coiling in my stomach. My thumb hovered over Holden' s contact, then swiped to his social media page.

A new video had been posted an hour ago.

My heart stopped.

It was Fabiola, her face alight with joy, twirling in a field of wildflowers. My wildflowers. Our wildflowers. It was the secret meadow Holden and I had discovered on a hike years ago, the one he swore was "our place," a sanctuary no one else knew about.

He had taken her there. He had given her my sanctuary.

My fingers trembled as I typed a comment, my vision blurring again. Is that our spot? The words looked stark and pathetic on the screen. I deleted them. You promised you' d never take anyone else there. Deleted.

With a shaking hand, I finally managed a single, hollow sentence.

Looks beautiful. Hope you two are happy.

A reply came almost instantly. It was from Holden.

It is! Fabiola loved it. I knew you wouldn' t mind me sharing our little secret. She thought it was so romantic.

He didn' t remember. He didn' t remember the promise he' d made to me under the summer sky in that very field, his voice sincere and earnest. "This is our place, Chlo. Just for us. Forever."

Forever had turned out to be a lot shorter than I' d expected.

A strangled sob escaped my lips, and then I was crying again, a raw, guttural sound of pure agony. It felt like my heart was being physically torn from my chest.

For the next month, I was a ghost. I went to classes, I did my assignments, but I was hollowed out. I spoke in monosyllables, the effort of forming words too much to bear. My mother watched me with worried eyes.

"Chloe, honey, you' ve barely said a word all week," she said one evening, putting a comforting hand on my shoulder. "Is something wrong?"

I just shook my head, unable to speak past the lump in my throat.

Later that week, she came into my room. "I heard from Holden' s mom that he has a new girlfriend," she said gently, her voice full of understanding. And just like that, she knew. She knew the reason for my silence, for the shadows under my eyes.

The next day, she came up with a flimsy excuse about needing a specific brand of imported coffee that was only sold at a gourmet shop downtown. "I just can' t find it anywhere else, and you know how your father gets without his morning brew," she said, pressing her car keys into my hand. "Could you be a dear and go pick some up for me?"

It was a blatant attempt to get me out of the house, out of my self-imposed prison of misery. I didn' t have the energy to argue.

"Okay, Mom," I mumbled.

The gourmet shop, of course, was out of the coffee. Defeated, I was heading back to my car when I saw them again. Holden and Fabiola, walking out of the university hospital across the street.

My first instinct was to hide, but it was too late. Holden had already seen me.

"Chlo!" he called out, a wide smile on his face.

I forced myself to walk toward them, my feet feeling like lead. "Hey, Holden. Fabiola."

Fabiola offered a tight-lipped smile, her eyes cool and assessing.

"What are you guys doing here? Is everything okay?" I asked, my gaze fixed on Holden. He looked a little pale, his usual carefree demeanor replaced by a layer of anxiety.

"Oh, we' re fine," Fabiola said, her voice a little too bright. She clutched Holden' s arm tighter. "I' ve just been feeling a little… queasy lately. We came in for a check-up."

A cold dread, sharp and familiar, washed over me. I didn' t want to hear this. I didn' t want to know.

Fabiola' s hand drifted to her flat stomach, a shy, triumphant smile playing on her lips. She looked from me to Holden, her eyes sparkling.

"I' m pregnant."