Breaking The Thorns Apart Chapter 2

Cameron’s face darkened, a muscle feathering in his jaw.

“Who the hell do you think you’re talking to, Claire? Don't forget whose apartment you're living in. Don't forget who pays for the roof over your head...”

I wanted to scream. I wanted to remind him that for seven years, we split every grocery bill down the middle. Even after I quit my job, I survived off my own dwindled savings.

But before the words could leave my throat, the oven timer chimed. A sharp, cheerful ding.

I didn't have the energy to argue anymore. I turned my back to him, slipped on my oven mitts, and pulled out the cake.

Cameron watched my rigid posture for a moment. His brow furrowed, and his aggressive stance softened slightly.

“Is today… your birthday?”

My thirtieth birthday.

And our seven-year anniversary.

I had been on my feet all day, baking this cake from scratch, meticulously piping the frosting, just wanting to celebrate a quiet milestone with the man I thought I’d spend my life with.

A flash of genuine guilt crossed his face. He walked over to the drawer, dug out a box of candles, and began placing them into the vanilla buttercream.

“Work has been brutal lately. I’ll make it up to you,” he said, his voice dropping into that smooth, persuasive cadence he used to close deals. “Tomorrow afternoon, I’ll take you to Cartier. We’ll pick out a new ring. A bigger diamond.”

He pulled out a barstool and sat across from me, the charming executive once again.

“Claire, you have to stop competing with Mia. Yes, we had a fling when we were kids. But it’s been years. I moved on a long time ago.”

Did he really?

My mind flashed back to our first year together. I had brought him lunch at his frat house, standing just outside the cracked bedroom door, listening to his brothers ask him why he was settling down with me.

“Because she’s not Mia,” he had said, his voice terrifyingly casual. “If it’s not Mia, it doesn’t matter who it is.”

Back then, I was young and arrogant enough to believe my devotion could rewrite his heart. I thought love was a sheer force of will.

Looking back, it was a slow-motion car crash. I had to unbuckle my seatbelt and jump before the whole thing went up in flames.

“Don't bother with the ring,” I said quietly. “Focus on your work. I’ll handle myself.”

Cameron froze for a split second. But after years of my capitulation, he simply interpreted my exhaustion as submission. He thought I was swallowing my pride again. A satisfied smile played on his lips as he struck a match and lit the candles.

“Make a wish,” he whispered.

Every year prior, my wish had been the same: Let Cameron and I be happy. Let us last forever.

This time, I closed my eyes and stared into the dark.

I want to be happy. And I want to get as far away from Cameron Davis as humanly possible.

I opened my eyes, drawing in a breath to blow out the flames.

But the stool across from me was empty.

The cake I had spent six hours perfecting was shoved halfway off the counter, smushed into the marble. He had left in such a rush he had knocked it over and hadn’t even bothered to close the front door.

I numbly grabbed a roll of paper towels, wiping the sticky frosting off the floor. When I finished, I checked my phone.

Mia had just posted a new update.

“I’m such a klutz! Stubbed my toe on the dresser. Thank god my knight in shining armor is always just a sprint away to rescue me.”

In the comments, Cameron—the man who had ignored my calls when I was rear-ended on the freeway last year—had written:

“Whatever you need. Just say the word.”

I hit the little heart icon, liking the post.

A second later, a text from Cameron lit up my screen.