He Chose Wrong I Chose Better (Irene and Ewing) novel Chapter 7

Over the next few days, Ewing acted as if nothing had happened.

He became even more attentive, checking in on me constantly—asking about my work, my daily hassles, even bringing up topics he used to hate, like my favorite pop stars, new makeup, or the overly sweet romance novels I read.

His sudden warmth left me more exhausted than ever.

I started working late—sometimes all night—sleeping at the law firm just to avoid him.

Honestly, I wanted to tell Ewing:

You don't have to do this.

I really do want to leave you.

No one walks away from a relationship on a whim. All those nights I cried in silence, feeling lost and helpless, holding myself together while you didn't notice a thing—those tears chipped away at me, little by little. It's like a crack in a dam, slowly widening from the inside; all you ever saw was the flood when I finally broke.

For the next month, I did everything I could to avoid Ewing.

He waited for me outside work countless times, always with that quiet, sincere voice.

Even when I was cold and distant.

Even when I gently told him we needed space.

We both knew there was no going back, that what we had was over, that I couldn't fix it and he couldn't either. But Ewing simply couldn't face the consequences he must have known were possible from the start.

He refused to accept that I didn't love him anymore.

Rain or shine, he'd be there waiting.

One day, I took on a mountain of extra work just to stay busy.

A coworker brought me some takeout.

She looked out the window. "It's pouring. Your guy's downstairs again. I told him to come inside, but he said he didn't dare."

My heart skipped. I grabbed an umbrella and hurried outside.

The rain was relentless.

Ewing stood there, soaked to the bone, like a wilted flower.

I dragged him inside.

"Are you crazy?" I snapped, ignoring the security guard's raised eyebrow as I handed Ewing a towel.

His face lit up. "Irene, you still care about me."

Seeing that victorious spark in his eyes, I froze mid-motion.

"Wait till the rain lets up. Then head home," I said flatly.

He looked stunned, his voice trembling. "What happened with Magnolia was my fault. I swear, nothing really—"

At the mention of her name, shame washed over me. I tossed the towel at him. "I don't want to hear your excuses. If you want to punish yourself, go ahead."

He hadn't expected me to be so harsh. His face darkened.

"What will it take for you to forgive me? We're engaged, Irene."

"All this over something so small?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

Something small?

After everything, he still thought it was nothing? Still thought I was petty? That he was the one making all the sacrifices?

Realizing what he'd said, he rushed to apologize.

"Sorry, I just don't get it. Nothing even happened with her—why are things falling apart?"

A lost, bewildered look flickered across his face.

Maybe he truly didn't understand. He thought he'd swallowed his pride, so why was I so determined to walk away?

Had he ever really considered my side?

Did I not have male friends? Didn't my girlfriends invite me out to clubs, to ogle male dancers? Didn't I ever feel lonely, desperate for someone to care for me?

Of course I did.

But I never went out alone with other guys. I never forgot, even for a second, what it meant to be someone's partner. If my laptop broke, I'd pay a tech to fix it—I'd never use it as an excuse to get close to another man. I was spoken for.

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