Chapter 3

Anya's POV

I picked Julian up from the hospital the day he was discharged.

He recovered faster than I expected; he looked much better than the last time I'd seen him.

When I went to handle the discharge papers, I saw Willow standing by his bed, her eyes red-rimmed as she gently reminded him of various things.

They stood very close, their voices tender and familiar. In that moment, I felt they were the couple, and I—just a superfluous observer.

I calmly watched for a few seconds before walking over and saying, "The paperwork's done. We can go."

He finally shifted his gaze from her to my face.

Today, I was wearing a cream-colored trench coat with a black turtleneck underneath. The reflection in the mirror showed me looking thinner, and calmer, than before.

"Mm," he responded blandly, taking the duffel bag from my hand.

Willow said softly from the side, "Anya, you've worked hard these past few days. I'll leave Julian in your care."

Her tone carried a subtle, almost imperceptible declaration of ownership.

I didn't reply, just turned to Julian and said, "Let's go."

The drive home was as silent as ever.

He tried to speak several times; I could see his hesitation in the rearview mirror when he looked at me, but I didn't give him the chance. I just focused on the road ahead, my hands steady on the steering wheel.

It wasn't until the car pulled into the villa's garage that he finally spoke: "Today is our third wedding anniversary."

My hand paused.

So, today marked three years of our marriage.

"Right," I replied softly, with no extra emotion.

He seemed unsettled by my coldness, frowning slightly. He pulled a velvet box from his suit's inner pocket and held it out to me.

"A gift."

I glanced down at it. It was a brand I recognized.

His choices were always appropriate, but he'd never truly known me.

I didn't take it.

"Julian," I looked up at him, my voice flat, "we don't need to keep up these pretenses between us anymore."

He froze for a few seconds, his hand stiff in mid-air. In that moment, I clearly saw the shock on his face.

"What do you mean?" His voice deepened.

I didn't answer, just pushed open the car door and got out.

He followed me inside, his voice edged with irritation: "Anya, what exactly is wrong with you? I know you're upset that Willow was with me in the hospital, but she was just worried about me, nothing else."

My hand paused on my shoe, and I slowly looked up.

Staring at his handsome, yet increasingly unfamiliar face, I suddenly found it a little laughable.

"I'm not upset," I said. "I just think we should both be honest with ourselves. You don't have me in your heart, and I don't want to keep deceiving myself anymore."

He was stunned into silence by my words, his face instantly paling.

The air was silent for a long time before he finally said in a low voice, "Let's have dinner together tonight, to celebrate our anniversary."

I was about to refuse, but then I reconsidered. It was for the best; some things needed to be settled.

"Where?" I asked.

"A new restaurant. The ambiance is nice."

He mentioned a name.

It sounded familiar, but I couldn't recall where I'd heard it. I just nodded: "Okay."

—

In the evening, Julian changed his clothes and held a bouquet of beautifully wrapped champagne roses.

He handed me the flowers, his expression a bit stiff.

The flowers were beautiful, their scent rich. I took them, merely saying, "Thank you," in a flat tone.

Then I got into his car.

The restaurant was in the city center, brimming with lights, exquisitely decorated; clearly, the owner had excellent taste.

As soon as we arrived at the entrance, the hostess enthusiastically greeted us: "Mr. Thorne, you're here! Ms. Hayes is waiting for you inside."

In that instant, my fingers, holding the flowers, tightened slightly.

I suddenly remembered that this restaurant was a venture Willow had been preparing since returning to the country; she had posted design sketches on SnapChat.

I understood.

His so-called anniversary dinner was just an excuse to support Willow's opening.

Julian seemed to notice my unusual behavior and explained in a low voice, "It's Willow's restaurant opening today. I'm here to support her, and we can celebrate our anniversary at the same time."

—At the same time.

How ironic.

I said nothing more, just followed behind him, holding the flowers.

The restaurant was packed with guests. Willow, in a white gown, was radiant under the lights.

Seeing Julian, her eyes lit up, and she hurried over, holding up her skirt.

"Julian, you're here!" She smiled brightly, her gaze lingering on Julian, then sweeping to the bouquet in my hands, a flicker of triumph in her eyes.

Julian handed her a limited-edition gift box: "Happy opening."

"Thank you, Julian! I knew you were the best!" She smiled sweetly, then, as if just noticing me, said, "Oh, Anya's here too? Please sit down."

After sitting, I realized that the bouquet of champagne roses she held—was identical to the one in my arms.

I looked down at the flowers and let out a short, bitter laugh.

Turns out, even my "gift" was just an afterthought.

I barely ate anything during the dinner.

They chatted about topics I could never join, from childhood memories to university anecdotes, their eyes filled with familiar tenderness.

He remembered she didn't eat cilantro, was allergic to seafood, and preferred certain red wines.

But he never knew I didn't drink cold beverages and hated carrots.

I sat there, an unwanted spectator, watching them perform a play of rekindled romance.

I looked down, sending a text to my lawyer: "Please prepare the divorce papers."

Then, I stood up and said to Julian, "I'm going to the restroom."

He didn't even lift his head, just grunted.

I walked a few steps, then heard Willow's laughter: "Julian, do you remember? We used to love coming here to watch the stars—"

I didn't listen to the rest.

The bathroom water was icy cold. I splashed it on my face, trying to calm myself.

The reflection in the mirror showed a pale face, hollow eyes.

I barely recognized myself.

Was it really worth torturing myself like this for a man who didn't love me?

I took a deep breath, preparing to leave, but at the door, I saw her.

Willow leaned against the wall, arms crossed, a clear challenge in her eyes.

"Anya," she walked closer, her voice no longer gentle, "Did you know? The design for this restaurant was my university graduation project. And Julian, to give me this place, spent his entire year's flight bonus."

My heart tightened, but I still calmly asked, "So, you're bragging now?"

"Bragging?" She laughed, leaning closer, and whispered, "I'm just telling you a fact—you've occupied my place for three years. It's time to give it back."

She paused, her gaze sharp as a knife: "Do you know why he married you? Because of your father, because he felt he owed the Sterling family. He never loved you. His heart has only ever belonged to me, from beginning to end."

I had known these words for a long time, but hearing them from her mouth, the sting was deeper.

I looked at her and said coldly, "Are you done? Move."

She seemed surprised by my calmness and paused for a moment.

Just then, a wave of screams suddenly erupted from the restaurant hall.

Immediately after, a creaking sound came from above.

Both she and I looked up simultaneously.

The enormous crystal chandelier was breaking one by one—

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