Chapter 3

Claire loved pasta, so I always prepared different kinds for her.

Her voice held a hint of reprimand.

But to me, it sounded as though I were her servant, expected to wait on her every moment of every day.

When I didn’t answer, Claire began to lose her temper.

“What are you doing? You’re just an ordinary employee. Do you have any idea how many people would love to take care of me? Do you really think you’re good enough? And you still aren’t satisfied?”

“You should get over here, kneel down, take off my shoes, and make me some soup!”

“You had a great time today, didn’t you?”

I ignored her questions and deliberately turned my attention to Ethan, wanting to see how she would react.

Sure enough, a flicker of barely concealed shyness crossed her face. Then she said openly,

“Yes. The party was fun. Everyone welcomed me back, and Ethan is so good at making people happy.”

“Do you think he’s better than me?”

I finally couldn’t hold it in anymore. I asked the question that had been circling in my mind for so long.

I didn’t believe that everything during those three years had been nothing but manipulation.

Claire froze. She clearly hadn’t expected me to ask so directly.

After a moment of silence, she frowned.

“What do you mean, Alex? Ethan and I have been close since the beginning of my career. We grew up together. How could the two of you even be compared?”

“He’s a public figure, just like me. You’re only a nobody. You don’t belong on the same stage. If you insist on comparing yourself to him, you’re just humiliating yourself.”

My heart sank.

It felt as though something heavy had struck me, leaving me unable to breathe.

After everything I had done for her, all I received was a declaration that we were incomparable.

Something between us had disappeared.

Maybe it was the trust we once gave each other without hesitation. Maybe it was the courage to sacrifice everything for one another.

I didn’t say anything else. I silently turned and walked into the kitchen.

Let me make her pasta one last time.

I opened the refrigerator and began preparing the ingredients.

The process was familiar and automatic, like gathering fragments from my memories and piecing together everything we had once shared.

Tears slipped down my face without warning. They fell into the steaming pasta, adding a faint, undetectable saltiness.

Then Ethan walked into the kitchen.

He was wearing an expensive new suit and carrying the refined scent of designer cologne. Yet he deliberately acted casual and carefree.

“Well, look at Chef Alex,” he said mockingly. “Making Claire another bowl of your special comfort food. Tell me, do you think she actually likes it?”

I didn’t answer. I stayed focused on what I was doing.

But Ethan refused to stop.