When I finally left her room, I didn’t walk. I collapsed onto my bed like my bones had given up. The sobs came hard and ugly, shaking my whole body until there was nothing left inside me.
Gusion Colombo.
Billionaire. Tech empire king. Investor everyone worshipped.
Gusion used to chase me like I was the only thing that mattered. When my family sent me to Paris for business, he booked a flight the same night.
“I can’t go a whole week without you,” he’d said, standing in the hotel lobby with flowers, smiling like he’d won something.
I laughed and called him crazy.
He pulled me close and said, “Yeah. Crazy about you.”
Back then, he was warm. Possessive. Proud to be mine.
We got married fast.
Our honeymoon was Sydney. A whole month of luxury and soft mornings and nights that felt endless. He promised me forever like it was a fact, not a lie. When Nana was born, he hovered over me like I might break.
“Don’t move,” he’d say. “I’ve got everything. Just rest. I love you more than anything.”
I believed him. God help me, I really did.
Then Hanabi came home.
She’d been overseas for years studying fashion. When she returned, she was polished. Beautiful. Confident. The kind of woman people looked at twice.
Gusion noticed.
I noticed him noticing.
The way she laughed too easily around him. The way he suddenly paid attention. The way conversations stopped when I walked into the room. I told myself I was imagining it. She was my sister. He was my husband.
I didn’t want to see it.
Until one night, I walked into our bedroom and found them in my bed.
Together.
I couldn’t breathe.
“Gusion?” My voice sounded small. Weak.
Hanabi jumped up, pulling the blanket around herself. Gusion didn’t even sit up properly.
“Relax,” he said, rubbing his face like I was annoying him. “She wasn’t feeling well. She fainted. I was just helping her.”
And I let it go.
Because Nana was sleeping nearby.
Because I was tired.
Because I didn’t want my world to end.
Now I knew how stupid that was.
They didn’t just betray me once. They’d been doing it for a long time.
I lay there staring at the ceiling, my chest tight. The worst part wasn’t even the affair. It was that I still loved him.
After everything, my heart still wanted him. Still missed the man he used to be. I hated myself for it.
Then my phone rang.
Mom.
I almost didn’t answer. But some weak, broken part of me still hoped. Still wanted my mother.
“Hello?” My voice cracked.