The cold wind slapped against her face, but she felt nothing. She walked through the corridors she had once crossed beside Ryan countless times. And then, outside the gates of his private garden—a place no outsider ever entered—she froze.
The gates stood open. A red carpet bisected the courtyard, white floral arrangements flanking its edges. In the center, Ryan stood in a black tuxedo so perfectly cut it seemed to belong in a portrait. Beside him, Rowena adjusted his collar with a graceful smile, her wedding dress glimmering like a sheet of new snow.
“Ryan, she’s useless now. Don’t you think it’s the time to get rid of her?” Her voice carried across the garden.
Ryan lowered his head slightly, allowing her hands to adjust his collar. His profile was soft, patient, gentle—expressions Scarlett had never once seen on his face.
“Of course,” he said quietly. “Thank you for everything, Rowena.”
Sunlight spilled over them, setting the scene alight with a beauty so precise it felt cruel. Scarlett’s knees trembled. The revelation landed like a hammer: his affection for her had always been transactional. His marriage to Rowena was not resigned. It was chosen, intimate and real in a way Scarlett had never been.
She clutched the iron-gate until her knuckles whitened. Every doubt and struggle she had nursed shattered in that single perfect tableau. She had imagined bursting through, confronting him, collapsing into sobs. Instead, she was nailed to the spot—frozen, breathless, stripped of the ability even to scream.
Tristan’s words had been true. Ryan didn’t want her. Or maybe, he had never wanted her at all. The memory of the water prison clawed at her—the choking darkness, the cold, her faith in him the only thing that had kept her afloat.
Now, that faith seemed pathetic. The world drained of color, reduced to a washed-out gray. Her hearing faded into a high, shrill ringing.
She remembered the night before the mission when, curled against his knee, she’d asked in a voice so small she thought he wouldn’t hear, “Will you marry me someday?”
She had thought he wouldn’t hear. Or if he did, he’d laugh it off. Instead, he had stroked her hair, his tone quiet but certain. “I will.”
Now, that vow was nothing but a lie. She didn’t believe he had reasons. Just as he never believed she hadn’t betrayed him.