The word echoed in my head, hollow and cruel. But I remembered. I remembered everything. The way he had looked at her. The things he had said when he thought I wasn’t listening. The first time I heard him say, “Anyone’s fine to be my mate. As long as I can forget Selene.”

I had convinced myself it didn’t matter. That love, real love, could overcome anything. But now, sitting across from him, I felt the weight of every mistake I’d made.

“No need,” I said, my voice cold and distant. “You go ahead. I’ll handle things myself.”

Tristan blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this version of me. The one who didn’t beg or bend. But years of playing the perfect, submissive mate had dulled his instincts. He smiled, thinking I’d forgiven him.

“Make a wish,” he said, lighting the candles.

I stared at the flickering flames. Every year, I wished for the same thing: love, happiness, a future with Tristan.

This time, I closed my eyes and whispered, I want freedom. I want peace. I want to be free from him.

When I opened my eyes, Tristan was gone. The candles still burned, the cake untouched. I glanced toward the door, where the sound of it slamming shut still echoed. He hadn’t even bothered to close it properly.

I pulled the cake and threw it on the floor. All was ruined. Three hours of my effort was wasted out of anger. Just like the three years I had spent with him.

I calmed myself and picked up my phone. Numb. I should be numb. I was about to call my best friend when a notification popped up from my socmed app: [Selene highlighted a post for you.]

I curiousy checked it. Selene posted: [I’m such a clumsy girl! Bumped into the cabinet again. But my hero is here to help me.]

Below it, Tristan had commented: [I’ll always be here for you, Selene.]

I stared at the screen, the words blurring through my tears. Always there for her. Not me. Not the woman he had promised to love.

A message buzzed in:

Tristan: Selene hurt her foot. Taking her to the hospital. Clean up her place and bring soup. No ginger.

I gripped the phone tighter, my knuckles turning white. It all made sense now. The way he exploded every time I used ginger in our meals. Not because he hated it, but because she did. Selene did.

I wanted to scream, to throw the phone against the wall. But I couldn’t. Years of conditioning kept me in place. I grabbed my coat and headed to my car.