I nodded, signaling my understanding. His shoulders relaxed visibly, as if a weight had been lifted.
The applause erupted as we embraced in front of the crowd, a perfect image of a happy couple. But as his arms wrapped around me, I caught a faint, unmistakable scent lingering on his shirt—a sweet perfume that no man would wear.
A perfume that belonged to another woman.
I pulled back slightly and reached into my bag, retrieving an envelope. "I have a gift for you, too," I said with a soft smile, handing it to him.
Curiosity lit up his face as he accepted it, pressing the envelope against his chest like a cherished treasure. "Open it in fifteen days," I added, my tone light. "It’ll be a surprise."
His smile widened, his eyes sparkling with excitement. "A love letter, isn’t it? You’ve always been so romantic. I still remember how we promised in college to write each other a love letter every year, to keep the magic alive."
He sighed, his expression turning nostalgic. "It’s been ten years since we started dating. Honey, you’re amazing—you never forget the little things. I’m so lucky to have you."
I smiled and nodded, keeping up the charade.
For the past ten years, I had written him a love letter each year, just as he claimed. But they never left my drawer, gathering dust instead of memories. Now, as I thought about it, those letters deserved the same fate as my feelings—a quiet, decisive end.
The staff sighed in admiration around us, their voices full of playful envy.
“Mr. Barnes, you and your wife are the definition of true love! Ten years and still going strong!”
Another colleague chimed in, pulling a mock pout, “Please, Mr. Barnes, stop flaunting your love! It’s almost criminal how perfect you two are!”
Killian chuckled heartily, pulling me closer with an arm around my shoulders. Phones flashed as people captured our "perfect" moment, and within minutes, the photos and videos would flood social media, painting a glossy picture of the ideal couple.
Yet amidst the sea of cheerful faces, one stood out—Anastacia Harris, Killian’s assistant. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her expression carefully neutral but her eyes betraying a smoldering anger.
After the spectacle, Killian leaned close and whispered, “Let’s celebrate properly. I’ll take you to that new French restaurant everyone’s raving about.”
I nodded, maintaining my smile, and excused myself to the bathroom.