I'd even wondered why, with the company doing so well, he still had to push himself so hard to wine and dine clients.

Now I understood. It was never about the clients. It was about Sylvia.

My friend went on. She told me Eugene had a habit of taking the stomach-soothing meals I packed for him and giving them to Sylvia.

Because Sylvia had a sensitive stomach.

And every lunch break, the two of them would hole up in the conference room together, feeding each other bite by bite.

The color drained from my face. I pressed a hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit.

My friend handed me a glass of water, her expression torn.

"Do you remember your birthday? You were planning to propose to Eugene..."

"Sylvia found out and threw a fit. So Eugene deliberately scheduled an overseas conference and took her on a business trip to cheer her up."

She pulled up Sylvia's social media and showed me.

There was Sylvia, beaming, kissing Eugene beneath the Eiffel Tower.

"I can't have you forever, but I can have you for now."

I thought about that ruined proposal. The restaurant I'd booked, the ring I'd picked out, the empty chair across from me. A bitter smile twisted my lips.

My friend looked at me, her voice sincere.

"I'm sorry, Rosie. I should have told you sooner."

"At least you two never got married. At least I didn't let you waste your whole life."

A memory surfaced unbidden. In my previous life, when I'd woken up in the hospital and seen my mangled hands, I'd wanted to throw myself out the window. Then Eugene had dropped to his knees and proposed, swearing he'd take care of me forever.

This same friend had been standing there. I remembered her expression now, the complicated look in her eyes, the way her congratulations had sounded hollow and forced.

She must have been agonizing inside.

The thought made my chest ache. I pulled her into a hug.

"Thank you for telling me."

That evening, I'd barely walked through the front door when the housekeeper told me Eugene had come by.

My father and I exchanged a look. He nodded to the housekeeper to let him in.

What I hadn't expected was that Eugene had brought Sylvia with him.

The moment he saw my father, he lowered his head, adopting a humble posture.

"Sir, I'm sorry. I don't love Rose anymore. I can't marry her."

My father let out a cold laugh.