"Are you unwell?" His voice dropped to something resembling tenderness. "I'm sorry. I know I've neglected you lately. Once things settle down, we'll take new photographs together. We'll make up for everything we've lost—double it, even."
Once, those words might have softened me. But since that night in the emergency ward—when I'd realized he'd forgotten my severe allergies for the sake of another woman—I could no longer pretend. I wanted nothing more than to sever every thread that still bound me to him.
He finally loosened his grip, and I pulled away firmly. "No apologies necessary. But if you truly wish to make amends, perhaps you could arrange a proper birthday celebration for me."
My cream allergy had stolen every birthday from me for as long as I could remember. But since I would be leaving soon, I wanted at least one celebration—one final memory with him before I walked away forever.
My simple request seemed to catch him off guard. He nodded, but before he could elaborate, his phone pierced the silence. He glanced at the screen, and his expression shifted—urgent, eager.
"It's business. An emergency at the club." He was already backing away. "Don't wait up for me tonight. I promise I'll make it up to you."
By the time he finished speaking, he was already several meters away, disappearing into the shadows of the estate.
I knew that ringtone. It was Celina Vitale's—her personal summons. But I didn't call out his lie. What would be the point?
The next morning, workers arrived to prepare the party venue. Among them was Celina herself, claiming she'd come to oversee the arrangements since she had designed the layout.
By evening, I understood the truth: the decorations were nothing more than a stripped-down version of her own birthday celebration from months prior.
After the workers departed, she approached with measured steps, a satisfied smile playing at her lips.
"Everyone worked so hard today." She tilted her head, studying my face. "What do you think? Does it suit your taste?"
My gaze drifted to her throat, where a familiar pendant caught the light—one of mine, reported missing weeks ago. My eyes narrowed.
"Second-hand goods for a second-hand woman," I said coolly. "It suits you perfectly."