“You’ve been too preoccupied with work—or whatever it is you’ve been doing with her. I didn’t want to bother you with something as insignificant as this,” I said, letting the words land.
He took another step forward, voice softening, attempting to draw me back into the orbit I had once inhabited. “I know I’ve neglected you. I realize that now. But we can fix this, can’t we? We could rebuild the album, start over. Another set of memories—better ones, if you let me.”
There was a time I would’ve let those words melt me, would’ve let them pull me in like a tide I couldn’t resist. But that was years ago. I had seen the way he looked at Camila, smelled the faint trace of her perfume clinging to his shirts. My heart was no longer an option.
“Sure,” I said flatly. “If you really want to make amends, start by throwing me a proper birthday party. One that doesn’t come with a side of allergies and neglect.”
His eyes flickered, caught off guard by the specificity of the request. For years, my birthdays had been forgotten or compromised because of dietary restrictions and his endless work. He had always been too busy to make them special.
A pause. Then a nod. “All right. Whatever you want,” he said, his tone hesitant, almost uncertain.
Before he could continue, his phone buzzed. The distinctive chime that I had learned to recognize immediately went off—a notification meant only for her. He glanced at it, expression tightening as the screen lit up. “It’s something urgent. I’ll handle it and be back soon. Don’t wait up.”
The lie was so blatant I almost laughed. “Go ahead,” I said, dismissively waving him off. “I’ve gotten used to it.”
He lingered for a beat, as if debating whether to argue, then turned and walked out, leaving me alone with the fading embers of our shared past.
The next morning, the mansion buzzed with activity. Party planners moved about with clipboards, arranging flowers, tables, and decorations in ways that made my stomach twist. By midday, the truth became painfully clear: the setup was almost identical to Camila’s lavish birthday from two months prior.
And then she appeared. Every step of hers screamed control. A sleek red dress hugged her figure, her artificially sweet fragrance drifting across the room and pricking my nerves.