Bianca's POV

To make me happy, Tristan Thompson spent a fortune buying an island and named it after me—Bianca Skinner, declaring to the world that I was the woman he loved the most.

But on our fifth anniversary, when he walked into the bedroom, beaming, he found my wedding ring sitting alone on the table, alongside a torn-in-a-half photo of us.

Tristan panicked, and he used every means to search for me, but I had vanished without a trace.

Three years later, Tristan went to Germany for a business project and caught sight of me.

With teary eyes and a wounded look, he pulled me into his arms. "Bianca... Why did you leave me?"

——

"Miss Skinner, your ticket to Germany is booked. Are you sure you want to activate your new identity?" came a soft voice over the phone. Once activated, my identity would vanish completely—no more Bianca Skinner in this world.

Even so, I didn’t hesitate and replied, "Yes, please."

I then closed my eyes and felt a tear slip down my cheek. Just one more week, and I’d finally be free of the title "Mrs. Thompson."

After the call ended, my eyes drifted to the TV, where an interview with Tristan was playing. The host, holding a microphone, leaned toward him. "Mr. Thompson, as someone we look up to, could you share your plans for the future?"

Tristan, sharp as ever in a sleek suit, his hair neatly combed and gold-rimmed glasses adding to his polished look, took the mic and faced the camera. "I actually bought an island for my fifth wedding anniversary with my wife," he said, his smile proud and genuine. "I’d like to invite everyone to celebrate with us to witness our love."

The host, young and wide-eyed, looked a bit taken aback. "Mr. Thompson, you look so young. I can’t believe you’re already married."

Tristan laughed, touching the diamond ring on his finger. "Yeah, we married right after college. We actually grew up together, and now we'll grow old together as well."

The host beamed, admiration written all over her face. "You two must have a wonderful relationship."

Tristan glanced at his watch and gave a little smile. "Well, I think that’s all for today. My wife’s favorite little cakes will be ready in ten minutes, and I need to get home to her."

The interview went viral, with #TristanThompsonEndsInterviewEarlyToBuyHisWifeCakes shooting straight to the top. Social media was abuzz with comments.

[Commentator 1: I heard he really dotes on her. Her stomach’s sensitive, so he gets up early every day to make her breakfast.]

[Commentator 2: It’s like a real-life romance novel! Just so sweet.]

I watched Tristan’s smile on the screen, and old memories came rushing back.

Tristan had always been a wild one—chasing danger, racing cars, picking fights. But somehow, he’d always listened to me. When he turned twenty, he finally confessed, saying he wanted forever with me.

I’d been in love with him since we were just kids. Back then, all I had to do was look up to catch that spark in his eyes. So when he finally confessed, I threw my arms around him, nearly bursting. "Tristan, I love you so, so much," I’d whispered.

Then I added, "But if you ever fell out of love with me, tell me. I can live with that. Just don't cheat on me. Because if you do so, I’ll make sure to disappear so well that no one will ever find me."

Before I’d finished, he’d kissed me, silencing every doubt.

But… if only things had stayed like that.

If only I hadn’t found those videos on Tristan’s phone. Maybe we’d still be the couple everyone admired.

Bianca's POV

Lost in my thoughts, I heard the door open. When I turned my gaze there, I saw Tristan walking into the living room with a box of cakes in his hand. Seeing me, he grinned, set the box down in front of me, and leaned over to place a gentle kiss on my forehead.

“It’s your favorite cake,” he said, his voice warm. “Try it and see if it tastes good.”

He picked up a piece and placed it right in my hand, waiting expectantly.

I took a small bite, but before I even tasted the cake, something hard brushed against my teeth. I pulled back, surprised, and there it was—a bright Mexican fire opal pendant tucked inside. Its colors danced in the light, all fiery reds and oranges, and I couldn’t help but stare.

“Do you like it?” Tristan asked, his voice close to my ear.

I blinked, forcing a smile. “It’s beautiful. Where did it come from?”

Without missing a beat, he replied, “Picked it up at an auction. Thought the colors would look perfect on you.” He brushed my hair back gently, reaching around to clasp the opal around my neck.

Everything he did was so perfect, so tender, just like he’d always been. But still, something in my gut twisted.

“Why the sudden gift?” I asked, trying to keep my tone light.

He chuckled. “Do I really need a reason to surprise my wife with something nice?”

I reached up, fingers brushing over the opal as I recalled a certain video where Sabrina Sowle, bare and vulnerable, wearing it while… crawling beneath him.

A wave of disgust rose in my throat and I couldn’t hold it back. I pushed Tristan away, ran to the bathroom, and started puking.

Tristan was right behind me, looking worried. “Bianca, what’s wrong? Are you sick?”

I took a deep breath, steeling myself. “I’m fine. Must’ve eaten something bad.”

Tristan wanted to say more, but his phone suddenly rang, making us turn our heads to it.

Despite the distance, I managed to catch a glimpse of the caller's name — Sab.

While Tristan's gaze was still on his phone, I reached up, unclasped the necklace, and flushed it down the toilet, letting it swirl away along with the remnants of my nausea.

Returning his eyes to me, he insisted, "I'll call the doctor right away."

I shook my head, trying to keep calm. “No need for that. It’s nothing serious.”

But Tristan wouldn’t take no for an answer. Soon enough, the doctor was there, and Tristan hovered by my side the whole time, making sure I was comfortable, fussing over me with lukewarm water and blankets.

“It’s my fault,” he said quietly. “I’ve been too busy with work. Once this project’s done, I’ll make it up to you. Promise.”

I forced a smile. “Alright.”

Even though an hour had passed, his phone still kept on ringing.

With a sigh, he looked at me apologetically. “Seems like there’s a problem at the office. I’ll be right back.”

He left the room and closed the door behind him.

Unbeknownst to him, I could hear everything they were talking about as I linked every app on his phone to mine.

Sabrina’s voice, low and playful, slipped through like poison.

“Tristan, you hear that?” Her voice purred. “I’m playing with the gift you gave me…”

It was then followed by a soft, mechanical buzzing on the other end and Sabrina's gasp. “Mmm, so good…”

Tristan then murmured seductively, “Be good. Turn on the video so I can watch.”

Sabrina’s laugh drifted over. “You’re so naughty, Tristan. What if your wife finds out?”

He paused, and then his tone turned cold. “I’ll make sure she never does. And if you try anything, don’t blame me for what happens.”

My hands started shaking.

The man who claimed to love me most was out there in our garden, talking about forbidden things with another woman.

If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, if I hadn’t heard it with my own ears, I might’ve never believed that Tristan would cheat on me one day.

Bianca's POV

Somehow, I hadn’t noticed when the call had ended. When I looked down at the screen on my phone, I found Sabrina had sent a selfie, dressed up in lace lingerie—but then, in a flash, she unsent it.

Just then, Tristan walked back in with the doctor. When he saw me crying, he rushed over, grabbing my hand with concern. “Bianca, what’s wrong? Did I do something to make you sad?”

His voice was full of worry, his gaze soft and concerned. For a split second, I felt confused—like maybe the call from Sabrina, all those words I’d heard, had just been a dream. But there it was, staring back at me from my call history: proof it had all been real.

So, I just shook my head and let the doctor do his check-up, scribbling notes and eventually prescribing something for “anxiety.”

That night, Tristan turned off his phone, staying close as if he feared I might break down if he looked away. He tried to comfort me with plans for our fifth wedding anniversary, explaining he’d bought an island and even named it after me. “We’ll go there soon and spend some real time together,” he promised.

But when he reached out to touch me, I instinctively flinched back. Tristan’s face fell, his expression like a child caught in the wrong.

“Bianca, what’s wrong?” he asked, his voice small. “If I did something to upset you, you can yell at me, hit me if you have to… just don’t shut me out.”

My heart felt hollow. What good would yelling or hitting do? Yet looking into those sincere eyes of his, I found myself wanting to believe him. Just this once.

I took a deep breath. “A friend told me something today… She’d been married five years when her husband suddenly cheated on her, and she didn’t know how to cope.” I paused, studying his face. “Tristan, if you ever get tired of me, please, just…”

But he cut me off, his words quick and firm. “Bianca, don’t talk like that. I would give you my life—how could I ever betray you? Don’t let your mind wander like that anymore, okay?”

Seeing how confidently Tristan spoke, I suddenly remembered a time when we were at a restaurant and a fire broke out. He’d pushed me out of harm’s way without a second thought. I’d cried and scolded him for putting himself in danger, but he’d held me close and whispered, “Bianca, if only one of us can make it out, I want that person to be you.”

Here was the same man willing to risk his life for me, yet he couldn’t stay faithful. Ironic, wasn’t it? Deep down, I knew this relationship was already on borrowed time.

The next morning, he burst into the room, balancing trays of breakfast food

“Bianca, I got your favorites—chicken noodle soup, egg sandwich, and spring roll. Take your pick!”

I glanced at the food and then frowned when I caught the smell of perfume. I had a bit of a sensitive nose and usually didn’t wear perfume. But now, there was a sweet, cloying scent on Tristan.

As he prepared the food in front of me, I suddenly felt lost.

How could someone look so loving and yet be so unfaithful?

“Bianca, how about I take you to a jewelry exhibit later?” he offered, smiling. “I know you’ll love it—the designer has a real talent. You might find a few pieces that catch your eye.”

I wasn’t very interested, but Tristan had already gathered everything I’d for the outing. Seeing how enthusiastic he was, I didn’t want to dampen his spirits and just nodded along.

But as I got settled in the car, my phone buzzed. A message from Sabrina popped up on my screen.