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.

Bianca's POV

Right there on my screen was Sabrina’s message: [See you soon, Mrs. Thompson.]

It felt like someone had wrapped their hand around my throat, squeezing. My chest tightened. The “designer” Tristan was bringing me to meet… was Sabrina.

When we got to the studio, a girl with electric-blue hair greeted us, eyeing me up and down with a faint, unreadable smile.

“So, you must be Mrs. Thompson?” she said, voice smooth as silk. “Mr. Thompson sure talks about you a lot.”

Tristan squeezed my hand. “Take a look around, Bianca. See if there’s anything that catches your eye.”

Then his phone rang, and he stepped away to answer it. That’s when Sabrina sidled over, her gaze settling on the sapphire necklace I’d been admiring.

“Mrs. Thompson, do you like this one? What a coincidence—Tristan loves it too.”

Then, she leaned in close and continued in a whisper, “He said he likes seeing me wear it in bed. He thinks it’s really sexy.”

I snapped my head up, catching the smug smile she wore like a crown.

She then went on, her voice dripping with mock innocence. “Do you think he really brought you here to shop, Bianca? Or was he just eager for an excuse to meet me?”

Just then, footsteps echoed behind me and Sabrina’s expression shifted like a switch. Her face was suddenly full of remorse as she started bowing and apologizing like she’d done something terrible.

Tristan walked over and wrapped an arm around my waist, looking at Sabrina in confusion. “What happened here?”

Sabrina glanced up, her eyes glistening with fake tears. “Oh, Mr. Thompson, I’m so sorry. I suggested a piece Mrs. Thompson didn’t like and ended up upsetting her.”

Tristan turned to me, his touch as soft as ever. “Bianca, if you don’t like it, we can leave. There’s no need to get stressed.”

I brushed his hand off gently. I’d had enough of their little performance. “I’m going to the restroom,” I muttered.

Cold water hit my face, and for a brief moment, I felt a spark of clarity. I stared at my tired reflection, reminding myself that in two days, I’d finally be free.

But then, I overheard Sabrina’s voice.

“Tristan, your wife gave me attitude today. How do you plan to make it up to me?”

I glanced out and saw Sabrina pressing Tristan against the wall, her fingers running up from his chest to his collarbone. Meanwhile, Tristan leaned back casually, looking down at her with that same teasing smile. He let her pull him by the tie and be planted with a soft kiss on his lips.

“Behave yourself,” he murmured. “Don’t let my wife catch on.”

Sabrina’s smile faltered, but her eyes flicked toward me, knowing I was there. She made a show of asking, “Tristan, who do you love more—me or your wife?”

Tristan just wiped the lipstick from his mouth, answering smoothly, “No one could ever take Bianca’s place in my heart.”

Sabrina’s eyes turned red, and she looked ready to walk away, but Tristan caught her hand, pulling her back into a fierce kiss.

Watching them, a searing pain shot through my stomach, dropping me to my knees against the cold tile wall. The cramps I’d thought had passed came back with a vengeance. Soon, darkness closed in around me, and then… nothing.

When I finally opened my eyes, I was back in bed at the villa. Tristan sat beside me, looking haggard, with dark circles under his eyes, his expression full of guilt.

“Bianca, why didn’t you tell me your stomach was hurting?” he murmured. “Oh, and by the way… a message came through on your phone. It said your plane ticket’s been booked.”

He gripped my hand, his voice filled with concern. “Where are you planning to go, Bianca?”

I looked out the window, watching the rain soak the leaves, and spoke slowly. “A friend wanted to take a trip. I booked the ticket for them.”

Bianca's POV

Tristan let out a sigh of relief. "So that's all it was," he said, almost like he’d dodged a bullet. "Anyway, tomorrow’s our fifth anniversary, and I’m planning to take you to the island. There’ll also be a huge fireworks display just for you."

With that, he went out to take another call. A moment later, he returned with a hurried expression and said, “Bianca, something urgent came up at the office. I have to go take care of it. But I’ll be back tomorrow to pick you up for the island!”

I knew that call wasn’t about work—it was from Sabrina.

That night, Sabrina sent me photos—intimate ones.

[Sabrina: Sorry, Bianca, but I’ve already enjoyed the island for you.]

[Sabrina: We spent the night on the very bed he had all set up for you. We went at it so many times that I’m practically falling apart.]

[Sabrina: I hope you enjoy that bed as much as we did.]

Tomorrow, I would leave.

I didn’t want to get tangled in their twisted love-hate drama anymore. So, I simply replied: [I don’t want Tristan anymore. Since you like him so much, he’s all yours.]

Then, I took off the wedding ring I’d worn for five years, cut up all our photos together, and called Tristan one last time.

He picked up quickly. “Bianca, what’s wrong? Does your stomach still ache?” I could hear a woman’s heavy breathing in the background, though it quickly faded.

Making my voice sound calm, I answered, “Tristan, I’m leaving. From now on, we’ll never meet again.”