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.”