After a long silence, Harrison tested the waters. "Sibyl, you really sold the house? How could you bear to let it go?"

It was true. That house was the first place we'd bought on our own after Harrison broke away from the Gilbert family.

It wasn't big, but I'd thrown my arms around him that day, giddy with promise. "This is our first real home. I'll treasure it forever."

When I said it, neither of us imagined that forever came with an expiration date—one so short that I sold the place just two years after going abroad.

"So where are you living now?"

I gave him an address. It was in Stoneridge's most exclusive gated community. Another beat of silence from Harrison.

"Sibyl, sounds like you've been doing well these past few years. Made a lot of money?"

"No, I came back in a rush. I'm just staying there temporarily—a friend's letting me crash."

He let out a long breath of relief.

Of course. He had money and connections. How could the years apart have possibly treated me better than life at his side?

Still, I was looking forward to seeing whether he'd breathe quite so easily once he found out who owned that house.

We'd agreed to meet at the street-food stand outside our old high school—the one I'd suggested visiting several times the year we split up, the one he'd never taken me to again.

"Greasy smoke and cheap food. Sibyl, do you honestly think those grimy tables deserve to share space with my suit? I lost interest in you a long time ago. There's no point in some sentimental trip down memory lane."

The day after he said that, Gloria sent me a photo.

At that very same stand, a man and a woman sat pressed together. The man didn't seem to mind at all when the oil from the skewers in the woman's hand smeared across his crisp white shirt.

That was the moment it finally clicked. When he said not good enough, he'd meant me.

The stand looked exactly the same as it always had. Harrison sat at one of the low tables, his blue delivery uniform blending right in with the surroundings.

What didn't blend in was the cluster of well-dressed young men gathered around him.

I recognized every single face.

They were saying the same kind of things they'd always said—dripping with contempt.

Back then, it had been aimed at me. Now it was aimed at Harrison.

"Your filthy hands just touched my jacket. For old times' sake, I'll cut you a deal—half a million should cover it."

"Come on, that's nothing, right? Used to be what you'd drop on a single bottle of wine."

Brent Delgado, once Harrison's closest friend, propped his foot on the low table, though his eyes kept drifting toward the direction I was coming from.

Someone else stepped forward. "Mr. Delgado, maybe let it go? Like you said, that was the old days. Forget half a million—the guy probably has to deliver food for half a day just to scrape together fifty bucks."

Snickers rippled through the group. "Look at him. This pathetic? Give him five bucks and he'd probably run an errand for you."

Brent waved the owner over and ordered a twelve-pack of beer.

"Finish every last one, and I'll let you off the hook."

Harrison picked up a bottle, humiliation etched across his face.

I slowed my pace until I was barely moving at all.

By the time he drained the second bottle, I was still standing several yards away.

He couldn't hold back any longer. He turned to look at me.

"Sibyl, I'm sorry you had to see this."

Whether it was good acting or the cheap beer burning its way down, his eyes glistened with what looked like tears of shame.

I didn't answer. Instead, I walked straight up to the table, grabbed a bottle, and poured it over Harrison's head.

Then the next one. Then the next. I didn't stop until every bottle in the twelve-pack was empty.

Harrison gaped at me, mouth open, unable to process what had just happened. The others stood frozen, not sure how to react.

I looked at Brent and smiled. "You did say that if someone can't drink it, pouring it over their head counts just the same."

The first time Harrison brought me to meet his circle, Brent had looked me up and down with undisguised scorn. "You turned down every arranged match from every powerful family for her? She's nothing special."

At that gathering, the whole group had gone out of their way to make my life miserable.

For Harrison's sake, I endured it the entire evening.

Near the end, Brent Delgado pushed a full glass of red wine toward me and insisted I drink it. I explained that I wasn't feeling well.

He just gave me that half-smile of his and said what he said.

I finally reached my limit. I grabbed my clutch and stormed out.

Harrison didn't stroll in until the early hours of the morning. His tone was casual, almost bored.

"Half the people in that room were angling for a marriage alliance with the Gilbert family. Because of you, none of them got their chance. A little pushback is expected. You should put in more effort, get along with them. Once you're officially Mrs. Gilbert, these relationships will matter."

I never attended another one of their gatherings. It was a long time before I found out that at every single one after that, Harrison had a woman on his arm.

"You chose not to go. Am I supposed to sit there alone?" he shot back when I confronted him with photos of him cozied up to another woman.

And just like that, in places I couldn't see, he had his first new companion. His first embrace and kiss with someone else. His first time crossing the line.

When I caught him in the act, Brent walked out of the hotel room next door.

"All you ever do is cause a scene. You're out of your mind. Everything my buddy went through for you wasn't even worth it."

I looked him dead in the eye. "Mr. Delgado, you wouldn't go back on your word, would you?"

That snapped him out of his shock at seeing Harrison drenched in beer.

"What is wrong with you?" He raised his hand to strike.

I sidestepped. Crack. The slap landed square on Harrison's cheek, and half his face swelled up instantly.

"Wait, man, I didn't mean to. I was trying to hit—" Brent scrambled to explain.

"Hurt me all you want. Don't touch Sibyl." Harrison's eyes were dark, half anger, half warning.

Brent understood. He gathered his people and turned to leave.

I snatched an empty bottle off the table and aimed it at the back of Brent's skull.

Harrison grabbed me. "Sibyl, hold on, they're—"

Before he could finish, a scream tore through the street.

By the time Harrison came to, Brent and his crew were gone.

They said they'd arranged a hospital room for Harrison out of respect for their former friendship.

A top trauma surgeon. The best medications available. The look of genuine regret on their faces as they left—I pretended not to notice any of it.

In the hospital room, Harrison's expression was grim. "Sibyl, you never used to get physical. When did you become so impulsive? You—"

"I'm sorry. Thinking about how they used to humiliate me, I just snapped." My face betrayed nothing.

Whatever else Harrison had been about to say died in his throat. His expression shifted several times before he finally swallowed his frustration. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "I wasn't blaming you. They have money and power, and I'm bankrupt now. I'm just worried I can't protect you anymore."

"But maybe this isn't all bad. At least I still got the chance to take a hit for you. At least I got to see you worry about me." He reached for my hand. "Sibyl, will you stay with me these next few days? Can I have your home-cooked meals again?"

Under the weight of all that desperate hope in his eyes, I nodded.

I found a restaurant near the hospital and paid the owner a sum of money, then walked him through the recipe step by step.

"Miss, is this actually edible?" The restaurant owner stared into the pot, skepticism written across his face. "Do you even know how to cook?"

"Just follow my instructions," I replied with a quiet laugh.

How could I not know how to cook?

During those years after I left the Gilbert household, Harrison and I had worked around the clock, chasing one deal after another through an endless parade of business dinners.

Later, Willow Gilbert said I hadn't taken proper care of Harrison during those years, that I was the reason he developed stomach problems.

Since the Gilbert family had accepted me, I was expected to become a proper Mrs. Gilbert.

Harrison said he'd always envied those couples who came home to a warm meal prepared by someone who loved them.

So I poured most of my time into learning to cook nutritious meals and devoted myself entirely to taking care of his daily life.

That was exactly when Gloria was brought into the company under the pretense of sharing my workload.

Step by step, she took over my position and stole the man I loved.

I carried the food the restaurant owner had prepared back to the hospital room. Harrison's eyes lit up, and he opened the containers eagerly.

"All these years, I've thought about your cooking more times than I can count. No one understands my palate the way you do. Sibyl, I—"

He took the first bite and his brow furrowed tight. He clamped down on his lip and barely managed to swallow. His gaze slid to me, suspicious. "Sibyl, did you even taste this yourself?"

"Why? Is it bad? It's been a long time since I've cooked. If it's not to your liking, just toss it. I'll order you something else." I picked up the container and started toward the door, but Harrison grabbed my arm.

"No, it's... it's good." He steeled himself and shoveled another large bite into his mouth.

Half reassuring me, half reassuring his own stomach, he said, "Your skills were always excellent. A little more practice and it'll all come back."

"I don't think so. Ever since that time I brought you lunch at the office, I haven't been able to get the flavors right. So I just stopped trying."

The moment the words left my mouth, Harrison's chopsticks froze mid-air. He remembered.

There had been a time when I hadn't completely given up on him. I'd foolishly believed that warmth and love could pull him back on track.

So after learning he'd drunk too much at a dinner the night before, I spent the next morning carefully preparing a stomach-soothing meal and brought it to the office.

But outside his door, I heard the unmistakable sounds of muffled moaning.

I stormed in and demanded to know why he still refused to show any restraint, why he insisted on making it everyone's business.

He couldn't have cared less. "We didn't exactly send you an invitation. If you don't want to see it, stay home where you belong. Keep making scenes and I'll start reconsidering whether you even deserve the title of Mrs. Gilbert."

I stood rooted to the spot, staring at him in disbelief.

He scoffed, took the meal container from my hands, opened it, and set it down in front of Gloria's dog.

The dog sniffed it once, then turned away and curled up on his desk.

"See? Even the dog won't touch your cooking."

After that day, I continued having the restaurant owner prepare three meals a day to my specifications.

I brought them to the hospital room, and Harrison ate every last bite without leaving a single grain of rice. He never said another word about the taste.

During the day, Harrison kept up the act with me, pretending to be broke. At night, he listened to his assistant's work reports.

Days passed, and the exhaustion became impossible to hide.

I knew Gilbert Corp was fighting for the Northgate project. Only if that deal went through could Harrison secure his footing on the board.

More than once, I caught him secretly handling work on his phone, only to shove it out of sight the moment he noticed me watching.

I said nothing. I simply carved out more time to stay by his side.

He took my presence as a sign that I was softening, and bragged to his friends. "Sibyl's still head over heels for me. So what if she finds out the truth someday? I put a billion-dollar project on the back burner just to win her back. She'll only fall harder."

"A little suffering now is nothing. I'm getting the project and the girl."

Soon enough, the day of his discharge arrived. After the paperwork was done, Harrison led me to the hospital rooftop with a secretive grin.

The entire space was blanketed in expensive flowers. Balloons and ribbons drifted through the air, shimmering like fireworks against the sky.

A crowd of elegantly dressed guests stood chatting and laughing together. The moment they spotted us, every head turned at once.