Hearing her response, Ivan breathed a sigh of relief. He stepped forward, pulling Alyssa into a tight embrace, resting his head on her shoulder.

“Let’s keep it, okay? These are the records of our love. If you don’t have time to manage it, I can find someone to take care of the account for you.”

“Just think—when we’re old, sitting by the lake, looking back at these memories, it’ll make us so happy.”

He was still weaving dreams of their future together, completely unaware that he had already destroyed it with his own hands.

Alyssa mocked him silently in her heart, mentally marking this as the fifth betrayal. Outwardly, she nodded in agreement, knowing that if she didn’t, Ivan would become suspicious. All she could do now was pray he would use up all eight of his chances quickly so she could finally walk away.

Breaking free from his embrace, she sneezed lightly and feigned curiosity.

“Where did you go just now? Why is there such a chill clinging to you?”

Ivan immediately looked aggrieved, like a puppy seeking comfort. He sighed.

“There was an urgent issue at the office, so I had to go out and handle it. It’s such a pity—I didn’t get to hold my baby while sleeping tonight.”

“But you’re my top priority. The moment I received your message, I dropped everything and rushed back. Nothing is more important than you.”

His affectionate words flowed effortlessly, accompanied by an Oscar-worthy performance. No wonder he had fooled her for so many years.

In the days that followed, Ivan took her casual remark about being “busy” to heart. He personally handled all the arrangements for their upcoming wedding. When the wedding planners came to discuss details at their home, he suggested various ideas that catered to her preferences—everything from the color scheme of the venue and nighttime fireworks to the type of flowers and even the texture of the carpet to ensure it wouldn’t trip her up.

Alyssa occasionally came downstairs to observe, only to be swept into his arms, fussed over, and fed fruit. The wedding planning team often cast her envious glances, commenting, “President McCartney and Miss Saunders share such a beautiful relationship. His love for her is written all over his face.”

“Miss Saunders, you’re so lucky. Men like President McCartney—handsome, wealthy, and devoted—are rare. He’ll surely make a great father someday, too.”

Hearing this, Ivan furrowed his brows, a hint of disapproval in his expression.

“You’ve got it wrong. I’m the lucky one—lucky that Alyssa chose me.”

“As for children, that’s entirely up to her. She’s afraid of pain, and I would never force her.”

A wave of flattery followed his words, but no one noticed Alyssa’s indifferent expression throughout, as if she were merely an outsider.

After sitting with them for a while, she found the noise unbearable and quietly retreated to her room.

An hour later, Ivan entered the room, wrapping his arms around her and acting spoiled.

“Aly, there’s a friend’s birthday party tonight. Will you come with me? I want to introduce you to the people in my circle.”

Alyssa had never liked such occasions. Even after years with Ivan, she still felt out of place among his social circle.

Just as she was about to decline, Ivan nuzzled into her embrace, his eyes shimmering with faux tears.

“Please, Aly. Everyone else will be bringing their partners. If I go alone, I’ll look so pitiful.”

The words she was about to say caught in her throat. After a moment’s hesitation, she reminded herself that she hadn’t left him entirely yet. For now, she still had to keep up appearances.

Seeing her nod in agreement, Ivan’s face lit up with joy. He waved his hand, and a professional styling team filed into the room.

Gorgeous, expensive jewelry and designer outfits dazzled her. Alyssa didn’t resist, allowing the team to work on her. Occasionally, she nodded to indicate her approval, though her interest was minimal.

When they arrived at the party, hand in hand, all eyes turned to them.

There was no denying that Ivan had never skimped on money when it came to her. If she cared only about wealth, she could easily turn a blind eye to everything that had happened recently. But she didn’t. What she sought was love and affection.

Ivan held her hand as he greeted various guests. Whenever someone asked about her identity, he would answer without hesitation, “My beloved, Alyssa Saunders. Also, my fiancée.”

He was attentive to her every move. When people offered her drinks, he would intercept them. “She doesn’t drink. I’ll take her place.”

He was meticulous to the point that even when she shifted her foot slightly, he noticed immediately, his voice full of concern, “Are your heels uncomfortable?”

Without waiting for her reply, he carried her to a sofa, removed her shoes, and began massaging her feet. He seemed oblivious to how such a gesture might appear, given his status.

Jealous glances were cast their way from all around, but Alyssa felt nothing but unease.

To everyone else, his actions screamed love and devotion. But only she knew the truth—he had changed. That knowledge felt stifling.

Pulling her feet away, Alyssa said lightly, “I’m fine now. Go ahead and talk to them. I’ll just sit here for a while.”

Ivan hesitated but eventually relented under her insistence. While he engaged a group of business associates in conversation, his eyes frequently darted back to her, as if afraid she might vanish if left unattended.

Just as he was finishing, a woman stepped into his path, holding a glass of wine. “President McCartney, I’d like to propose a toast.”

Her posture was deliberate, accentuating her curvaceous figure. But Ivan’s expression remained cold as he declined her offer.

Alyssa observed the scene from afar, feeling a pang she couldn’t quite describe.

So, he could say no. Then why couldn’t he say no to Monica?

The thought puzzled her, and she decided it wasn’t worth pondering anymore.

Some guests, seeing her sitting alone, approached her, attempting to strike up a conversation. She responded perfunctorily at first, but as more people came, her patience waned.

Rising from her seat without a word, she headed for the exit.

Ivan, who had been keeping an eye on her the entire time, caught up quickly. “Are you tired, Aly? Let me take you home.”

“No need. You stay and handle your business. I can manage on my own,” Alyssa replied, trying to withdraw her hand from his grasp. But his grip remained firm.

“The driver didn’t come with us. I can’t let you go back alone. I’ll take you.” His tone left no room for argument, so she didn’t press further and silently got into the passenger seat.

They had only driven halfway when his phone began to ring incessantly. He glanced at the screen and rejected the call. But the caller was persistent, trying again and again.

By the tenth call, Ivan shot her a quick glance, then answered, this time holding the phone to his ear without enabling the speaker.

The sharp sound of brakes suddenly filled the air as he pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Alyssa watched his expression shift from calm to alarmed, a rare sight for her. Curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he replied, feigning nonchalance. “It’s just Peter. He’s upset I left early and is threatening to end our friendship if I don’t go back.”

Peter was the birthday host for tonight’s event.

Though Ivan’s words seemed plausible, his uneasy expression told another story. Alyssa suspected this had less to do with Peter and more to do with Monica.

Ignoring his protests, she got out of the car and shut the door behind her.

“Go back. Don’t let this ruin your friendships. I’ll be fine on my own.”

After so many years together, how could she not recognize that his heart was tipping further away from her?

Without sparing him another glance, Alyssa walked away. Her shoes rubbed painfully against her heels, but she didn’t stop, counting silently in her head.

This was the sixth time.

It wasn’t until Ivan drove away that Alyssa found a random spot to sit down. She repeatedly refreshed Monica’s social media feed.

For a moment, she despised herself—spying on someone else’s happiness like a voyeur. Happiness that should have been hers.

Fifteen minutes later, a new post appeared: a photo of Ivan holding Monica. This time, her face wasn’t even obscured—clearly, Monica didn’t care to hide anymore.

Then came the next photo, and with it, the reason for Monica’s boldness became clear.

She was pregnant.

Alyssa’s face went pale. She zoomed in on the ultrasound picture, repeatedly confirming the details. Tears fell onto her phone screen as she let out a suppressed, anguished cry, her pain echoing in the night.

She didn’t know how long she sat there. Barefoot, she trudged back home, her soles scraped and bleeding from the gravel, but she felt no pain.

What physical pain could compare to the ache in her heart?

Back home, she carefully recorded the sixth and seventh betrayals in her diary. Closing the book, she decided—it was time to start packing.

Ivan didn’t return until the next morning, carrying a box of her favorite pastries.

“Aly, I drank too much with them last night. I didn’t want to disturb your rest, so I stayed at Peter’s place,” he lied without batting an eyelid.

“Peter messaged you late last night. Did you see it?”

Alyssa nodded without exposing his lie. If he chose to hide the truth, she wasn’t going to be the one to spoil his pretense. She just hoped that when all the lies unraveled, he’d be able to withstand the fallout.

Taking a bite of the pastry, the familiar taste filled her mouth, but it felt bland and empty. Placing it back down, she forced a bitter smile. What she loved had never been the pastries—it was the person who brought them to her.

“Aly, why are you packing?”

Turning around, she saw Ivan standing behind her, his expression cold and his eyes sharp, as if he could see right through her.

Avoiding his gaze, she replied calmly, “We’re getting married soon. This is our marital home. It needs some organizing, and the things we don’t need should be thrown away.”

Including the people who no longer mattered.

Hearing this, Ivan visibly relaxed and pulled her into his arms. “Let the housekeepers take care of it. If you hurt yourself, I’ll feel heartbroken.”

Alyssa wriggled free from his embrace, smiling faintly at him. “Then you have a lot of things to feel sorry for.”

Her smile unsettled him—it looked cheerful, but there was no joy in it. Ivan instinctively reached for her hand, but before he could, his phone rang.

Glancing at the screen, he rushed to answer, stepping toward the window. Alyssa stared at his back for a long moment, lost in thought.

Ivan would never know that last night, she had received not only Peter’s text covering for him but also Monica’s barrage of taunting messages—an outright attempt to oust her.

The messages were bold and cutting.

[Alyssa, how long do you plan to pretend you don’t know and marry a man who doesn’t love you anymore?]

[You’ve seen it. I’m carrying Ivan’s child. That gives me a trump card you don’t have. What makes you think you can compete with me?]

[If I were you, I’d pack up, take the money, and leave. Otherwise, when this all blows up, you’ll end up with nothing.]

Those messages had weighed heavily on her heart since the moment she read them. It was only this morning that she felt the burden begin to lift.

She had foolishly thought Ivan might come back and propose ending things with her. But now, it seemed Monica wasn’t as important to him as she thought.

A short while later, Ivan returned to the room. He gently patted the top of her head, the gesture almost comforting, as if trying to soothe her.