The next day at noon, Adrian finally came home.

He was carrying a gift box in his hand, clearly something he had prepared as an apology.

"Bianca," he said, watching my expression carefully, "Viviana's condition became serious last night. I took her to the clinic."

I said nothing.

He handed me the box.

I opened it.

Inside was an elegant Van Cleef & Arpels watch. The strap was circled with diamonds, exquisite and expensive, glittering under the light.

It was beautiful.

It was also painfully familiar.

Because I remembered that not long ago, he had given Viviana a similar watch.

Mine was merely the more expensive version.

That was all.

Noticing that I did not react, Adrian's brows furrowed slightly.

"Bianca," he asked, his voice carrying a trace of unease, "are you angry?"

I closed the box and answered calmly, "No."

He seemed startled by how flat my voice was.

I continued, "Viviana is sick. You should stay with her."

Adrian looked at me for a long moment.

Perhaps he finally sensed that something was wrong.

In the past, whenever Viviana was involved, I would argue with him, cry, question him, ask why he always chose her.

But this time, I did none of that.

No accusations.

No tears.

No trembling voice.

Only peace.

After a while, he sighed in relief, as if convincing himself that everything was fine.

"I'm glad you're not angry," he said. "After all, we still have a long future ahead of us. But Viviana…"

His eyes reddened slightly.

That familiar look appeared again.

Guilt.

Pity.

Tenderness.

All for another woman.

I no longer had the patience to listen.

"Then spend more time with her," I said.

With that, I turned to leave.

But Adrian suddenly reached out and grabbed my wrist.

His grip was firm, almost desperate.

"Bianca," he said again, his voice heavier this time. "Why do I feel like you don't care anymore?"

When I lifted my eyes, my face was calm, almost empty of emotion.

"What is it?" I asked.

Adrian stared at me, a faint trace of irritation crossing his face. It was as if my indifference had offended him, though even he could not explain why.

Before he could speak, his phone rang again.

He glanced at the screen, then looked back at me. "Bianca, I have to handle some business out of town for a few days. I won't be around."

"You take care," I replied lightly.

His absence was convenient. It would give me time to visit the DeLuca estate and say my goodbyes without having to deal with him.

The next morning, I gathered the gifts I had prepared and drove to the DeLuca family residence. The iron gates opened slowly, as they always had for me, the guard nodding once before waving my car through. Ten years of coming here, and the gravel drive still smelled like boxwood and old stone.

When Sofia DeLuca heard that I was returning to Seattle, worry immediately filled her eyes.

"Bianca, what happened? Haven't you been doing well here in Boston? Why are you leaving so suddenly?"

Vincent DeLuca's reaction was far more direct. He removed his glasses and folded them with exact care, then set them on the table beside his coffee. His expression was dark with anger.

"And where is Adrian? Why didn't he come with you? Did that boy mistreat you?"

My throat tightened.

For a moment, I almost wanted to tell them everything.

I wanted to tell them that Adrian had married Viviana behind my back, in a church ceremony I was never meant to know about until it was too late.

I wanted to tell them that he had abandoned me when my heart condition flared up.

I wanted to tell them that the boy who once promised to protect me had become the person who hurt me the most.

But in the end, I swallowed it all down.

"No," I said quietly. "Nothing like that. I've just been away from home for too long. I want to go back and reconnect with my family."

Sofia still looked unconvinced. "Does Adrian know you're planning to return?"

To avoid further questions, I nodded. "Yes, he knows."

After that, they seemed to understand that I had already made up my mind. They tried to persuade me a little longer, but when they saw that I would not change my decision, they could only sigh and let it go.

After exchanging a few more words, I stood to leave.

But just as I reached the door, it suddenly opened from the outside.

Adrian stood there.

And beside him was Viviana.

Her expression was calm and composed, as if entering the DeLuca family home was the most natural thing in the world. Her fingers drifted to the base of her throat, a small, practiced gesture, before she spoke.

"Bianca," Viviana said with a smile. "What a coincidence. I didn't expect to see you here."

The way she spoke made it sound as if she were already part of the DeLuca household, while I was the outsider who had appeared uninvited.

I looked at her steadily, my voice cold and even.

"I don't need to explain to you why I'm here."

After saying that, I brushed past Adrian and headed toward the door.

The moment Adrian realized I was leaving, he quickly followed me.

"Bianca," he said urgently, "you've misunderstood. I only brought Viviana here because I wanted my parents to help her find a better doctor. Someone with the right connections."

He paused, then added in a tone that sounded almost reasonable, "Besides, she's your best friend too. You're not upset, are you?"

I stopped for a brief moment.

His words drifted past my ears, but what rose in my mind was another scene entirely.

Years ago, when Adrian was eighteen, he had stood beneath the cherry tree in the DeLuca estate garden and told me that marrying me was his lifelong dream.

He had said he would bring me home one day and introduce me to his parents as his future wife. That the families would bless it. That it was always meant to be us.

Back then, I had believed him so completely.

But now, he had brought another woman to meet the DeLuca family while lying to me that he was away on business.

How ridiculous.

How painfully ridiculous.

Adrian looked at me, waiting for my answer.

I met his gaze and said calmly, "Why would I care? I've never been the type to hold grudges."

People who no longer mattered were not worth my anger.

Adrian froze for a second.

"Bianca," he asked slowly, "do you really not care at all?"

I almost laughed.

He truly was impossible to satisfy.

When he and Viviana acted intimate in front of me, he accused me of being petty and narrow-minded.

Now that I no longer cared, he still seemed displeased.

I had no desire to explain myself.

Without warning, Adrian leaned down and kissed my forehead lightly.

"Be good," he said softly. "Wait for me at home."

The elevator doors closed between us.

The moment he disappeared from sight, I raised my hand and wiped my forehead hard.

That gentle gesture, which once might have made my heart flutter, now only made me feel sick.

On our tenth anniversary, Adrian had also used a so-called business trip as an excuse to avoid me.

That night, Viviana sent me a video call request.

When I answered, the first thing I heard was music, laughter, and the lively noise of a wedding celebration.

At first, I did not understand.

Then the camera shifted.

I saw the flowers. The guests. The altar with its crucifix and white candles.

And finally, I saw Adrian standing beside Viviana.

Only then did the truth crash down on me.

It was their wedding. A church-sanctioned union, with Family witnesses, with vows spoken before God and the old men of the neighborhood. Not a civil formality. A real marriage.

Three months earlier, Viviana had posted about her terminal diagnosis on social media. Her caption had read, "Before I die, I want a wedding with the person I love most."

At the time, I had not noticed anything strange between her and Adrian. I had even left a comment asking who that person was.

She had replied, "You'll know when the time comes."

So that was what she meant.

The realization was like a blade twisting deep into my chest. The pain was so sharp that I could barely breathe.

I called Adrian again and again, desperate to ask him why.

Why did he agree?

Why did he hide it from me?

Why did he let me watch the man I loved marry my best friend through a screen?

But that night, he did not answer a single call.

Not one.

I cried until my vision blurred, until my chest ached, until my body finally gave out and I fainted.

And while I lay unconscious, Adrian was spending his wedding night with Viviana.

Thankfully, it would all be over soon.

After I returned home, Viviana called me again.

"Bianca," she said softly, "I'm really sorry. I honestly didn't expect to run into you today."

I let out a cold, bitter laugh.

I said nothing.

Viviana took a slow breath. When she spoke again, her voice was filled with envy, but also with a faint, unmistakable provocation.

"Sofia is such a wonderful person. She was so gentle and caring toward me," she said. "They even promised they would do everything they could to find the best doctor for me. Vincent said he'd make some calls personally."

She paused, then lowered her voice.

"Bianca, why couldn't it be me marrying into the DeLuca family?"

I stared ahead, my expression unmoving.

Of course it could be her.

If she had the ability to take that place, then she could have it.

"Well then," I replied coolly, "let me wish you two a happy marriage in advance."

Then I hung up.

For a moment, I was tempted to block her number completely. Maybe then she would stop calling me just to flaunt how thoroughly she had invaded my life.

But just as I was about to do it, my finger slipped, and I accidentally opened her social media feed.

The next second, my entire body went cold.

Viviana had stolen my commission sketch.

And she had submitted it to a competition under her own name.

That sketch was not just any design. It was the piece I had created as a birthday gift for Adrian, a hand-drawn original that had taken me weeks of late nights at the atelier.

My hands trembled with anger.

There was only one explanation.

Adrian had given it to her behind my back.

I forced myself to breathe. Again and again, I tried to calm the violent pounding in my chest. My thumb pressed hard against the inside of my sleeve, worrying the fabric until the stitching bit into skin.

Then I took out my copyright certificate, logged onto the competition website, and filed a plagiarism report against Viviana's entry.

After everything was submitted, Gia called.

She was my atelier partner, and her voice was full of confusion the moment the call connected.

"Bianca, what's going on? Why are you suddenly pulling your money out?"

Gia had always been a mutual friend of mine and Viviana's, but unlike me, she had never liked Viviana much.

This time, I did not hide anything from her.

I told her everything.

The secret wedding.

Adrian's lies.

Viviana stealing my design.

And the fact that I was leaving soon to get married.

By the time I finished, Gia was furious.

"This Viviana is unbelievable!" she snapped. "Using her illness as an excuse to steal someone else's man? How shameless can she be?"

Then she added angrily, "I'm telling you, she's probably faking it!"

"I'm so angry right now. I'm going to call her later and tear her apart."

Hearing her defend me so fiercely, I felt a faint warmth spread through my chest.

But I only sighed.

"Forget it," I said. "It's not worth it. My wedding is happening soon. I just want to move on."

The words had barely left my mouth when I heard footsteps behind me.

Then Adrian's voice rang out, cold and sharp.

"Wedding?"

He stood there, staring at me.

"What wedding?"

I ended the call and turned around.

Adrian was standing not far behind me.

For some reason, there was a faint trace of nervousness in his eyes, as if he had heard something he was not supposed to hear.

A thought suddenly flashed through my mind.

I looked at him and said casually, "I just heard some gossip."

Adrian's gaze tightened slightly.

I continued, my tone light, as if I were only talking about someone else's story. "A man secretly married another woman behind his girlfriend's back. My friend said he was pathetic. His girlfriend had always believed she was the one he loved most."

The moment I finished speaking, Adrian's expression changed.

To my surprise, he reacted almost instantly, his voice rising with rare agitation.

"What does your friend know? How can she judge him like that?"

He frowned, as if he were defending himself rather than some stranger.

"What if that wedding was only to fulfill the final wish of someone who was terminally ill? What if there was nothing else behind it?"

I stared at him quietly.

So that was how he saw it.

A secret wedding. Church papers signed behind my back. Ten years of love trampled into dust.

And in his eyes, it was nothing more than a noble act of kindness.

Suddenly, I found it all absurd.

So absurd that I almost wanted to laugh.

Ten years.

I had spent ten whole years loving him, waiting for him, believing in him.

And in the end, all of it was worth less than Viviana's so-called final wish.

Perhaps Adrian sensed the shift in my mood. His expression softened, and he stepped forward, pulling me tightly into his arms.

"Bianca," he murmured, his voice low and anxious, "what's been going on with you lately?"

His arms tightened around me.

"We've been together for so many years. Don't you know how much I love you?"

Love.

That word sounded so ridiculous coming from his mouth.

He continued, almost coaxing me, "Once Viviana's situation is settled, we'll get married, okay?"

As he spoke, his hand slowly slid toward the hem of my shirt.