By the window, Austin was sitting with Yvette. He leaned toward her, wiping the corner of her mouth with a napkin, his gaze soft, intimate, exactly like the way he used to look at me when we were crammed into that little apartment.

My chest tightened. I turned to leave, but in my haste I bumped into a man. I immediately said sorry.

He looked up. And just like that, the tenderness in his eyes turned to ice.

He stood, striding toward me. “Are you following me now?”

Before I could even breathe, he added, sharper this time, “I already told you about me and Yvette. It was business. How long do you plan on making a fool of yourself?”

I opened my mouth, but Mrs. Livingston’s voice from yesterday stabbed through me again: His marriage with Yvette was arranged long ago. He likes her too.

Marriage. Arranged. That was the truth I had once been too blind to see.

“Austin, don’t be so harsh,” Yvette said sweetly, standing to join him. “We met by chance. Why don’t we all sit together?”

Before I could refuse, she hooked her hand through his arm and guided me toward their table. I found myself sitting across from his cold glare, the air around him pressing down on me like a threat.

“What would you like, Miss Calloway?” Yvette slid the menu over with a smile. “The Spanish food here is excellent.”

I stared at the page filled with Spanish words. “I’m not hungry.”

“Then at least try the soup,” she said kindly, signaling the waiter. A steaming bowl of seafood soup was placed in front of me. “It’s very fresh.”

The smell hit me, and my stomach twisted. I was allergic. One sip would send me to the hospital.

Before I could say anything, Austin’s phone rang. He stepped aside to take the call.

Yvette leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Go ahead, taste it. Food like this probably costs more than your monthly salary back when you lived in that hole you called an apartment.”

I froze, my fingers tightening on the napkin.

She smiled, sipping her wine. “You don’t actually think you belong here, do you? Women like you don’t marry into families like his. If Austin hadn’t lost his memory, you wouldn’t even be allowed to shine his shoes, bitch.”

Heat burned my face but I lifted my chin anyway. “You can have—”

“Oh!”

She suddenly gasped and “accidentally” tipped the steaming soup over both our hands.

Pain seared my skin. I flinched hard, biting back a cry. Even though I reborn, the scenes of me being abused publicly was still happening in different scenes.

Austin returned at once, grabbing Yvette’s wrist. “What happened?”

Her voice trembled just enough to sound pitiful. “It’s nothing… I was just startled. I suppose Dahlia didn’t like seeing us together. It’s understandable…”

His eyes cut toward me, sharp as a blade. “How many times do I need to explain this? Why are you acting like this?”

My burned hand throbbed, red welts already rising. “She did it herself—”

“Enough!” his voice was like a gunshot. “I saw everything. When did you become so pathetic?”

And then, holding Yvette close, he turned his back on me.

She rested her head on his shoulder, but not before throwing me a victorious smile over his arm.

I looked down at my blistered skin, throbbing with pain. I remember three years ago, I had burned myself cooking. He rushed out in the middle of the night to buy ointment. And now? He didn’t even blink.

I smiled bitterly and went home alone.

The villa was dark and cold, just as it always was when Austin wasn’t there. I pulled the first-aid kit from the cabinet in the living room and treated my burn myself. Disinfectant stung my skin, ointment cooled it for only a moment, and the bandage pressed against the blister until it throbbed like fire ants crawling beneath my flesh.

When I finally straightened, my eyes landed on the Cielo in the corner. A grand cielo he had bought after regaining his memory, saying he would teach me how to play.

But the lid was covered in dust. He had never touched it again, never taught me a single note. Just like our marriage. Something once promised, now forgotten.

My eyes burned. I turned away quickly, heading upstairs. In the bedroom, I opened a suitcase and began to pack. Clothes, documents, bank cards. One by one, I folded my past into a single box.

Halfway through, the door opened.

Austin walked in. His jacket hung over his arm, his tie loosened at his throat. He looked powerful, dangerous, every inch the mafia heir he had once forgotten he was.

His gaze fell on the suitcase. “What are you doing?”

“Packing,” I said quietly.

He stepped closer, and the scent of cologne reached me. My stomach sank. It was the same one I had smelled on Yvette earlier today.

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. “So you’re leaving me because I had lunch with Yvette? You hurt her, Dahlia, and she didn’t even hold it against you. Yet you’re the one sulking?”

I looked up at him. His eyes were not cold, not soft, but full of something worse—irritation.

“Our families go back generations,” he said. “Her parents asked me to take care of her now that she’s back from abroad. Can’t you, for once, be more understanding?”

The word cut through me. Understanding. As if I hadn’t already given up everything for him once. As if I hadn’t already died for him.

How much more understanding did he expect from me?

“Say something!” he barked.

I stayed silent. My silence was the only shield I had left.

His grip tightened, then dropped. Anger darkened his face. “Fine. Stay stubborn. Let’s see how long you can keep this up. You have nowhere else to go. I owned half of the New York City.”

He slammed the door so hard the floor trembled.

I sat there staring at the half-filled suitcase. In my past life, I would have cried until my throat was raw. I would have run after him, begging him to choose over me... but this time, I bit my lip and kept packing.

The next morning, I came downstairs and froze.

Yvette was seated comfortably on the sofa, chatting sweetly with Mrs. Wilma Livingston. She wore a white dress, her smile radiant, her presence polished like she already belonged here.

When she saw me, her lips curved even brighter. “Miss Calloway, you’re up. My parents insisted Austin take me to the auction today. Don’t misunderstand, please.”

I glanced at Austin. He was fixing his cufflinks, expression unreadable. Not once did he look at me.

“I’m not misunderstanding,” I said softly. “What you do has nothing to do with me.”

For a moment, he paused, frowning faintly, but he said nothing.

Yvette laughed lightly. “Why don’t you come too, Miss Calloway? You’re free, aren’t you?”

Before I could refuse, she linked her hand through mine and pulled me along, her nails digging lightly into my skin as though reminding me who truly had the upper hand.

--

The auction hall glittered like a palace. Men in tailored suits, women draped in diamonds, all of them people who belonged in Austin’s world.

He sat in the front row, paddle in hand, bidding without hesitation. Each time, the items won were handed to Yvette, her smile growing brighter as she leaned close to whisper in his ear.

They looked like a pair of newlyweds. I sat on the side, invisible, like a slave.

At one point, Yvette’s voice rose, sweet as honey. “Austin babe, maybe buy something for Miss Calloway too?”

His reply was flat, dismissive. “She wouldn’t know how to use them.”

The words dropped heavy, stripping me raw.

Yvette gave me a look of satisfaction, as though she had won a battle without lifting a weapon.

My fingers brushed the glossy catalogue on my lap. He was wrong. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to use these things. It was that in his eyes, I didn’t deserve them.

No matter how much I had once meant to him, no matter how many nights I had stayed by his side, to him I was still just a girl from the slums. A woman he could discard without regret.

I sat in silence, watching Austin spend money like water on Yvette, every item handed to her as though I didn’t even exist.

Then the final piece appeared.

An ivory comb, its teeth delicately carved, the spine inlaid with gemstones that shimmered under the lights.

My breath hitched, and my hand clenched around the paddle.

It was my grandmother’s heirloom!

Three years ago, when Austin had been delivering food late into the night just to save for my birthday, he was hit by a car and nearly lost his life. The hospital bill was so high that I sold the comb, my last memory of my grandmother, just to save him. I had promised myself I would get it back one day.

But by the time I scraped together the money, it was gone. Vanished into someone else’s hands. I had searched every antique shop, begged every dealer, but it never appeared again.

Until now.

Without thinking, I lifted the paddle. “One million.”

Heads turned. Yvette looked back at me, startled, before her lips curved. She raised her own paddle. “Three million.”

“Four million,” I said.

“Ten million,” she countered smoothly, almost like she enjoyed watching me bleed.

The bids climbed, sharp as daggers. I didn’t care. I would bleed myself dry if it meant holding that comb again.

Austin’s brows furrowed. His gaze flicked between us before he finally raised his own paddle.

The gavel came down. “Sold! To Mr. Livingston.”

Applause broke out around us, hollow and mocking in my ears.

Then he turned, not to me, but to her. “You like it? It’s yours.”

My fingers went numb. The paddle slipped from my hand, clattering loudly against the marble floor.

I watched helplessly as the comb—my grandmother’s comb—was placed into Yvette’s hands. She beamed, cradling it as if it were a treasure, before gasping suddenly. “Oh no!”

The comb slipped.

I lunged forward, but it was too late.

It hit the ground and snapped cleanly in two, gemstones scattering like tiny stars across the floor. The sound of it breaking tore through me louder than the applause ever could.

My body moved on its own. I shoved Yvette aside and dropped to the floor, gathering the shattered pieces in trembling hands.

“Dahlia!”

Austin’s voice cracked like a whip, cold and sharp. He rushed to steady Yvette, shielding her behind him. “What the hell are you doing?!”

My vision blurred with tears. “What am I doing? This was my grandmother’s! You promised me… You promised that if you ever saw it again, you would buy it back for me. You don’t even remember, do you?”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Recognition. Guilt.

Then it was gone, buried under ice.

“That was years ago,” he said flatly. “How could you expect me to remember something like that? And Yvette didn’t drop it on purpose. How could you just shove her like that?”

Yvette clung to his sleeve, her eyes shimmering with tears that seemed rehearsed. “It’s my fault… I was careless.”

He turned to her, “It’s not your fault. Don’t cry.” He reached up, brushing her tears away with the gentleness he once reserved for me.

Then his gaze cut back to me, cold and unforgiving. “I’ll have it repaired. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

With that, he led her away, her hand in his, the broken comb still clutched in his other palm. He didn’t spare me a single glance.

---

Outside, rain began to fall. The sound bled through the walls, steady and merciless, washing over me like a reminder.

In my past life, this moment destroyed me.

But now, nothing.

I stood at the entrance, watching as Austin’s black Maybach pulled away with Yvette in the front seat.

The venue was far from the city. No taxis came. I waited half an hour before giving up and walking through the rain.

By the time I got home, my feet were screaming. When I peeled off my heels, the blisters had already burst, sticking to my stockings. Pain shot up my legs and dragged a hiss from my lips.

I collapsed onto the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, empty and numb.

And then I remembered.

That winter years ago, he carried me three kilometers through the rain to get me to the hospital. He had no money for a taxi, but he would not let me take a single step.

“Dahlia, hold on a little longer, we’re almost there,” he had said.

His back had been so warm that the rain felt sweet against my skin.

Now? He had a car worth hundreds of millions, yet couldn’t wait five minutes for me.

After cleaning my wounds, I buried myself in bed. Sleep was safer than thinking, because if I thought for even a second, grief would crush me.

No one knew the truth. I never wanted the heir of the Livingston family. I only wanted the man who once whispered my name in a tiny apartment, holding me close with nothing but love.

But that man disappeared the day Austin regained his memory.

Tears slipped free as I closed my eyes.

---

The next day, the sound of the bedroom door opening jolted me awake.

Austin stood there, perfect as ever in his suit. “There’s a family banquet tonight. You’re coming with me.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want him to notice I was preparing to leave. After a pause, I nodded.

Pain flared in my ankle with every step as I dressed.

Half an hour later, we arrived at the Livingston villa, its windows glowing with light.

The moment we stepped in, I saw Yvette on the sofa. She was dressed in Chanel, chatting warmly with Austin's Grandma, Mrs. Livingston. Mr. Livingston sat nearby, smiling proudly, as though looking at the family he wished he had.

“Austin is here!” Mrs. Livingston rose quickly, her face lighting up. She went straight to her grandson and took his arm. She didn’t even glance my way. “Yvette has been waiting for you.”

Austin’s eyes flicked toward me, as if expecting to catch pain on my face, or at least a crack in my mask. But I had nothing left to show him. My face stayed calm, as though none of it mattered.

Yvette turned her head with a look of surprise that I knew was fake. “Miss Calloway is here too? Please, sit. Don’t be shy.”

Only then did Mrs. Livingston spared me a glance. “Since you’re here, behave yourself! Do not embarrass my family.”

I said nothing.

At dinner, Mrs. Livingston and Yvette laughed together, trading stories about the social circle. Mr. Livingston and Austin discussed business.

Not a single word was spoken to me.

I sat quietly, eating my food, pretending to be invisible. Still, I couldn’t block out Mrs. Livingston’s barbs drifting across the table.

“Family background really matters.”

“Some girls just don’t know their place.”

“Yvette and Austin grew up together. They suit each other perfectly.”

I had heard it all before.

At the beginning, Austin would snap at her, telling her to stop. Later, he only frowned and said, “Enough, Grandma.”

Now? He didn’t even frown.

I sipped my soup, letting the warmth slide down my throat, though my chest stayed cold.

After dinner, Austin drove us back. Naturally, Yvette claimed the passenger seat, leaving me in the back like extra baggage.

The music playing was Yvette’s favorite. She and Austin chatted casually, laughing sometimes, their voices blending with the melody.

I leaned against the window, staring at the neon lights blurred by rain. Another winter came back to me. Austin, on a second-hand bicycle, pedaling through the freezing night. My arms around his waist, my frozen hands stuffed inside his coat pocket.

“Dahlia, when I have money, I’ll buy a good car. You’ll never be cold again,” he had promised.

Now he had money. But the passenger seat wasn’t mine.

The blare of a horn snapped me out of my thoughts. Headlights cut across the road. A truck swerved toward us.

CRASH!

In that split second, I saw Austin move. Not toward me. Toward Yvette. He threw his body across hers, shielding her from the impact.

I was flung forward, my forehead slamming into the windshield. Warm blood trickled down, blurring my vision.

In my past life, I had survived this.

But survival was the cruelest part, because even on the edge of life and death, Austin’s choice was clear.

He didn’t choose me.

And I heard it then. The sound of my heart breaking for the last time.