Alban did not come home for several days. Instead, Davina checked in from time to time with messages, photos, and short videos.

Some showed Alban from behind as he cooked in her kitchen. Others captured him at the piano, playing for her alone. A few clips showed him tidying her apartment, sleeves rolled up, movements patient and familiar.

Davina sent them for one reason only: to ensure Eliza understood how deeply he loved her and how completely he indulged her.

On ordinary days, the images stirred nothing in Eliza. She felt no anger, no jealousy. They barely caused a ripple.

But on Kyran's birthday, the photos struck differently.

When Kyran was alive, he had treated her the same way, gently and attentively, as if she were something precious he needed to protect.

After he died, no one ever loved her like that again.

She baked a cake and set it on the table. Then she opened Davina's posts once more.

Memories rose unbidden. Kyran stood beside her, smiling, teasing, holding her hand. When her gaze shifted to Alban's identical face on the screen, her sadness deepened.

She lowered her head onto the table and closed her eyes. Tears soaked the sleeve beneath her cheek.

When Alban came home, that was the scene that greeted him.

Eliza had fallen asleep, her phone loosely clutched in her hand, tear tracks still fresh on her face.

He paused before walking closer. Only then did he notice the cake on the table.

She had remembered his birthday. She even knew he liked matcha.

In childhood, he had always shared his birthday with Kyran. Their parents favored the older twin, and no one prepared a cake just for him. After Kyran died, he stopped celebrating altogether. No one remembered. He had not marked his birthday in years.

He was rarely home on that day. Had she been quietly celebrating for him every year?

He sat beside her. His hand brushed her phone by accident, and he caught a glimpse of the screen from the corner of his eye.

He picked it up. The photo album was open. Thousands of photos filled the screen, all of him. There were images of his back, his profile, his smile. Some showed him with his eyes closed in thought.

He scrolled to the bottom. The earliest photos dated back eight years. The most recent were from three years ago.

For a moment, he could not name what he felt. Shock came first. Then a flicker of emotion that moved him. Beneath it all lay a faint, undeniable satisfaction.

'So Eliza has been secretly in love with me for that long,' he thought.

Eliza stirred and woke. When she saw him holding her phone, she panicked and reached out to snatch it back.

Alban assumed she felt embarrassed that her secret had been exposed. His voice hardened. "Who told you to celebrate my birthday? Don't you know I never celebrate it?"

She froze. Only then did she realize he had misunderstood again.

He did not notice her expression. He pulled the cake closer.

"Just this once," he said. "There won't be a next time. Go on. Light the candles for me."

There was no room to correct him now, so Eliza let the misunderstanding stand.

She lit the candles, sang the birthday song, and cut the cake for him. When she looked at him, her eyes brimmed with tenderness.

His face was exactly the same as Kyran's.

She told herself, 'It's fine. I will simply pretend I'm celebrating Kyran's birthday instead.'

After that birthday, something in Alban shifted. He still spent most of his time with Davina, yet he began coming home almost every day. Even when they exchanged only a few words, he made a point of standing where Eliza could see him, as though to assert his presence.

One afternoon, after Alban left, Eliza glanced through the documents he had brought home.

An auction catalog lay among them. She flipped through it without much interest, then stopped short. A crystal sphere appeared among the featured lots.

Her breath caught.

Kyran had once planned to make that crystal sphere for her. He had set gems inside it and engraved their initials on them. He had intended it as a gift and had never mentioned it to anyone.

She had no idea how it had found its way to an auction house. Because he had made it for her, he had kept it private. No one else knew where it came from.

As she stared at the photograph in the catalog, her vision blurred. She knew she had to have it.

….

Eliza changed her clothes and hurried to the auction house.

When she arrived, she saw that Alban and Davina were already there.

Surprise crossed Alban's face when he noticed her. Before anyone spoke, the auction began.

After they took their seats, Davina leaned against Alban's shoulder with easy familiarity, as if she were his rightful wife.

Concerned she might be cold, Alban removed his jacket and draped it over her shoulders. "Don't catch a cold."

She allowed him to fuss over her and replied sweetly, "Al, you promised me. Today, whatever I want, you'll bid on it for me."

His voice remained low and steady. "When have I ever broken a promise to you?"

Davina smiled, satisfied.

Eliza ignored their closeness. She kept her eyes fixed on the stage and waited for the item that mattered to her.

At last, the crystal sphere appeared.

The starting bid was 200,000 dollars.

Eliza raised her paddle without hesitation. "400,000."

Her intent was clear.

The starting price was reasonable. Her bid already stretched the limit. Few bidders would go higher.

She had not expected Davina to want it as well.

"Al, I like that crystal ball too," Davina said lightly.

Alban lifted his paddle at once. "600,000."

Eliza's heart lurched. She knew she could not compete with him financially, yet she raised her paddle again.

"800,000."

Neither side retreated. The price climbed without pause.

1,000,000… 1,400,000… 1,800,000…

When it reached 2,000,000, Eliza knew she had reached her limit. She did not have the funds to continue. If the bidding went any higher, she would lose.

Yet the crystal sphere meant too much to surrender without trying. For the first time, she softened her voice and looked at Alban with restrained pleading.

"Can you let me have this one?" she asked quietly. "I really like it."

She had never asked him for anything like this.

Hesitation flickered in Alban's eyes.

Then Davina spoke.

"But I really like it too," she said gently. "If I don't get it, I'll be upset."

The warmth in his gaze disappeared.

Alban's expression hardened. He raised his paddle again and signaled a full override. No matter how high the bidding rose, he would exceed it until the item was his.

At that moment, Eliza understood that she had already lost.

When the auction ended, Davina bounced over to Alban, the crystal sphere cradled in her hands.

"It's not even that special," she said lightly. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have bothered bidding."

As she spoke, she tilted her wrist as though by accident. The sphere slipped from her fingers, struck the floor, and shattered.

Fragments scattered across the marble.

Eliza dropped to her knees. She gathered the pieces one by one, her hands trembling as she tried to fit them back together.

But once something broke, it remained broken. No matter how carefully she worked, the cracks would never disappear.

Her heart seemed to fracture with the crystal.

For years, no matter how Alban had hurt her, she had endured it without admitting the pain. Now grief poured in, crushing and bottomless, as though she were falling into an endless void.

Why? Why would he refuse her even this? She had never tried to compete with Davina. If Davina wanted Alban, she could have him. Eliza had never attempted to take him away.

Alban noticed her devastation and walked over. "It's just a trinket. There are plenty like it. If you want one, I'll buy you another."

Eliza looked up at him, her eyes rimmed red. She no longer had the strength to pretend.

"This crystal sphere was one of a kind." She gathered the shards into her arms and turned away.

…

Over the next few days, she deliberately severed every point of contact with him. When he came home, she feigned sleep. When he went out, she locked herself in her room until she heard the door close.

They lived under the same roof yet went days without seeing each other.

One night, Alban drank too much at a gala. As usual, his friends called Eliza to pick him up.

"We're at Dusk Bar," someone shouted over the noise. "Hurry."

Her voice remained steady. "I can't make it. From now on, call Davina for things like this."

She ended the call without hesitation.

The group stared at the phone in disbelief, then turned to Alban.

"What's going on?" someone asked. "She used to show up the second we called."

"Did the devoted wife finally grow a backbone?"

Alban's thoughts tangled. He remembered her red eyes, the way she had walked away clutching those broken shards. His chest tightened restlessly, as though something clawed at his heart.

He brushed off his friends, slid into the car, and told the driver to take him home.

…

When Alban arrived, Eliza sat in the living room. Surprise flickered across her face. She had not expected him so soon.

He pulled several crystal spheres from his bag and tossed them onto the table in front of her.

"That's enough," he said, impatience edging his voice. "I told you there are plenty like it. How long are you going to keep this up?"

Eliza did not glance at them but said nothing. She stood and turned to leave.

Her phone, which she had left on the table, buzzed.

Alban leaned over and saw the screen.

It was a flight confirmation.

His hand shot out and gripped her wrist. His voice turned cold. "You bought a plane ticket? Where are you going?"

She freed her wrist and answered evenly. "I'm tired of staying home. I want to travel and clear my head."

He hesitated. Something felt wrong. Before he could press her, his own phone rang.

It was Davina.

The moment he answered, her weak, tearful voice came through. "Al, I twisted my ankle. It hurts so much…"

His focus shifted at once, and all concern for Eliza disappeared. He rushed out and told the driver to head straight to the Buckley residence.

Just like that, Eliza's imminent departure slipped from his mind.