However, Harley had to complete her father's mission. Three years was enough. Now, she had to cherish this last month. She pulled out her phone and made a call. Her eyes lingered on the billboard, where the picture of James and Quincy looked like the perfect match. When the call connected, she smiled faintly and asked, "What are you doing? Can you have dinner with me tonight?"

The other end of the line was silent for a long time. Harley tightened her grip on her phone, feeling uneasy. She had been hoping for a different answer, one that would affirm what she already knew because there weren't many chances left. "I'm busy tonight. Eat by yourself." A cold voice came through the phone.

Her hopes shattered in an instant, but she didn't complain. Instead, she replied calmly, "Okay, I'll eat alone." Before she could hang up, the call had already ended. After three years of marriage, she had grown used to his indifference. It was almost as if she had forgotten that there was once a time when James had been gentle, only to her.

Harley knocked herself lightly on the head. No, she couldn't forget. If she forgot, what would she have left? Even the last bit of happiness would be gone. The reason she had wanted James to have dinner with her tonight was simple, it was her birthday and possibly her last.

She just wanted to leave behind a beautiful memory, but that was clearly impossible. Harley refused to feel sorry for herself, so she made a reservation at an upscale restaurant. She put on the prettiest dress she owned, carefully did her makeup, and stepped out in style. She ordered her favorite steak, sat back as the waiter poured her a glass of red wine, and waited.

When the steak arrived, she stared at it, lost in thought. It had been so long since she last had one. She had even forgotten how to cut it properly. For the past few years, she had been avoiding everything related to James, all their memories, and everything they had shared. If she never touched them, it was as if they had never happened.

She used to frequent this restaurant. Back then, James would always cut her steak for her, never letting her do it herself. Her nose tingled as she held back the emotions threatening to surface. Living on memories felt unbearably pathetic.

"Mr. Franklin, Miss Lawrence, this way, please." A waiter's voice snapped her out of her daze.

She turned her head and saw Quincy walking in, arm-in-arm with James. The staff welcomed them warmly. James' face was as cold and unreadable as ever, his deep eyes carrying an icy distance. Even with Quincy beside him, he still gave off an untouchable air."

He never used to be like this, but the moment he looked at Quincy, something changed. His gaze softened. It was as if all his tenderness was reserved only for her. They didn't notice Harley. She sat there in silence, watching them, feeling like a pathetic clown peeking into someone else's happiness.

They had booked a private dining room. From where Harley sat, she had a clear view inside. The moment they took their seats, a waiter pushed in a cart and stopped at the door. It looked like James had planned a surprise for Quincy. Cake, flowers, a gift. Quincy gasped in surprise, her eyes welling up with emotion as she covered her mouth.

It was an ordinary, everyday surprise for Quincy. Still, for Harley, it was something extravagant, something out of reach. That bouquet of yellow roses in Quincy's arms reminded her of the past. Back when, on every holiday, every birthday, every little occasion, James would always prepare a bouquet of red roses for her. Because she loved them. Because he once said she was like a red rose, passionate, thorny, and stubbornly alive.

Harley couldn't look away from their happiness. Gradually, she felt a coolness on her cheeks. She touched them, realizing she was crying. She wiped her tears, worried about smudging her makeup, and went to the restroom.

She turned on the faucet and washed her hands, but tears fell uncontrollably into the sink. Why wouldn't they stop? She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. She looked up at her reflection in the mirror. Her pale face was gaunt, the exhaustion showing through her makeup. She reapplied her lipstick.

"Harley." Suddenly, a voice called from behind her.

Harley caught sight of her in the mirror, her expression stiffening for a brief moment before she silently continued adjusting herself. Quincy walked up beside her, washed her hands, and struck up a conversation. "I saw you the moment I came in. What a coincidence! Eating alone?"

"Yeah," Harley replied nonchalantly.

Seeing the lack of warmth on Harley's face, Quincy's lips curled into a subtle smirk. "I heard you called James, but he had already promised to celebrate with me this morning, so he turned you down. Sorry about that."

Harley's fingers paused slightly, her fist tightening just a little. Even if Quincy had said that deliberately to provoke her, there was nothing she could do to win this game. So, she could only walk away. Just as she turned, Quincy's voice sounded behind her. "When are you finally going to divorce James?"

Harley stopped in her tracks. Quincy wiped her hands, then stepped in front of her. "You know deep down that the person James loves is me. If it weren't for you holding onto the title of Mrs. Franklin, he would have married me long ago. Don't you think you're the one tearing us apart? Making everyone miserable?"

Her words were full of accusations as if everything was Harley's fault. Harley looked at her and asked, "You seem anxious."

Her calmness made Quincy uneasy. She quickly retorted, "I've waited for three years! Isn't that long enough?"

Harley tilted her head slightly. "Then why don't you have James say it himself?"

Quincy pursed her lips slightly. "If it weren't for James' grandmother, do you really think he wouldn't have? If you initiate the divorce, it'll make things easier for him. You've already dragged him along for three years, it's time to end this."

Harley studied Quincy's face, which bore a resemblance to her own. Her lips curved into a mocking smile. "Sometimes, I really wonder. Does he love you, or just the body you happen to inhabit?"

Quincy's expression changed. "What do you mean?"

"Nothing." Harley's voice was indifferent. "Divorce is between me and James. It has nothing to do with you."

After that, she turned to leave. Unfortunately, Quincy wasn't willing to let it go. How much longer did she have to wait? How much longer would she have to endure? As long as Harley remained, Quincy would never be able to marry James. Jealousy burned inside her, twisting her expression.

"Harley!" Quincy reached out and yanked Harley's arm. The sudden force made Harley's purse slip from her hand, its contents spilling onto the floor. Her cosmetics, phone, keys and a newspaper clipping.

Quincy's eyes focused on the newspaper, and she quickly picked it up from the ground. After seeing it clearly, she looked at Harley with confusion.

Harley's face darkened. "Give it back."

Seeing the panic in her eyes, Quincy smirked. Her voice dripped with mockery. "Harley, it's just a piece of newspaper. What's got you so worked up? This Mark was just a drug dealer who died years ago. Do you know how many people he harmed? And yet, you keep this like it's some kind of treasure. Scum like him deserved to die!"

"He wasn't a drug dealer! Give it back!" Harley lunged for it.

Quincy dodged, her tone turning even colder when she saw how much it meant to Harley. "If he wasn't a drug dealer, then what was he? Do you really think I don't know? Mark Lupone was a notorious drug lord, executed by the police years ago! Harley, your values are twisted!" With that, she tore the newspaper clipping into shreds.

"No!" That piece of paper held Mark's photograph. It was the only thing Harley had left to remember her father's face. Now, it was nothing but scattered scraps on the floor. Harley's pupils contracted as she watched the torn fragments slip through Quincy's fingers, just like the feeling of her heart being ripped apart. She reached out, trying to gather them, but the pieces slipped through her fingers one by one. At that moment, the light guiding her went out.

Her father was not a drug dealer. He was a hero. He had only been with her until she was nine years old. A gentle and righteous man. The team called him back, and he left after just one visit home. She remembered her mother standing at the doorway, eyes red, watching his retreating figure for a long time. Back then, she didn't understand. She thought her father was going on a work trip, but she never saw him again.

Her mother fell into a daze, plagued by nightmares, constantly fearing that one day their family would face revenge. To protect her, her mother sent her to live with the Jackmans. In all these years, she had only seen her father once.

When he returned, his temples had turned gray, his skin darkened by the sun, and his face weary. However, his gaze remained as firm as ever. He stroked her head and said, "Yelena, if something happens to me in the future, don't believe what others say. Only trust what you see with your own eyes. Your father will never do anything wrong. I will always be loyal to the people and to my country."

Then, he died. Branded as a drug dealer. No one knew the truth that he was a righteous police officer who had spent decades undercover, sacrificing his identity to protect the people and his family. No one could understand the suffering he endured. So, how could she forgive? How could she forgive Quincy's insults? Harley's cold gaze locked onto Quincy. That woman flinched under her stare, taking a few steps back.

Harley's voice was sharp and resolute. "I'll say it one more time, he was NOT a drug dealer!" She raised her hand to slap Quincy, but before she could, a strong grip caught her wrist mid-air. Pain shot through her arm, the pressure so intense it felt like her bones were about to break.