The two exchanged flirtatious glances, their sweetness resembling a couple in the throes of a passionate romance.

On the other hand, Gianna stood between them, the biggest, brightest third wheel.

At their wedding two years ago, Roxan had gotten drunk, pushed away anyone trying to help her, and staggered toward Vince with a glass of wine. Her eyes were red, her voice hoarse as she said, "Vince, I wish you and Gianna a lifetime of happiness and many children."

As soon as she finished, crystal-like tears slid down her cheeks, and she collapsed on the spot.

On instinct, Vince caught her and scooped her into his arms.

The wedding hall fell into utter silence.

Standing under the spotlight, Gianna felt every gaze pierce her like a slap across the face.

Vince glanced back at her but offered no explanation. Instead, he turned to his mother and said coldly, "This wedding is what you wanted. But when it comes to my private life, I expect you to stay out of it.

"Roxan is my friend. I’m taking her home now."

With that, he carried Roxan out of the venue, leaving Gianna and his mother to deal with the chaos.

Michelle was furious.

By the time Gianna finished seeing off the guests and pacifying the reporters, she returned home utterly exhausted. What greeted her, however, was the sight of Vince bringing Roxan back to their marital home.

The new apartment, once cheerfully decorated for their wedding, had been turned upside down by the drunken Roxan. Even the house slippers meant for the lady of the house were now on Roxan’s feet.

And there Gianna stood, at the entryway, like an outsider.

"What are you standing there for? Get over here and help! Or do you expect me to change Roxan’s clothes myself?" Vince barked.

Gianna recalled her mother’s dying words and swallowed her grievances. She stepped forward to help, all the while knowing Roxan was only pretending to be drunk.

Yet Vince was completely oblivious.

That night, their wedding night, turned into a farcical drama involving three people.

Back in the present, Gianna found today’s replay of events utterly absurd. She looked past Roxan’s face to Vince, her expression cold and indifferent. "You’re right. It’s just a pair of slippers. I don’t need them."

Nor did she need Vince anymore.

Her tone was distant, a stark contrast to the soft and gentle demeanor she once had.

Vince frowned, his gaze turning cold. "You’ve been gone all day, and now you come back with an attitude? Gianna, wipe that fake sickly makeup off your face. I’m not buying this pity act."

Gianna chuckled dryly and shifted her gaze to Roxan. She didn’t speak, but the sarcasm in her expression was unmistakable.

Roxan, understanding the unspoken jab, feigned ignorance and played innocent. "Gianna, don’t take it to heart. Vince was just joking. He didn’t mean anything by it."

Turning to Vince, she added with a touch of reproach, "Vince, you shouldn’t always speak to Gianna like that. After all, you’re married." Her voice grew soft and pitiful, tears welling in her eyes. "If my presence is disrupting your life, I won’t come over anymore."

Seeing her distress, Vince immediately pulled her into his arms. "This has nothing to do with you. If anyone disrupted my life, it was her taking away my freedom to choose who I marry."

"Fine. I’ll apply for a divorce in a few days and give you your freedom. Satisfied?" Gianna’s tone was cold and detached. She was too exhausted and in too much pain to argue. All she wanted now was a good night’s sleep.

Without sparing the two another glance, she slipped into her usual slippers and walked to the guest bedroom she now called her own.

Vince was stunned, thinking he must have misheard her. When he called out to her, the door had already closed.

Lying on the bed, Gianna’s eyes burned with unshed tears. She couldn’t close them, no matter how hard she tried.

Memories from the past flooded her mind, making her already fragile body feel even more broken.

Gianna and Vince had known each other since childhood, growing up together, attending the same university, and eventually being driven apart by Roxan’s interference. Their relationship soured into mutual resentment, and their forced marriage was now a bitter entanglement.

She had endured enough and no longer wished to suffer any longer.

Gianna was a light sleeper. When she heard knocking on her door, she chose to ignore it, pretending not to hear.

The doorknob rattled with clumsy and heavy movements, irritating her.

She opened her eyes to see Roxan entering with a tray, carrying a cup of warm milk.

Roxan's tone was gentle. "Gianna, you must not have had dinner yet. Have some warm milk before going to sleep."

Gianna turned her gaze away, her voice icy. "Take it away. I don’t need it."

"Gianna, I know you’re upset with me, but please don’t take it out on your health," Roxan said earnestly, her tone laced with a hint of tears.

"Is playing dumb fun for you?" Gianna, tired of Roxan’s fake innocence, sat up and coldly glared at her. "Even kindergarteners know drinking milk on an empty stomach causes diarrhea. You, a grown adult in your twenties, don’t know such basic common sense?"

Despite being exposed, Roxan still clung to her pretense.

"I didn’t know that. Growing up, my family struggled, and milk was a luxury we only had during the New Year. It’s normal for me not to know."

After a few sentences, her eyes brimmed with tears again. "Gianna, I know you’ve always minded how close Vince and I are. But we’re just friends—he dotes on me like a little sister..."

"You know the truth better than anyone," Gianna interrupted sharply. "Since you’ve already crossed the line from friends to something more, don’t pretend to be innocent or pitiful. I’m not buying it."

Her blunt words tore away the last shred of pretense between them.

Roxan froze for a moment, tears streaming down her face.

"Yes, I admit you’ve known Vince ten years longer than I have. But the one he loves is me, and you’ve felt it too. Vince himself said that everything you have now—a marriage certificate and a place in his life—is only because your mother traded her life for it. Without her, you’re nothing."

Her words were light, but each one cut deep into Gianna’s heart.

Three years ago, after Vince's father, Antonio, suddenly passed away, TerraLink Group’s stock plummeted, and enemies within the boardroom sought to eliminate any remaining family influence. Assassins waited outside the Perkins family villa, targeting Vince. On that fateful day, Gianna’s mother happened to be with him and took the fatal blow meant for him.

That day, Gianna lost her only family.

To compensate for this, Michelle revived the childhood engagement between Gianna and Vince, forcing the two into marriage. The original intent was to have Vince care for her.

But Vince believed Gianna had used her mother’s sacrifice to break him and Roxan apart. For the next three years, he harbored resentment, treated her coldly, and caused her pain.

Perhaps she should have realized sooner and left before it came to this.

The sharp sound of glass shattering against tiled floors jolted her from her thoughts. Gianna turned to see the broken shards scattered across the floor, with Roxan slumping on the floor, her hands bleeding.

"Ah… it hurts so much," Roxan whimpered.

The scene was perfectly timed for Vince, who rushed in after hearing the commotion. He immediately helped Roxan up, his expression furious as he turned to Gianna.

"Roxan was kind enough to bring you some milk, and you made her get hurt?!"

Gianna didn’t defend herself. She merely stared back coldly.

There was no point in explaining herself. Vince’s bias had already condemned her. Why waste her breath?

"Don’t blame her, Vince," Roxan interrupted, her voice trembling as she clutched her injured hands. "I tripped over the chair leg myself. It has nothing to do with Gianna. Please don’t be angry with her."

Roxan tried to withdraw her hand, but Vince firmly held it in his grasp.

“Don’t move,” he commanded, carefully examining her injured hands. His face darkened upon seeing how deeply the glass shards were embedded. “There’s a first-aid kit in the living room. I’ll treat the wounds for now, but we’ll need to go to the hospital. Your body still hasn’t fully recovered since your bout with COVID; we can’t risk a bacterial infection.”

Tears welled up in Roxan’s eyes as she nodded obediently, like a frightened rabbit, allowing him to carry her out.

The door slammed shut behind them with a loud thud.

The room returned to silence, but Gianna’s pain surged with greater intensity after hearing Vince’s final words. She clutched her lower abdomen with trembling fingers, barely able to contain her anguish.

The obstetrician had explained that her baby’s miscarriage was primarily caused by the immune imbalance brought on by her high fever. Many similar cases had occurred in recent years due to the pandemic. Despite her cautiousness about her diet and surroundings, she had still been infected.

Now, she understood the source of that infection.

Half a month ago, Roxan had hosted Vince’s birthday dinner, preparing a spread of spicy dishes. Gianna, then in the throes of pregnancy nausea, stuck to plain rice.

“Gianna, why aren’t you eating? These dishes are really good,” Roxan had said, unusually enthusiastic, even placing a piece of spicy chicken in Gianna’s bowl.

Gianna didn’t want to eat it and was about to move it aside when Vince’s face darkened.

“It’s just one bite. You used to love spicy food. What now, have your tastes changed?”

She wanted to tell him about her pregnancy but froze under his cold, indifferent gaze.

She picked up the piece of chicken, took a bite, then spat it out. “Mediocre,” she said flatly before resuming her silent meal.

Roxan didn’t seem to mind. She and Vince chatted and laughed throughout dinner, as though Gianna were invisible.

During the meal, Roxan coughed several times, claiming her throat felt itchy and that she was “fighting poison with poison.” At the time, Gianna thought it was due to the spiciness of the food. In hindsight, it was likely the early stages of her illness.

Whether Roxan’s actions were deliberate or accidental, only she knew.

The warmth of postpartum bleeding now trickled down—a cruel farewell from her baby. Gianna’s heart felt as though it were being shredded. Her child could have been born healthy, but fate had other plans.

Both she and Vince were to blame.

They didn’t deserve to be parents, and that was why their child chose to leave.

That night, Gianna drifted into a restless, tearful sleep. In her dreams, she saw her mother.

Her mother stood in a beautiful estate, holding a tiny infant in her arms. She gently wiped away Gianna’s tears and said softly, “What happened with the baby was destiny. Some bonds can’t be forced. Perhaps he left early to save you from further suffering.”

“Gia, starting tomorrow, live for yourself.”

With those words, her mother, Evelyn, holding the baby, faded into the light and disappeared.

Gianna woke with a start in the middle of the night, her pillow soaked with tears. Yet her mind was clearer than it had been in a long time.

Life was about moving forward, not looking back.

She reached into her nightstand drawer and retrieved her diary, flipping through its pages. Inside were records of her life with Vince—how they met, fell in love, and the gradual accumulation of disappointment and heartbreak. Each entry felt like a stab to the heart, a torment akin to living in purgatory.

She threw the diary into the bottom drawer, slamming it shut as though that would bury the pain along with it.

At six o’clock the next morning, she rose from bed.

Her spirits felt steadier, and the ache in her lower abdomen had subsided to a manageable level. She began methodically packing her belongings.

Thankfully, Vince had refused to take wedding photos with her when they married. Otherwise, she’d have more to sort through.

After packing her everyday clothes, she hesitated when she turned to the back of her closet. There sat over a dozen luxury handbags, gifts from Michelle. All high-end designer pieces, their opulence didn’t match Gianna’s understated style, so she had barely used them.