Her eyes lit up with delight, and she blew right past me, rushing straight to Oscar.

"Is this the surprise you were talking about? It's gorgeous! I knew you were the best to me, Oscar!"

She didn't even wait for his response before whipping out her phone, snapping selfies against the sky. The backdrop was that massive "Peace for Years to Come" display—and me, standing in the shadows.

Oscar watched her, a flicker of indulgence crossing his gaze before guilt crept in and his eyes darted to me.

"Dora, let me explain."

His voice dropped low, carrying that signature blend of unquestionable tenderness and authority.

"Summer just got back to the country. She hasn't found her footing in the entertainment industry yet. Tonight's trending topic could help her build name recognition. You know she's a traditional opera inheritor too—practically in the same field as you. Helping each other out is a win-win."

Win-win.

What a beautiful phrase.

Using my blood and sweat to dress her up for the spotlight. Using our wedding anniversary to pave her road.

I looked at him, and the light in my eyes dimmed, bit by bit.

"Oscar, do you even know what 'Phoenix Seeks His Mate' means?" I asked.

His brow furrowed slightly, as if he thought I was being unreasonable.

"Dora, don't throw a tantrum right now. Summer's been in poor health since she was a child. You're the elder here—what's wrong with giving her a little leeway? Besides, I'm right here with you. It's just a name on a post. Since when did you become so vain?"

Vain.

In his eyes, defending my own dignity was vanity.

Summer finished her photos and seemed to finally notice me. She crept over timidly, clutching the edge of Oscar's sleeve, teeth pressed into her lower lip, eyes rimmed with red.

"Dora, please don't blame Oscar. It's all my fault. I just casually mentioned that I envied people who got to see fireworks, and I never expected him to actually remember. If you're upset, I'll have them take the trending post down right now."

She looked like she was about to cry.

Oscar's heart softened instantly. He turned his hand to grip her wrist, then shot me a look, his tone dropping several degrees.

"Dora, why are you scaring her?"

I laughed.

I hadn't said a single word, and I'd already scared her?

The pregnancy test in my pocket dug into my palm, sharp and unforgiving.

I drew a deep breath and crushed the gift I'd never gotten to give—along with the lab report—in my fist.

"I'm not upset."

I looked at the man and woman standing before me, and my voice came out so calm it frightened even me.

"Oscar, you're right. I'm an artist. I shouldn't be so petty."

"Consider these fireworks a funeral offering for Miss Fox... oh, pardon me—a first lesson for her."

"After all, only things that are fleeting and short-lived are worthy of a relationship that can't stand the light of day."

"Dora!" Oscar's voice came out in a low snarl, his face ashen.

But I had already turned away. I shrugged off the coat still warm from his body and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

"It's dirty. I don't want it."

Oscar came after me.

In the parking garage, he seized my wrist, his grip so brutal it felt like he was trying to grind my bones to dust.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

He pinned me hard against the car door, those striking eyes blazing with fury—yet threaded with a barely perceptible flicker of panic.

"You threw that coat in front of all those people—who was that little performance for? Do you have any idea how many cameras were out there tonight?"

I stared back at him, ice in my gaze. "Isn't Mr. Delgado the master of PR? What's the matter—can't handle something this small?"

"Dora!"

He sucked in a breath, visibly fighting to keep his rage in check.

The next second, his tone softened abruptly. He reached out to touch my face, but I turned away before his fingers could land.

His hand froze in midair, then withdrew awkwardly.

"Babe, come on. Don't be like this."

There it was again—that practiced tenderness, his voice dropping to a low, magnetic murmur laced with coaxing warmth.

"I know tonight was unfair to you. But Summer really has had it rough. Her father was injured saving me years ago. The Delgado family owes her. I only think of her as a little sister."

"Besides, I got you a gift."

He pulled a velvet box from his pocket and opened it.

A pink diamond ring. Five carats, at least.

"I won this at an auction not long ago. It's called The Eternal Heart. I was planning to put it on your finger after the fireworks."

He took my hand and began to slide it toward my ring finger.

This was how it always went after a fight.

A slap, then a sweet.

All he had to do was lower his head a little, offer some trinket, whisper a few soft words, and I'd cave.

Because I loved him.

I'd loved him for seven whole years—from college to the wedding aisle.

I couldn't bear to let go.

But this time, staring at that glittering diamond, all I felt was a sharp, blinding sting.

"Oscar."

I didn't pull my hand away. I just looked at him, perfectly still. "Did Summer try this ring on?"

Oscar's hand gave a violent tremor.

That split second of hesitation was all the answer I needed.

Something twisted inside my chest—a blade carving straight through, until the pain went numb.

I laughed. Laughed until my eyes burned with tears threatening to spill.

"So she did."

"Let me guess—she probably said something like, 'Dora's fingers are so slender. This ring would be way too loose on me.' Am I close?"

Oscar's expression turned ugly. "Don't be snide. She was curious. She picked it up to look at it. She never even put it on."

"Is that so?"

I yanked my hand free. "Well, since someone else has already touched it, I don't want it."

"Oscar, let's get a divorce."

It was the first time I'd ever said those words.

In this marriage, I had always been the one who endured, who accommodated, who behaved. I told myself that if I was good enough, if I loved him hard enough, he'd eventually come around.

But I was wrong.

A man like that never turns back. He just finds your bottom line and grinds it to dust beneath his heel.

Oscar clearly hadn't expected those words to leave my mouth.

He stared, stunned—then his expression shifted, as if he'd just heard a joke.

"Dora, it's New Year's Eve. That's not funny."

His fingers caught my chin, forcing my face up to meet his gaze. His eyes held a mixture of contempt and absolute certainty.

"Divorce? Without me, who's going to fund your heritage projects? Who's going to bankroll your lofty artistic dreams? And your mother—the one in the care facility—who's going to cover her medical bills?"

"Dora. Be good."

He pressed his lips to mine—hard, punishing.

"Let's go home tonight. I'll make dumplings for you. You love my three-delicacy filling, remember?"

"Stop saying things you don't mean. I don't want to hear it."

Before I could respond, he guided me into the passenger seat and locked the door.

The engine hummed to life, and the car pulled toward our penthouse in the city center.

Outside the window, fireworks still crackled in scattered bursts.

I stared at my own pale reflection in the glass and pressed a hand to my flat stomach.

Baby, I'm sorry.

Mommy might not be able to give you a home after all.

Back at the house, Oscar actually started making dumplings.

He shrugged off his suit jacket, rolled his dress shirt to the elbows—revealing taut, muscular forearms—and set to work kneading dough and mincing filling with practiced ease.

These hands had signed contracts worth hundreds of millions. They'd warmed my feet on countless cold nights.

Now they carried the scent of someone else.

The radiant heating was turned up high, but I still felt cold.

I sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket, saying nothing.

Oscar finished folding a dumpling and walked over, a freshly washed gold coin in his hand.

"Dora, look."

He crouched in front of me like he was coaxing a child through a tantrum. "This year, let's hide a coin inside one of the dumplings. Whoever gets it can make a wish—and the other person has to grant it."

"Any wish. I promise."

His gaze was so tender it could drown you.

"I know tonight was hard on you. If you find the coin, I'll take you on a trip around the world. Just the two of us. How does that sound?"

I stared at the gold coin, and something painfully close to hope stirred inside me.

If he was willing to change for me—even just a little...

Ding-dong.

The doorbell.

On New Year's Eve, who would possibly come?

Oscar stood and went to answer it.

The moment the door swung open, a gust of snow carried a small figure stumbling inside.

"Oscar, I—" A sob broke through. "My power went out. It was so dark. I was so scared."

Summer Fox.

She was wearing a thin set of pajamas with a men's coat draped over her shoulders—Oscar's spare trench coat, the one he kept at the office.

Tears streamed down her face like rain on pear blossoms, her whole body trembling as she threw herself straight into Oscar's arms.

He caught her on instinct.

"What happened? Why didn't you call building management?"

"I did. No one answered." She pressed closer. "I couldn't stay there alone. You were the only person I could think of."

Summer lifted her head. Those glistening eyes slid toward me, brimming with a perfect cocktail of defiance and innocence.

"Dora, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to intrude. I was just so terrified—could I stay for one night? I won't be any trouble. The couch is fine."

Oscar frowned and glanced at me, caught somewhere between reluctance and something softer.

But I already knew. He'd caved.

"Dora, the snow's coming down hard. It really isn't safe for her to be alone. We have plenty of guest rooms. Let her stay one night."

He said it like it was the most natural thing in the world.

As if he'd already forgotten—minutes ago—that he'd been promising me dumplings and a trip around the globe.

I didn't speak. I just sat there, staring at the plate of uncooked dumplings on the counter.

Oscar settled Summer on the couch, then went to pour her hot water and fetch a blanket. He bustled back and forth, attentive to her every need.

Summer cradled the warm mug in both hands, spotted the dumplings, and lit up. "You made dumplings? I'm starving—could you cook some for me?"

Oscar paused. His eyes flicked to me.

My face gave him nothing.

"Sure. I'll go boil them."

The dumplings came out steaming, filling the room with a rich, savory aroma.

Oscar ladled out two bowls—one for me, one for Summer.

"Dora, eat." He placed the chopsticks beside my hand.

I looked down at my bowl. The plumpest dumpling sat right on top—the one with the gold coin inside.

He remembered which one it was.

And he'd remembered to give it to me.

That, it seemed, was the last scrap of conscience he had left.

I picked up my chopsticks and reached for it.

"Ow!"

A yelp from across the room. Summer's bowl slipped from her hands, dumplings scattering across the floor.

"It's hot—it burns—"

She clutched her hand, tears spilling instantly.

Oscar's expression shifted. He was on his feet in a heartbeat, seizing her hand to examine it.