In the penthouse apartment I designed myself, Caspin Thorne, my fiancé of ten years, wrapped his arms around me from behind. His breath was a warm caress against my neck, a stark contrast to the icy words that followed.

He told me he couldn’t move into the home we’d designed together. He’d fallen for a twenty-year-old intern, and to “give her a sense of security,” he’d married her at City Hall that morning.

He explained that he was another woman's husband now, and our housewarming party would upset his new wife.

I was too stunned to speak. "Why?" I finally choked out. "The party is next week."

He kissed my forehead, shamelessly declaring that I was the one he loved most, but "it's just how men are—always chasing youth." He then "thoughtfully" suggested that if I couldn't bear to cancel the party, I could hire an escort to "save face."

I gazed out at the Manhattan skyline through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a bone-deep chill seeping into my veins. I silently shoved the ultrasound photo I’d planned to surprise him with deeper into my pocket.

A tremor ran through me. He was right. I shouldn't be the one to suffer.

————————

1

Caspin acted like nothing was wrong, his fingers habitually caressing my cheek.

But every word that left his lips was laced with poison.

"You know how it is. Girls these days can be so naive. She wouldn't sleep with me unless I put a ring on it."

"I spent the whole weekend trying to coax her at my cabin in the Hamptons. Finally sealed the deal yesterday."

I felt a hand tighten around my throat, my limbs turning to ice as I stared at him.

But he just smiled, a deep, satisfied smile. "It was on the Italian sofa we picked out together. She was a little wildcat—feral one moment, purring the next."

My gaze followed his to the empty space by the window, as if I could see their entwined shadows.

A wave of overwhelming nausea surged up my throat.

I gripped the armrest of the sofa, my eyes bloodshot.

He cupped my bloodless face, his brows knitting in confusion. "Why are you crying? The title of Mrs. Thorne was always meant for you."

In Caspin Thorne's charming eyes, there was an affection so deep it seemed unshakable.

Was this the same man who’d just casually announced his marriage? The same man who, moments ago, had been blissfully describing their tryst?

A dizzying sense of absurdity washed over me.

I couldn't breathe. I was suffocating.

He sighed, a picture of helplessness. "I know you're upset, but she's a sensitive girl. If I show up at the party, she'll cry. She's not like other women; she’s innocent, a blank slate. All she wants is a devoted relationship. I was her first, so I have to do right by her. You've always been so understanding. You get it, right?"

Six months.

We had spent six months furnishing this new home.

So, while he was here with me, arranging the home I loved and selecting the art I adored,

he was also, somewhere I couldn't see, moving heaven and earth for another woman. Completely infatuated.

I curled my cold fingers into fists and numbly closed my eyes.

"Since you're married, let's end this."

He froze for a beat, then chuckled. "You don't mean that."

"You got with me when you were twenty and gave up Yale for me. If you walk away, what firm is going to hire a designer with no solo portfolio to her name?"

I stared at him.

My heart felt like it was being seared by a hot iron.

For ten years, we had lived in the worst apartments, split single slices of pizza, and at our lowest, drank tap water to fill our empty stomachs.

After the car accident that nearly killed him, he’d clutched my hand from his hospital bed, his words seared into my memory: "Clementine, I swear I'll give you the world. If I ever betray you, may I die old and alone."

That promise was a weight I carried seriously for ten years.

But now, he had been so easily conquered by a woman he’d known for only six months.

I couldn't comprehend how someone who had loved me so fiercely could turn so rotten.

A special ringtone chirped.

It had sounded countless times in the dead of night, and Caspin always claimed it was a client.

I had trusted him so completely that I never doubted him.

Only now did I realize what a fool I had been.

He didn't answer the call, his voice as calm as if he were soothing a petulant child.

"Why get worked up over some gold digger? Are we really going to throw away ten years of history for a piece of paper?"

"Clementine, you're not young anymore. You have no family. No one but me will give you the life you have now. If you keep making a scene, it's not going to look good."

He slipped the car keys back into his pocket. "Cool off. I have to go pick her up. Think about what I said."

The apartment door clicked shut like a slap across my face.

Gazing at the empty living room, I finally lost control, rushing to the bathroom and dry-heaving until my face was streaked with tears.

Caspin was wrong. No one goes to City Hall to marry a "gold digger."

That piece of paper was something I had waited ten years for and never received.

His heart hadn't changed—it had just found a new home.

I stared at the gloomy sky, my own heart feeling hollowed out and raw.

After a long time, I picked up my phone and made a call.

I returned to the apartment we shared, only to hear Caspin's flirtatious voice mingling with another woman's as the elevator doors opened.

"Call me hubby."

"Hubby..."

"Who do you love the most?"

"Hubby..."

"So good. I'd do anything for you."

I stood frozen, the color draining from my face.

Even with the central air blasting against the summer heat, I felt like I was trapped in an arctic wasteland.

An hour later, Caspin sauntered in with a petite woman in his arms.

The moment Ivy Reed saw me in the living room, she looked as if she’d been grievously wronged, her eyes instantly welling with tears.

"What is she doing here? Didn't you say this was our home?"

"You were lying to me? You're not over her, are you?"

"I may love you, but I won't sell my dignity. I'm leaving right now!"

Caspin anxiously grabbed her, pulling her tight into his embrace. "What are you talking about? It's legally certified; you're my wife. Of course this is our home. She's just here to pack her things."

He looked at me without a word of explanation or apology.

"Clementine, the hotel in the suburbs is very quiet. You should go stay there for a while."

My mind went blank.

Before the anger, there was just a dull, physical ache in my chest.

Three years ago, when we first rented this place, Caspin had held me, his eyes red with emotion.

"Clementine, this will be our forever home. It’ll be you, me, and our children."

Now, three years later, the man who had promised me a home was kicking me out of it.

"Clementine, my wife is unhappy. I don't want to say this a second time."

A smile played on his lips, but his low voice carried a clear, serious warning.

My throat felt tight, as if it were clogged with water-logged cotton.

I dimly realized he wasn't joking.

Seeing the smug certainty in his eyes, I gave a hoarse nod.

"I understand."

As I stood up, Caspin's eyes flickered. He suddenly strode forward and grabbed my arm, his voice softening a fraction. "The Metropolitan Charity Gala is tonight. You should come with me."

I started to refuse, but he cut me off.

"Ivy's never been to an event like this. You can be her assistant, help her get acquainted with the scene."

I was stunned, so baffled I wanted to laugh.

But then I thought of the little time I had left and decided not to argue.

Before the gala, Ivy claimed she lacked suitable jewelry and, from my jewelry box, precisely selected the one-of-a-kind "Star of Clementine" diamond necklace Caspin had commissioned for me.

She clung to Caspin's arm, becoming the center of attention while I trailed behind, holding a champagne flute.

The guests' mocking whispers trailed me like a phantom limb.

"Mr. Thorne has some nerve. Making his ex-girlfriend play assistant to his new flame, and she doesn't even dare to say a word."

"Ex-girlfriend? Didn't you hear? He married the intern. Clementine was just some designer he strung along for a decade of free labor. She's a nobody."

"How pathetic can you be? Ten years and she has nothing to show for it. I'd rather be dead than live a life like that."

I fled the ballroom and hid in the restroom.

But then I heard someone teasing Caspin.

"Caspin, Clementine was with you for ten years. You really went and married that little intern?"

"The girl needed the commitment. It's just a piece of paper, what does it matter?"

"Aren't you afraid you'll regret it if Clementine takes off?"

My heart seized, but then I heard his nonchalant laugh.

"Clementine's world revolves around me. She's a work of art I molded myself. The novelty has just worn off for a bit."

"I know her too well. Once I'm tired of playing around, she'll still be standing right there, waiting obediently for me."

I couldn't hear the rest.

I stumbled to the sink, desperately splashing cold water on my face. Finally, I bit down hard on the soft flesh of my hand, watching as water and tears of humiliation dripped into the basin, refusing to let a single sob escape.

Caspin Thorne, this time, you bet wrong.

This work of art you've grown tired of won't be waiting for you.

As I turned to leave the restroom, a sharp slap cracked across my face.

I clutched my stinging cheek, turning my head in disbelief.

Ivy rotated her wrist, the gentle expression on her face peeling away like a mask. "You heard all that? Caspin and I are married. Have you no shame, still clinging to him like this?"

"If you're so desperate for a man, go find one on the streets of Brooklyn."

"A cheap piece of trash like you belongs on the street with the rest of the lowlifes."

My ears rang, my vision filled with the sharp cruelty of her face, the mocking curl of her lips.

A laugh of pure fury bubbled up, but Ivy gave me no chance to retaliate. She let out a sudden, sharp scream, mussed her own hair, and hurled herself backward.

"Clementine!"

An icy voice exploded from behind me.

Caspin rushed over and helped Ivy to her feet, pulling her into his arms.

She was sobbing, barely able to stand, tears streaming down her face. "Caspin, I'm the evil woman who destroyed your relationship. It's all my fault. I shouldn't have appeared. I'm a vicious bitch."

As she spoke, she slapped her own face twice, hard.

Caspin grabbed her hand, his eyes trembling.

"Who said those things to you?"

Ivy bit her lip, her hands twisting the fabric of her dress. "Please, don't ask."

But as her gaze swept over me, she flinched in feigned terror.

"Someone like me can't afford to cross a socialite like you. Caspin, I'm not good enough for you. Please, just let me go. I don't want to end up as a victim of some senseless revenge."

He frowned, his gaze landing on me, full of malice.

"Explain."

I lowered my hand, revealing my red, swollen cheek.

"You should ask her what she said."

"Miss Clementine!" Ivy shrieked, her voice high and shrill. "I did slap you, but only because you threatened my sick mother! She needs money for treatment. If you're still not satisfied, you can hit me back. I'm begging you, just don't hurt her!"