“Camila, this must feel like heaven—9,999 roses just for you! You’re one lucky lady!”

The text from Mrs. Elkins, my nosy neighbor, arrived at exactly 12:02 a.m., brimming with exclamation points.

I glanced out the window. A truck was parked in front of my apartment, unloading massive bouquets of roses. The deliveryman struggled under their weight, while Mrs. Elkins stood by, phone in hand, snapping photos like a giddy journalist.

My heart fluttered. Had Kane planned this? After everything, could this be his way of making things right?

I stepped outside, the cool night air brushing against my bare arms. The heady scent of roses enveloped me, intoxicating but slightly overwhelming.

This is stunning, isn’t it, dear? Kane must adore you to do something so extravagant!

Mrs. Elkins practically beamed. I forced a polite smile, my chest tightening with an unfamiliar mix of hope and dread.

But the moment I caught sight of the card nestled among the petals, my breath hitched.

“To Veronica, my eternal muse. Forever yours, Kane.”

The words burned like acid. My fingers trembled as I clutched the card, disbelief giving way to a sinking realization. These weren’t for me. They were for her.

Veronica? Who’s Veronica?

Mrs. Elkins’s question hung in the air, her curiosity sharper than a knife. I swallowed hard, plastering on a smile that felt like it might crack at any second.

Just a… mistake, I murmured, retreating before the tears could betray me.

——

Back in my apartment, I dropped the card on the counter like it was poison. My phone buzzed, a notification flashing Kane’s name. My hand hovered over the screen, indecision weighing heavy.

Seven years. Seven years of standing by his side, sacrificing dreams and enduring countless sleepless nights to build the life we’d envisioned.

And for what? For Veronica?

My stomach churned as I opened the message.

“Dinner tomorrow, 7 p.m., Le Rosé. Be ready.”

No apology. No explanation. Just a command, like always.

I bit back the scream clawing its way up my throat. My phone buzzed again—another text.

[Wear that black dress I like.]

A growl escaped my lips as I flung the phone onto the couch. It didn’t deserve to be shattered, but God, I was tempted.

The next evening, I walked into Le Rosé with a steeliness I didn’t feel. Kane was already seated, his arm casually draped over the chair next to him.

Veronica was there too, her red lips curved in a smile that could curdle milk.

[Ah, Camila, finally. You’re late.]

His words cut, not because they held any real weight, but because they were laced with that same condescension I’d endured for years.

I sat down, my spine rigid.

So, what’s this about?

Kane smirked, his fingers tapping the rim of his glass. Veronica leaned forward, her manicured hand brushing against his.

[We thought it was time for some honesty.]

I froze. My gaze darted between them, trying to read the unspoken language in their smirks and shared glances.

[Camila, you’ve been… indispensable. But Veronica]

He paused, as if savoring the moment.

[She’s my future.]

The words hit like a physical blow. The room blurred, my pulse pounding in my ears. I gripped the table to steady myself, my nails biting into the pristine linen.

[Excuse me?]

My voice was low, dangerous. Kane didn’t flinch. Instead, he leaned back, exuding the same smug arrogance that used to captivate me.

[You were perfect for building my image, Camila. But Veronica—she has heart. Passion.]

Laughter bubbled up from somewhere deep and dark within me. It was bitter, sharp, and unrecognizable.

[Heart? Passion? You mean]

My eyes locked onto his.

[You mean the things you drained out of me?]

Kane’s jaw twitched. Veronica’s smile faltered, but only for a moment.

[Let’s not make this ugly, Camila.]

I stood, my chair scraping loudly against the floor. The restaurant fell silent, dozens of eyes trained on our little tableau.

I leaned in, close enough to see the flicker of unease in Veronica’s eyes.

[Ugly? Honey, this is just the beginning.]

Kane smirked, clearly mistaking my words for empty bravado.

[Be reasonable, Camila. You’ve always been pragmatic. Let’s keep this civil.]

I nodded, a mirthless smile curving my lips.

[Oh, don’t worry, Kane. I’ll be very civil. Especially when I take you for everything you’re worth.]

The color drained from his face as I turned and walked away, my heels clicking against the marble floor.

Tears burned behind my eyes, but I held them back. Not here. Not now.

By the time I stepped outside, the chill of the night air felt like salvation. I tilted my head up to the sky, inhaling deeply.

Kane had stolen seven years of my life, but he would not steal a second more.

A new resolve settled in my chest. This wasn’t the end—it was the beginning.

I would rise from the ashes he tried to bury me in. And when I did, I’d make sure Kane Wayne regretted every single rose.

“Camila, where’s the wine opener?”

Kane’s voice echoed through the speakerphone, sharp and impatient, like he was asking a bartender, not his partner.

I looked at the perfectly set table—white linen, candles casting flickering shadows, and the aroma of my grandmother’s coq au vin wafting through the air. It was all so… pathetic.

It’s in the drawer, where it’s always been, I replied, keeping my voice even though my fingers tightened around the phone.

Kane didn’t notice. Or didn’t care.

“Great. Don’t wait up. I’ll be home late.”

A hollow pause followed his words, a silence thick with a hundred unanswered questions.

“Wait. Late? What about dinner?”

My voice cracked despite my best efforts to sound unfazed. I wasn’t supposed to care this much anymore.

“Something came up. Veronica needs me.”

Veronica needs me. That name slithered through my ears like a curse, the syllables dripping venom into the pit of my stomach.

“Kane, today’s my”

The line clicked dead before I could finish. My birthday. The words hung in the air, unspoken, unheard.

I stared at the phone screen, his name still glowing as if mocking me.

“Happy birthday to me, I whispered to no one.”

Seven years. Seven birthdays. Seven variations of this exact moment. I was a broken record, stuck on repeat in a song no one wanted to hear.

The memory hit me before I could stop it.

Kane, six years ago, sitting on our lumpy couch in a crammed studio apartment, holding my hands with a kind of urgency I thought could move mountains.

“We’ll build something incredible, Camila. But I need you to trust me. Quit your job. Let me focus on us. You won’t regret it.”

I had believed him. God, I had believed him.

I left my steady job, shelved my dreams, and poured every ounce of myself into helping Kane achieve his. His first big promotion? My extra hours freelancing funded the tailored suits he needed. His business trips? My spreadsheets helped him close deals.

And then came Veronica. The assistant. The muse. The reason my world had started cracking like old plaster on a crumbling wall.

I was still lost in that cruel timeline when my phone buzzed again, dragging me back to the present.

“You look lonely tonight, Camila.”

Attached was a photo—a candid shot of Kane and Veronica, laughing over glasses of champagne. Her fingers were looped around his tie, pulling him closer.

My vision blurred. My stomach clenched so tightly I thought I’d be sick.

“Have a great evening. He’s happier now.”

I didn’t respond. I wouldn’t give her the satisfaction. But the sound of glass shattering startled me before I realized it was my own hand sweeping the wine glasses off the table.

“You’re overreacting, Camila.”

Kane’s tone was bored, like we were discussing a minor inconvenience rather than the decimated remains of our relationship.

He’d come home eventually, bearing his latest olive branch—a diamond ring, smaller than the last, but still glittering enough to scream “compensation.”

“You can’t buy me off, Kane.”

“It’s not buying you off. It’s fixing things.”

“Fixing things. Like I was a vase he kept knocking over but never cared to display.”

“Do you even love me anymore?”

The question fell from my lips before I could stop it, raw and jagged. Kane blinked, as if startled by the absurdity of the question.

“Camila, don’t be dramatic.”

My laugh was brittle, breaking into pieces around us.

“Dramatic? You’ve built a life with her, Kane. You’ve built lies with me.”

He reached for me, but his touch felt alien now, more invasion than comfort.

“You’re still my wife. That means something.”

“No, Kane. It doesn’t.”

The strength in my voice surprised me.

Hours later, I sat on the couch, the new ring cold and heavy in my palm. Outside, the streetlights cast long, wavering shadows on the walls, ghostly witnesses to my quiet unraveling.

Another buzz. Another message.

[Did Kane tell you about Paris?]

This time, I laughed. A wild, unhinged sound that scared even me.

The ring flew from my hand, shattering against the windowpane, leaving a crack spidering out like the fractures in my soul.

I stood, the chill from the broken glass licking at my skin. This wasn’t going to be my life anymore.

“You’re right, Kane.”

My whisper carried through the empty room.

“It does mean something.”

“It meant I had the power to end this. To finally walk away.”

The decision felt like air rushing into lungs that had been starving for it. This was the beginning of my end with Kane—and the start of something I could finally call mine.

I grabbed my keys, the sound of Kane’s car pulling into the driveway stopped me. Something was different this time.

And I was ready for it.

“Camila, fix your dress. You look unkempt.”

My mother’s voice sliced through the dining room like the cold steel of a blade. The weight of her gaze burned against my shoulder, her disapproval palpable even without direct eye contact.

The table was adorned with crystal glasses and porcelain plates, a feast fit for show, not comfort. Roast lamb, truffle risotto, and a symphony of side dishes filled the room with an aroma that clashed with the tension in the air.

“Thank you for inviting me, I said, though my throat tightened as I forced the words.”

My father nodded from the head of the table, a brief, neutral acknowledgment that carried more duty than warmth. Beside him, my brother, Caleb, leaned back in his chair, swirling wine like he owned the place.

“Invited? Camila, it’s your family. You shouldn’t need an invitation.”

She said it with a condescending smile, as if the reminder would fix the glaring cracks in our facade.

“But then again, it seems you’ve forgotten what family means.”

I clenched my fists under the table, my nails biting into my palms. The dining room suddenly felt smaller, the walls pressing in with every word she spoke.

“She’s right, though, Caleb chimed in, his tone as casual as if discussing the weather. Kane’s not easy, but you should’ve tried harder.”

My breath hitched. His words were a dagger aimed precisely where it would hurt most.

“Tried harder? “I repeated, my voice low but trembling.

“You know how men like Kane are. Driven, ambitious. He needed someone who could understand that.”

The sting of his words almost drowned out the hum of my mother’s approval.

“Exactly. Marriage is about compromise, Camila. Perhaps if you’d been less... sensitive, things wouldn’t have escalated.”

My chest tightened as memories of Veronica’s taunting texts resurfaced. Kane’s laughter with her, the way he’d dismiss me like an afterthought. Compromise? Had I not compromised my soul for him already?

“I wasn’t the one who brought a mistress into our marriage.”

My voice cracked, but I refused to break eye contact.

“Lower your voice, she snapped, her tone icy. Don’t embarrass yourself.”

“That’s enough, all of you”, my father interjected, his voice carrying a weight that silenced the room.

He looked at me then, softer than the others but no less conflicted.

“Camila, forgiveness is... stability. It’s not weakness.”

I felt the tears prick my eyes, but I blinked them away. Stability? I’d been balancing on a crumbling tightrope for years.

I excused myself, the chair scraping against the floor as I stood abruptly. My mother called after me, something about leaving dishes unfinished, but I didn’t care.

The quiet of the upstairs study wrapped around me like a fragile shield. I stared out the window, the sprawling backyard lit by strings of fairy lights. But even the serene glow couldn’t reach the storm inside me.

“You’ll need to face him eventually.”

His voice startled me, but I didn’t turn around.

“What if I don’t want to?”

“Running only makes things harder.”

I laughed bitterly, shaking my head.

“Harder than this? Than being blamed for everything?”

“Your mother only wants what’s best for you.”

“No. She wants what’s best for her image.”

He sighed, stepping closer, but the gulf between us felt insurmountable.

“You’re stronger than you think, Camila. But strength sometimes means choosing peace over pride.”

I clenched my jaw, the familiar ache of conflicting loyalties gnawing at me.

My suitcase sat half-packed on the bed, the contents a jumble of hurried decisions. I ran my fingers over the leather handle, imagining the weight of it as I walked away from this life.

“Leaving, huh?”

I spun around, startled to find Caleb leaning against the doorway, his smirk a cruel mirror of our mother’s.

“What do you want, Caleb?”

“Nothing. Just watching you do what you always do. Run.”

The words hit like a slap, but I didn’t let it show.

“At least I’m not staying and pretending everything’s fine.”

His smirk faltered, but only for a moment.

“Kane was right about you. You don’t fight for anything.”

The venom in his voice struck deep, but I refused to flinch.

“Good thing he has Veronica to fight for him now.”

The flicker of discomfort in his eyes was my only satisfaction as I brushed past him, grabbing the suitcase.

The night air hit me like a slap, cool and biting against my flushed skin. I made it to the car, keys in hand, when the sound of tires on gravel froze me in place.

Headlights pierced through the darkness, the familiar growl of Kane’s engine making my heart lurch.

“Camila, wait.”

His voice was desperate, but it wasn’t just him. Veronica stepped out of the passenger seat, her expression as poised as ever.

My chest constricted as she walked toward me, her smile laced with triumph.

“You weren’t leaving without saying goodbye, were you?”

My grip tightened on the suitcase handle, but the tremble in my knees betrayed me. Kane’s gaze bore into mine, unreadable, as the words I’d been rehearsing dissolved into silence.