The next evening, Vincent came home again.

This time, he was holding a small, elegant blue box—the signature of Tiffany & Co.

"Elena, I bought you something," he said, approaching me carefully, his voice dripping with a sweetness I now knew was fake. "You're going to love it."

I sat by the window, not even bothering to look at him.

Vincent opened the box. Inside lay a brilliant diamond necklace, each stone flawless and sparkling under the light.

"It's from the new collection. Global limited edition," he said softly. "Want to try it on?"

I finally turned to look at him, at the practiced tenderness on his face. Suddenly, the last five years flashed before my eyes.

The apology gifts after every fight. The sudden affection after days of cold shoulders. The sweet nothings he’d whisper whenever I suspected he was cheating… It was all an act.

He’d send roses on my birthday, book the most expensive restaurant for our anniversary, go to church with me on Christmas…

All those beautiful memories were now just a bitter joke. Because I knew, after those "romantic" nights, he'd turn around and go straight to Sophia's bed.

"Elena?" Vincent reached out to put the necklace on me. "Why are you crying?"

I hadn't even realized the tears were falling again. But this time, it wasn't sadness. It was rage. Rage at my own stupidity.

"Get it away from me," I said, pushing his hand away. "Take your necklace, and take your fake concern with it."

"Elena, I know you're angry, but it's not as bad as you think," Vincent tried to explain. "I gave you the pills because I didn't want you to get hurt."

"Afraid I'd be hurt?" I couldn't believe my ears. "So you thought lying to me was better?"

"You don't understand. The succession in the Romano family is complicated. I needed to be sure…" He paused. "But this doesn't mean anything, Elena. Even if Sophia has the baby, it won't change your position. We can still have a good life together."

A good life together?

I stood up, feeling the blood pound in my ears.

"What do you think I am, Vincent? Your little songbird? Something you keep in a cage, toss a few treats to, and expect to sing on command?"

"Elena, don't be like that…"

"Be like what?" My voice rose. "How should I be? Should I keep playing the fool? Keep taking your poison? Watch your mistress carry your child and be grateful for the scraps you throw me?"

"I never asked you to be grateful."

"Then what do you want from me?" I stepped closer. "To keep being your perfect little wife? To put on a show for the world about how happy we are, so you can go screw Sophia with a clear conscience?"

Vincent fell silent.

"There is no 'us' anymore, Vincent," I said, my voice suddenly quiet. "I hate you. I hate your lies, I hate your hypocrisy, and I hate that I ever loved you."

I turned and walked into the bedroom, locking the door behind me.

I heard the sound of something smashing against the door, followed by the front door slamming shut.

I collapsed onto the bed, feeling completely hollowed out.

Just then, my laptop chimed with a new email notification.

I walked over. The screen was lit up with a message from Marcus Blackwood.

Elena,

How have you been? I remember you always used to skip meals. Is your stomach still giving you trouble? I took this picture of some orcas the other day. Incredible, right? I wish we could have seen this together. I know you're married now, and this is probably out of line. I'm sorry. But I miss you. I hope you're happy.

—Marcus

I stared at the email, my heart starting to pound.

It was an escape. A window to a new life.

I opened my email history with Marcus.

For five years, he’d sent at least one a month. Sometimes it was a photo of a beautiful sunset, sometimes a book recommendation, sometimes just a simple "thinking of you."

An email from a year ago: Elena, I walked past a small gallery today and saw a painting that looked just like your style. Are you still painting?

Two years ago: Heard it’s snowing in New York. Stay warm. The winters there can be damp, but they have their own kind of romance.

Three years ago: Happy birthday, Elena. I hope all is well.

I’d read every single one, but never replied. Not because I didn't want to, but because I didn't dare.

Reading them now, I could feel the careful, deep affection in every word. Marcus never crossed the line, never asked about my marriage. But he never stopped caring.

I had held up my end of the deal. What about Vincent?

My phone buzzed. A bank transfer notification: Vincent Romano has sent you $5,000,000.

The note attached: For your trouble.

Five million dollars.

I laughed, a bitter, hollow sound. He thought money could buy anything. My forgiveness. My silence.

But that money only strengthened my resolve. It was proof that in his eyes, I really was just a "problem" that could be paid off.

I sat back down at my computer and started typing.

Marcus,

Thank you for your emails. And thank you for not forgetting me these last five years.

Give me one month. Then I’m coming with you.

Elena

I hit send.

Taking a deep breath, I walked to my closet. I had to start packing, but without Vincent noticing.

Over the next few days, I secretly began boxing up my life. I shipped my most important documents, my jewelry, and a few sentimental items to an address in New York. Marcus would be there to get them.

On the surface, Vincent and I were in a cold war. He tried to apologize a few times, but I shut him down with icy silence.

Then, on Thursday night, he knocked on the bedroom door.

"Elena, we need to talk."

I opened it. He stood there, looking exhausted.

"The Don's birthday party is this Saturday," he said, looking me straight in the eye. "The entire Romano family will be there. All our partners, too."

"So?"

"So I need you there with me." He paused. "As my wife."

I let out a cold laugh. "Now you remember I'm your wife?"

"Elena, I know you're angry. I know I screwed up," Vincent said, his voice low. "But can we just… stop this for one night? At least in front of my father, can we just…"

"We what?"

"Call a truce?" He looked genuinely tired. "You know how much they value our marriage, how much they love seeing us together. I don't want him to worry. After the party, we can go back to figuring this out."

I looked at him, my decision already made. This would be my final performance as Elena Romano. My last goodbye to this family and this sham of a marriage.

"Fine," I agreed. "But this is the last time."

A wave of relief washed over Vincent’s face. "Thank you, Elena."

Saturday night, I put on the deep red silk gown—Vincent's favorite. Not for him, but for the perfect end to this play.

"You look beautiful," Vincent said, waiting for me by the door. He was in a sharp, black tuxedo, looking every bit the man I once thought I loved.

If only I didn't know the truth.

I took his arm, the familiar scent of his cologne wrapping around me, but I kept my body as far from his as I could. This would be the last time we ever touched.

The party was at the Romano family's private club, its grand hall filled with the who's who of New York's underworld and high society.

At the entrance to the ballroom, Vincent suddenly stopped and pulled me close, his arm around my waist.

"I love you," he whispered in my ear. Then, in front of everyone, he leaned in to kiss me. I turned my head just enough that his lips landed on my cheek instead of my mouth.

Vincent stiffened.

The crowd didn't see our silent struggle. They just smiled and clapped, murmuring about what a perfect couple we were.

I kept a flawless smile plastered on my face, but inside, I felt nothing.

But as we walked into the grand ballroom, I saw something that made my blood run cold.

Sophia was sitting at the head table. She wore a pale blue maternity dress, her baby bump now obvious. And she was sitting in the seat that should have been mine. The seat for Vincent's wife.

She smiled at us, looking for all the world like the lady of the house.

Vincent's mother, Maria, came over, beaming, and pulled me to her side. She had been one of the biggest cheerleaders for our marriage and had always acted pleased with me.

Forced to give up her spot, Sophia shot me a look of pure hatred before moving away. But as I sat down, I saw Vincent’s eyes follow her.

I didn't want to watch. I raised my wine glass to hide the cold smirk on my lips.

Then Maria turned to me, her smile a little too bright.

"Elena, dear, you and Vincent have been married for five years now. When are you going to give the Romano family a little baby?"

Laughter rippled around the table as other family members chimed in.

"The family is very eager for the next heir, you know."

I felt the blood drain from my face. My fingers tightened around my glass. For me, this topic was like rubbing salt in a gaping wound.

Just as I was struggling for a response, Sophia stood up gracefully, one hand resting on her swollen belly.

"Auntie, don't pressure Elena," she said, her voice angelic. "These things happen when they're meant to. You can't force fate."

She walked over to me, her face a mask of concern. "Elena, I know this must be a sensitive subject. As your friend, I want to apologize for being so thoughtless."

With that, she raised her champagne flute. "Let me toast to you. To our friendship."

Every eye in the room was on us. I knew refusing would be a scene. I picked up my glass, ready to take a token sip.

Suddenly, Vincent shot to his feet and snatched the glass from Sophia’s hand.

"Sophia, you're pregnant. You can't drink," he said, his voice full of concern. Then he turned to me, his tone hardening. "Elena, you should know better than to let a pregnant woman drink."

He pushed the champagne flute into my hand. "You drink it for her. It's not like one glass is going to make a difference after five years of nothing."

The table went silent.

I looked at Vincent, the man I once loved, as he publicly humiliated me in front of his entire family, in front of his mistress.

The relatives exchanged awkward glances.

I saw a flash of triumph in Sophia’s eyes. She’d won. She’d made Vincent choose her in front of everyone.

Slowly, I stood up. I took the glass of champagne and smiled at Sophia.

"You're right, Sophia. As a friend, I should be more understanding." I paused, my voice carrying across the silent room. "After all, even if that baby is Vincent’s, I could never blame you."

Then I downed the entire glass in one go.

The room was dead silent.

Don Romano's expression soured. I couldn't tell if it was because of Vincent's stunt, or because I had ruined the party for everyone.

Vincent’s turned ashen. Maria’s fork clattered onto her plate.

Whispers erupted around us. Sophia looked like she’d seen a ghost.

I set the empty glass down and elegantly picked up my clutch. "I do apologize for spoiling the mood. Happy birthday, Don Romano."

And with that, I turned and walked out, leaving chaos in my wake.

Vincent was shouting my name, but I didn't look back.

I slid into the first taxi I saw.

"The airport, please."

"Elena! Elena, wait!" Vincent came running out, but the taxi was already pulling away.

In the rearview mirror, I saw him standing there, a look of panic on his face I had never seen before.

On the way to the airport, I opened my phone and found the screenshots I’d saved of Sophia’s post.

I sent the pictures to the Romano family group chat, then typed one last message.

【To the elders, the child Sophia is carrying is Vincent’s. My lawyer is drawing up the divorce papers. Thank you for your hospitality these past five years. Consider our alliance over.】

I hit send.

Then I turned off my phone.

As the plane prepared for takeoff, I looked out at the lights of the city. I felt no regret, only relief.

Everything in this city—the Romano mansion, Vincent's lies, Sophia's provocations—was now in my past.

I was going to New York. I was going to the man who had waited five years for me.