Silas came home early, a rare occurrence.

We hadn't sat down together for a meal in weeks.

Since Serena returned, his "late-night meetings" had multiplied exponentially.

He cut his chicken with methodical precision. I managed two bites of asparagus before the nausea hit. The familiar abdominal pain flared up again.

Sensing my discomfort, Nova trotted out from the hallway and sat under my chair.

I gently set my fork down with a soft clink. Silas glanced up at me. "I'm going to feed Nova," I murmured, and quickly stood up.

I hurried to the spare bedroom I had converted into Nova's room. I poured some premium kibble into his ceramic bowl, and the little dog happily dug in, his tail thumping against the baseboard. Watching him, I felt a fleeting sense of peace.

Then, the abdominal pain spiked sharply, so severe it stole my breath. A thick, metallic taste surged up my throat.

I clamped both hands tightly over my mouth. When I pulled them away, my palms were slick with dark red blood.

Nova stopped eating. He whipped his head around, let out a terrified whimper, and began pawing at my knees.

Trembling, I grabbed a handful of tissues from the nightstand, wiped the blood from my mouth and hands, and buried the crumpled, blood-soaked wads deep in the trash can.

I slumped to the floor, pulling Nova into a tight hug and burying my face in his fur.

"I'm okay, buddy. I'm fine," I rasped.

He didn't believe me. He refused to eat anymore, instead frantically licking my chin.

A sharp knock on the door startled me.

Silas stood there, leaning against the wooden frame. "Come finish your dinner, Nina," he said softly.

I forced myself back to the table and choked down the food as if I were swallowing sawdust and ashes. When I couldn't stomach another bite, Silas took the plates to the kitchen to load the dishwasher.

When he returned, I was sitting on the plush rug in the living room, tossing a plush toy for Nova. Silas sat on the sofa behind me.

"Nina," he began, his voice soft. "I know I've been incredibly busy lately. Once this quarter ends, I'll clear my schedule. We'll go to that tropical island. Just the two of us. How does that sound?"

I kept my eyes fixed on the dog, scratching behind his ears. "Okay."

A trip to a tropical island had been at the top of my bucket list for years.

We never had a honeymoon; we just signed the papers and went back to work the next day.

As our relationship deepened, I had begged him to take me away for a belated honeymoon. But the CEO of Vance Capital could never find the time. The trip was always pushed to the next quarter, or the next year.

And now, it was his turn to bring it up. I could feel his gaze resting on the back of my neck, heavy and expectant. I pretended not to notice.

"There's a charity gala next Wednesday night," he added casually. "Are you free? I'd like you to come with me."

My hand froze in Nova's fur. I took a slow breath, trying to keep my voice entirely devoid of emotion. "I can't go. I won't."

Silas didn't push it. He just nodded.

I stared blankly at Nova.

During her years in Paris, Serena had all but disappeared from New York's social circles. A high society gala was the perfect opportunity for her to rebuild her network. There was no way she would miss it.

If she batted her eyelashes and asked Silas to escort her, he absolutely wouldn't refuse.

He just didn't expect that I would show up anyway.

The ballroom at the Pierre Hotel was the epitome of luxury.

I stood in the darkest corner near an exit draped in velvet curtains, lingering on the edges like a ghost.

It didn't take long to find Silas. I had loved him for ten years; tracking him with my eyes was practically an instinct. He stood near the center of the room, impeccably handsome in a tailored black tuxedo.

Serena was nestled against his arm, radiating like a blooming rose in a deep V-neck ruby silk gown.

They navigated the crowd, every gesture exuding power and beauty. They laughed at the right jokes, won over the right investors, and carried themselves with the effortless grace of magazine cover models.

I knew this was going to happen. My prediction had been completely accurate.

And yet, witnessing it with my own eyes was soul-crushing.

My heart pounded violently, the rhythm erratic. Panic and sorrow wrapped around my chest like invisible vines, squeezing tighter and tighter until I couldn't breathe.

But I didn't scream, and I didn't storm over to throw a drink in her face. I just stood there, leaning against a marble pillar, watching my husband parade his mistress around town.

Suddenly, a venture capitalist we both knew walked up to Silas. He clapped Silas on the shoulder, laughed, and pointed directly at the corner where I was standing.

Silas turned his head.

I hadn't dressed up; I was just wearing a simple, dark trench coat.

I hadn't looked in a mirror for weeks because I was terrified of seeing my sunken cheeks, protruding collarbones, and sickly, ashen complexion, all of which made me look more like a corpse than a twenty-six-year-old woman.

I knew he recognized me. The color instantly drained from his face.

Across the brilliantly lit ballroom, our eyes met. I didn't cry, and I didn't frown. I just looked at him, my face entirely blank.

I saw his jaw clench. I saw him break away from Serena's grip.

He took a step toward me, trying to push his way through the bustling crowd of socialites, panic written all over his face.

Just as he headed my way, a complex smile curled onto my lips.

And then I turned and walked out.

I don't remember the cab ride home.

By the time I unlocked the door to the penthouse, the tangled mess in my head had completely spiraled out of control into a devastating chaos. The vines wrapped around my heart felt like they were ripping it to shreds.

I walked into my private study and slammed the door shut. The calm facade I had been forcing finally shattered completely.

I grabbed a stack of hardcover books off my desk and hurled them onto the hardwood floor. They hit with a deafening crash. But it wasn't enough.

I tore into the bookshelves, ripping pages out of novels and throwing them into the air like a twisted, grotesque snowstorm.

I grabbed skincare products, crystal ornaments Silas had brought back from business trips to Tokyo and London, and the intricate Lego sets we had built together on rainy Sundays.

I smashed them all. Glass shattered, plastic cracked, and the room was instantly reduced to ruins.

The urge to destroy morphed into a blinding rage.

I stood there, panting, drenched in sweat, surrounded by the wreckage of my own life.

My eyes fell on a pair of metal scissors resting on the edge of the desk.

I picked them up, rolled up my sleeve, and pressed the cold, sharp steel against my forearm.

Before I could draw the blade, a sharp bark shattered the silence.

Nova threw himself at my calves, whining as if he were the one in agony. He pawed at my legs, his little face twisted in distress.

The scissors slipped from my trembling fingers, clattering onto the floor. Nova immediately scrambled into my lap, frantically licking my hands, my arms, anywhere he could reach.

I sank to my knees amidst the broken glass and shredded paper. I pulled his warm, furry body tightly against my chest and, finally, mercifully, broke down.

The destructive high faded, leaving only a bottomless abyss of despair.

I buried my face in the dog's fur and sobbed until my throat bled.