Armani's office was near the private clinic where I had my check-ups. When I arrived, it was late afternoon, yet the company was eerily quiet, with no one at the reception desk. The elevator took me to the top floor, directly to the CEO's office.

The usual stark industrial decor was transformed with pastel balloons and flower petals. Strings of multicolored fairy lights were everywhere. Employees gathered, cheering, with Armani and Vienna at the center, both smiling. Vienna wore a pink, Victorian-style dress topped with a hat shaped like a birthday cake, beaming with joy. They looked so perfect together, like a fairy-tale prince and princess.

Vienna glanced up and noticed me, then looked at Armani, surprised. I stepped inside, breaking the celebratory atmosphere like an uninvited guest.

"Happy birthday, Vienna," I said, then turned to Armani. "Why didn't you tell me it was Vienna's birthday? I didn't bring a gift."

Before Armani could respond, Vienna spoke up with a sweet smile, pulling out a pink scarf adorned with little teddy bears from behind her back.

"No need, Mikayla. Armani already gave me the best birthday present."

I looked at the scarf, which was identical to the one around my neck, except for the color.

Suddenly, a chill swept over me. I gazed at Armani with a sense of melancholy, but Armani merely gave Vienna a resigned smile.

"Don't be upset, Mikayla. Vienna saw your scarf last time and found out that I had knitted it, so she begged me for a long time."

"I figured her birthday was coming up, so I made it for her."

Vienna looked at me with innocent eyes.

"Mikayla, you won't be angry, right? I just thought this scarf suited me so well." She wrapped the scarf around her neck, her eyes sparkling as she looked at Armani.

Suppressing the nausea swirling in my stomach, I forced a smile. "Why would I be angry?"

I yanked the scarf from my neck, leaving a red mark, and casually walked over to Armani. Carefully, I draped the scarf around his neck.

I then smiled at Armani. "See? You both wearing it together looks just right."

Armani frowned with disapproval and removed the scarf, handing it back to me.

"Mikayla, don't make a scene. It's Vienna's birthday."

I didn't reach out to take it. It wasn't special anymore, just like me.

With a steady gaze, I looked at Armani. "I'm not making a scene, Armani. Congratulations to you both for a lifetime of happiness together."

Without waiting for his response, I turned and left.

Funny, even though the first snowfall had stopped, I felt colder than ever.

When Armani came home that evening, he brought me a necklace. It was the latest design from a high-end brand, very pricey and elegant. Still, it wasn't my style. There was a lingering, sickly-sweet scent of spiced honey cake clinging to him.

"Don't be upset, Mikayla," he said, "I've only ever thought of Vienna as a sister."

Armani grew up in a foster home, and Vienna’s mother ran the place. They grew up together until they were separated when Vienna’s father took her abroad at fifteen.

"Mikayla, you're the one I love the most. Please, believe me, won't you?"

He hugged me from behind, his warm chest radiating a comforting heat. So many times, I had believed him without hesitation. Yet now, I paused.

I took the necklace from him and went to wash up, saying nothing. When I came back, I found Armani lounging on the couch, looking at ease as he chatted on the phone.

"You women just get each other, Vienna. Mikayla really didn't get upset."

"Yeah, Mikayla is amazing in every way, just a bit prone to jealousy. Go easy on her."

I listened quietly to their conversation, clenching my hands until they went pale. When had things between Armani and me changed like this? When did our relationship become a game of deception?

I didn’t know the answer. I glanced at the necklace resting on the vanity and walked over, tossing it into the trash without a second thought.

Stomach pain kept me awake late into the night. I could hear Armani's steady breathing behind me as I tried to stifle my groans. From the corner of my eye, I saw something gleaming. The necklace lay in the trash, casting a faint silver light. Just like my silent tears.

I drifted into a hazy dream, returning to the year I turned eighteen. Back then, I was the perfect good girl, the pride of my parents, teachers, and classmates. Meanwhile, Armani Morrison was nothing but a high school dropout with a tough exterior. Our lives seemed destined to run parallel without crossing—until fate thought otherwise.

That summer, I stumbled upon Armani in an alley near school, caught up in a fight and tending to his injuries. He sat on the ground, his white T-shirt stained red around his abdomen. Hearing my footsteps, he looked up at me, his handsome features barely visible beneath the bruises. I offered to help him up, but he told me tersely to get lost. Ignoring his words, his pale face from the blood loss compelled me. Determined, I helped him to his feet and supported him step by step to the hospital.

I watched as the doctor bandaged his wounds and settled his medical bills before leaving. Sitting on the hospital bed, he watched me with those striking eyes, a tear-shaped mole at the corner shimmering slightly. He introduced himself slowly, "Armani Morrison."

I nodded, acknowledging him. As I turned to leave, his impatient voice stopped me. "What's your name?"

"Mikayla Morrison," I replied.

That was our first encounter.

Later, on a day when some thugs cornered me in an alley after school, Armani came to my rescue. With a relaxed air, he returned the money I'd spent on his medical bills. For the next few days, he lingered in that alley, making sure those troublemakers remembered I was under his protection, untouchable by anyone else.

From then on, we gradually became closer. I'd occasionally bring him food, like sandwiches and spiced honey cake, and he'd often walk me home. When my parents found out, they insisted I stop spending time with him. But for Armani, I disobeyed them for the first time—like I would countless times afterward.