Back then, I was deeply moved, convinced I had married the best man in the world.

One bracelet I treasured in the safe, too precious to ever wear.

The other he had locked away as well, saying it was for our future daughter.

But now, the "Echo of the Stars"—meant for my daughter—was glaringly, boldly wrapped around the wrist of this arrogant woman before me.

My world spun violently in that instant.

An icy chill shot from my soles to the crown of my head; I felt my blood begin to freeze.

Five years.

Mark and I had journeyed from shy college sweethearts to walking down the aisle. A full five years.

Everyone said we were a match made in heaven, a real-life fairytale.

I had believed it, too.

Yet this bracelet before me was the sharpest dagger, piercing straight through the heart I had sheltered in a bubble of happiness.

"Ashley? Ashley, what's wrong?" Ruth asked, seeing my pallor, and reached out to steady me.

Taking a deep breath, I pushed her hand away and walked slowly, step by step, toward Cynthia.

My voice trembled with the effort of control. "Where did you get that bracelet?"

Cynthia instinctively touched the chain, a flicker of smug pride crossing her face.

"What? Jealous?" she said. "It's called 'Echo of the Stars.' Mark gave it to me. He said it's one of a kind, just like my place in his heart."

One of a kind?

A bitter laugh choked in my chest; a tight ball of cotton seemed to stuff my lungs, stealing my breath.

So every sweet nothing he'd ever whispered to me could just be copied and pasted to someone else.

"What are you to him?" I asked, my gaze locked on hers, each word deliberate.

She seemed to savor my agony. Deliberately straightening, she leaned close, her breath a hot, taunting whisper in my ear. "I'm the one in his bed—the one who makes him happy. And you? What exactly are you?"

That was the final blow, shattering the last sliver of my restraint.

With every ounce of strength I possessed, my hand shot up and I slapped her across the face.

*Crack!*

The sharp crack of the slap silenced the entire restaurant.

Clutching her cheek, Cynthia stared at me in disbelief. Then, with a sudden fury, she lunged at me like a madwoman. “How dare you hit me! You bitch!”

Ruth sprang forward, trying to pull her away—and in an instant, chaos erupted.

Cynthia’s nails raked across my arm, leaving bloody lines.

In her effort to shield me, Ruth was shoved hard; she stumbled back, slamming into the edge of a table.

“Security! Where the hell is security?” Cynthia shrieked. “Throw these two crazy bitches out!”

Without a word, several men in black suits closed in, hands outstretched to grab Ruth and me.

“Don’t you touch my sister-in-law!” Ruth threw her arms wide, shielding me. Her small frame radiated a fierce defiance. “You lay a finger on us, and my brother will make you pay!”

“Your brother?” Cynthia sneered venomously. “Your brother’s in my bed right now!” She barked at the guards, “What are you waiting for? Scratch up their faces!”

This was no longer about removal; it was malicious intent to harm.

The rage inside me finally boiled over.

Pulling Ruth behind me, I grabbed the pitcher of iced lemon water and flung its contents straight into Cynthia’s face.

Cold water drenched her head and face. Her meticulously applied makeup instantly ran, mascara and eyeliner smearing into a pathetic mess.

“Ahhh—!” she shrieked, losing all semblance of control. “Hit them! Beat them to a pulp!”

The security guards’ expressions turned menacing as they advanced step by step.

Around us, diners gasped; others fumbled for their phones, eager to record the scene.

Thinking fast, Ruth ducked behind me. Summoning what little courage she had left, she held up her phone and wailed into the screen, her voice trembling. “Everyone! I’m under attack at my brother’s restaurant! This manager tried to snatch my phone, and she’s ordering security to beat us! Please, call the police!”

She’d actually gone live.

The live chat exploded instantly.

**[Holy shit! Assault in broad daylight?]**

**[Don’t be scared, Ruth! We’ve already called the cops!]**

**[Who the hell is this manager? So full of herself!]**

Far from backing down at the sight of the live stream, Cynthia grew even more unhinged.

Pointing a shaking finger at Ruth’s phone, she screamed at the guards, “Smash that phone too!”

Just as one guard’s hand was about to close around Ruth’s wrist, the restaurant door flew open with force.

A familiar, tall figure strode in, bringing a wave of cold air with him.

It was Mark.