But it no longer mattered.

This time, it was Millie who didn’t want Elliot.

This time, she would be the one to walk away first.

***

After dropping Millie off at home, Elliot rushed off to Hilary’s birthday party.

It was supposed to be an intimate gathering—one where Millie never belonged. Yet, despite her better judgment, she couldn’t resist the birthday girl’s eager invitation.

The taxi came to a halt halfway up the mountain and as Millie entered the villa, fireworks lit up the sky.

A series of sharp pops echoed in the air, followed by a cascade of colorful sparks and streamers raining down from above. Laughter and cheers spilled out from the villa’s open doors.

In the center of the crowd stood Hilary, a birthday hat perched jauntily on her head. She closed her eyes, making a wish with a smile that could outshine the fireworks.

Someone, emboldened by mischief, grabbed a handful of cake, aiming to smear it on Hilary’s face. But before they could act, Elliot stepped in.

He wrapped Hilary in his arms, gently pulling the streamers from her hair. His protective gaze swept over the crowd to shoo away his rowdy friends.

“Watch it. My girl likes to look nice. Don’t ruin it,” he said, his tone firm but playful.

The words were barely out of his mouth when a wave of teasing rippled through the crowd.

Though Millie had braced herself for such a scene, witnessing it firsthand was like a slap to her face.

A sharp, painful knot twisted in her stomach and she fought to keep the rising nausea at bay. Her temples pulsed with every beat of her heart.

She caught someone beside Elliot nudging his arm and pointing in her direction.

When Elliot saw her, the smile on his lips faltered, freezing into a stiff line. His gaze turned icy as he scanned the room, silencing anyone bold enough to meet his eyes.

Hilary, however, remained unshaken. She approached with a bright, unfazed smile.

"Millie is a friend I invited," she said casually. "We were classmates once, always joking around. When I learned that Elliot’s wife was you—"

"Haley!"

Hilary had used her stage name, but Elliot always called her "Hale" in private. He never used her full name.

Hilary knew she had crossed a line, but she didn’t flinch. Instead, she clung to Elliot’s arm and pouted playfully.

"Elliot, don’t be upset."

"I invited Millie because we had some misunderstandings in the past. Now that she’s your wife, that makes her my sister-in-law. I just wanted to apologize first."

Her words were carefully crafted, softening Elliot’s expression almost immediately.

"I was immature before," Hilary continued, her voice sugary sweet. "Let me toast to you. From now on, we’re all friends."

She raised her glass, but Elliot swiftly took it from her, replacing it with juice.

"Who taught you this? You can’t hold your liquor—behave," he chided, his tone gentle but firm.

Hilary dropped her gaze with a soft chuckle, handing a new glass to Millie.

"My tolerance really is bad," she confessed, a teasing glint in her eye. "Even though I’ve been in the industry for a while, Elliot has always protected me, so I never picked up the drinking habit. I hope you don’t mind, Millie. Elliot cares so much about me, so I’ll toast you with juice instead."

Her words seemed sincere, but Millie could see the smugness flickering in her eyes—remnants of the same arrogance Hilary had shown when she’d dragged Millie into the restroom and slammed her head against the wall.

And just like before, Hilary ended it with a light, insincere apology, as though it could wipe away all the harm she’d done.

Millie hesitated, her fingers brushing the glass, but she was unable to bring herself to take it. Just then, someone nearby spoke up in defense of Hilary.

"Enough already. Stop acting so high and mighty."

"Come on, Millie," another voice chimed in. "Hale’s already taken a step back. What happened is in the past. There’s no need to keep holding a grudge over some childish squabbles."

Elliot swiftly took the glass from Hilary’s hand and handed it to Millie, his face setting into an unreadable mask.

"I hope you two can get along."

Millie stared at him and then suddenly, a soft laugh escaped her lips.

"Childish squabbles…"

He had never known the icy sting of cold water over his head in the dead of winter, the searing burn of a cigarette pressed to his skin, or the desperation of swallowing sleeping pills just to escape the night.

What gave him the right to forgive on her behalf?

Elliot frowned, opening his mouth to speak, but Millie suddenly snatched the glass from his hand and downed it swiftly.

The wine spilled, dribbling down her delicate neck and she coughed violently, her eyes glossing over with unshed tears.

For reasons he couldn’t explain, Elliot’s chest tightened painfully, a flicker of guilt gnawing at him.

Before he could react, Millie collapsed into his arms, her breathing shallow and skin flushed.

Someone nearby whispered, "Is she allergic to alcohol?"

The words snapped him back to reality. "Damn it," he muttered, grabbing her and rushing toward the garage.

What the hell was wrong with him? How could he have forgotten?

When Millie finally stirred again, an IV line was running into her arm.

Elliot sat at her side, watching her intently, his red-rimmed eyes betraying the emotions he tried to suppress.

"Why didn’t you tell me?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

"There was no need," she replied, turning her face away.

Elliot grabbed her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his.

"You’re pregnant. I’m the father. And you think it’s unnecessary to tell me?"

Millie stayed silent, her expression unreadable, but Elliot suddenly buried his face in the crook of her neck. She couldn’t tell if he was laughing or crying.

"I’m going to be a father," he murmured repeatedly, his voice trembling with an emotion she couldn’t quite place. Warm tears fell against her shoulder, leaving her frozen in place.

Were they tears of joy—or something else entirely?

After three long years of marriage, she had never conceived. The doctors had told her she suffered from polycystic ovary syndrome, making it nearly impossible to get pregnant.

She had made peace with the idea of never having children, yet now, against all odds, a tiny spark of life had taken root.

Her hand instinctively rested on her flat belly, emotions churning like a storm within her.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed Hilary glaring at her through the small window of the hospital door, her expression dark and piercing.

Millie reclined against the pillows, her face a picture of calm, but her lips curled into a faint, mocking smile.

For the next few days, Elliot barely left her side, eagerly trying to win her over with his cooking.

His culinary skills were remarkable, surpassing even the finest restaurants she’d known.

But she could count the times she’d tasted his cooking on one hand.

Once, during her senior year of college, she had been drowning in the demands of her thesis, internships and tutoring jobs, often skipping meals entirely. One night, she woke doubled over in pain from a stomachache. That was the first time Elliot cooked for her—a simple plate of fried rice.

It had been the most satisfying meal of her life.

She had always wondered how someone raised in luxury, surrounded by chefs and maids, had learned to cook so well. Later, she found out.

Hilary was a notoriously picky eater. During her years abroad, Elliot took six months of cooking lessons just so he could fly out and prepare her favorite hometown dishes every month.

Since then, whenever Millie was too swamped to cook, she’d jokingly ask Elliot to cook for her again. But he always refused. If her persistence annoyed him, he would order takeout instead.

The reason?

Hilary’s jealousy. She had forbidden him from cooking for anyone else. Like so much else, his skills in the kitchen had been reserved exclusively for her.

Millie glanced at the table brimming with dishes made to suit her tastes, but the sight only deepened her unease. Taking a few bites out of obligation, she excused herself and walked to the bathroom.

Once inside, her stomach rebelled. She gripped the edge of the sink; her body wracked with spasms until the contents of her meal were forced up. A sharp pain clawed at her abdomen and an acrid metallic taste filled her mouth.

She leaned over the sink as crimson blood spilled past her lips, vivid against the white porcelain. Her hands trembled as she turned on the faucet, watching the water sweep away every trace of her struggle, leaving the sink pristine once more.

Outside, Elliot banged on the door with urgency. The sound echoed like a heartbeat, each knock filled with tension.

The door opened abruptly and before Millie could react, Elliot pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly, his embrace both firm and desperate.

"Is that little brat giving you trouble again?"

"How do you know it’s a boy?"

"They say the more you want something, the less likely you will get it. You have to say the opposite.

“A boy is fine, too. Later, we can have a girl and the two of us can protect the two of you."

Hearing this, Millie’s lips curved faintly as she replied, each word deliberate, "Have you ever heard the saying, 'If you want it all, you’ll end up with nothing'?"

Elliot’s smile faltered for a fleeting moment, a strange unease tightening his chest. But he quickly regained his composure and wrapped her in a firm embrace. In a voice barely above a whisper, he murmured, "Then all I want is you."

Millie averted her gaze, her lips twisting into a faint, mocking smile.

The silence shattered with the sharp ring of a phone. Elliot’s eyes flickered to the screen and they stepped aside to answer it.

Through the quiet night, Hilary’s trembling voice rang clear.

"Brother Elliot, I think someone broke into my room! I’m hiding in the bathroom, too scared to come out. I can’t reach my manager and don’t know what to do…" Her sobs punctuated her words, each one tugging at the air between them.

"Stay hidden and don’t move. I’m coming over. Keep the line open."

Without glancing back, Elliot bolted out the door, leaving the room and Millie behind.

Millie chuckled softly under her breath, her expression unreadable, before heading to the bathroom.

By the time she emerged from her bath, the clock had struck 11 p.m. She climbed into bed and reached for her phone, which buzzed twice on the bedside table.

Unlocking it, an unnamed profile flashed on the screen, accompanied by a string of messages. [Don’t think you can use the baby to tie him down. Neither you nor your child will take Elliot from me.]

[You think he loves you? He’s only with you out of pity.]

Her thumb hovered over the short video attached and she tapped it. The dim screen flickered to life, releasing muffled sounds that made her stomach churn.

A delicate voice whimpered, "Elliot… Elliot… Brother Elliot… be gentle… Hale hurts…"

The man in the clip said nothing, only letting out a faint, weary sigh before the recording ended.

Another message followed instantly. [He always falls asleep so quickly afterward.]

Millie’s grip on the phone tightened, her knuckles whitening as she forced a sharp intake of breath, battling the wave of nausea clawing at her chest.

Saving the photo and video without a second thought, Millie lay back and drifted into a restless sleep.

By morning, she had made up her mind. She submitted her resignation without hesitation and walked out of the building, her decision firm and resolute. As she stepped outside, her phone buzzed with an incoming call. Hilary’s name flashed on the screen.

When she arrived, Hilary was already waiting, her smug demeanor evident. Millie took her seat across the table and wasted no time. "What do you want?"

"Just catching up with an old friend…"

Millie’s gaze hardened as she cut through the charade. "Don’t waste your time pretending with me. I’m not Elliot."

Hilary’s smile grew sharper, a glint of malice dancing in her eyes. She leaned forward, her words slow and deliberate. "Millie, relationships can’t be forced. You spent ten years chasing after Elliot and what did it get you? A marriage was as hollow as an empty shell. Was it worth it?"

"And do you even know the truth? Elliot wouldn't have looked your way if it weren’t for me. Back in the day, I told him about this girl in class who was ‘bullying’ me. He was so eager to devise schemes to get back at you."

"Remember when we pushed you down the stairs? He carried you to the infirmary and you cried your eyes out, saying no one had ever been so kind to you. We laughed ourselves sick when he came back and told us."

"Did you not see it? Every one of those moments where he played the hero—they were his ideas all along.”

"Watching you gaze at him like he was some sort of savior was hilarious. We couldn’t help but think—how could someone be so pathetically blind?"