"Following you?" I walked toward them, my face calm. "You told me to come pick you up."

He seemed to be second-guessing whether he’d actually sent me the text.

After all, casually ordering me to do something and then forgetting about it moments later was a common occurrence for him.

Sophia was nestled in the booth beside Vincent, poured into a sexy red dress that hugged every perfect curve of her body.

"Oh, Vincent, I was only teasing. I sent the text."

"I wanted to see if Mrs. Salvatore really does everything you say." She batted her eyelashes, looking all innocent.

Vincent's face softened immediately. "Sophia, you're such a handful."

"But Bella, your timing is perfect. Drive us home."

I watched the scene, a storm churning inside me. But on the outside, I was perfectly still.

"Fine."

Vincent looked surprised, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. The old me would have run out crying or stormed over and made a scene.

"Bella, you..." he started, trying to explain.

But I just reached out, took his coat, and let Sophia help him up as they followed me out.

"Let's go." I turned and walked toward the door.

In the car, Sophia sat in the back, chattering away to Vincent, her voice shrill and grating. Vincent would reply now and then, but his eyes kept flicking to me in the rearview mirror.

"You're quiet tonight, Bella," he finally said.

"What's there to talk about?"

We stopped at a red light. Vincent turned to look at me. "About what happened back there..."

"There's nothing to explain." I stared straight ahead. "We're getting a divorce. I won’t be interfering in your life anymore."

His face changed. He clearly wasn't used to this reaction from me.

The car fell into a dead silence.

The light turned green. A split second later, a black sedan shot out from a side street, aiming right for us.

Vincent lunged, pulling me into his arms.

"Watch out!"

There was a screech of tires as the black car scraped past us.

He held me tight against his chest. I could feel his heart hammering. The gesture was so familiar. He used to protect me just like this.

"Are you okay?" He let go, anxiously checking me for injuries.

I looked at his concerned face, and for a second, I felt dizzy.

Was this the same man who left me to die on a rooftop?

After the intersection, Vincent's hand instinctively found mine and held it.

His warm palm, the familiar touch. I almost forgot we were getting divorced.

But the second the car stopped, I pulled my hand away.

His affection was a poison, and I'd spent three years letting it seep into my veins. It would kill me if I let it.

I couldn't let myself fall for it again.

"Thanks."

Vincent's hand hung in the air, his expression complicated.

The next morning, as I was getting ready to go to the gallery, Vincent was waiting downstairs. "I'll drive you."

"No, thanks."

"Bella, we need to talk." His voice was pleading. "About yesterday..."

"I told you, there's nothing to talk about."

"Get in the car. I'm taking you to the gallery." He opened the passenger door.

I was about to refuse, but then I saw the inside and froze.

Leopard-print seat covers. A crystal charm hanging from the rearview mirror.

But the most glaring thing was a silk scarf draped over the passenger seat, carelessly left behind. The air still held the faint, cloying scent of her jasmine perfume.

Vincent was a neat freak. He never allowed a single thing out of place in his car. But now, his passenger seat looked like it belonged to another woman.

"What is..." I pointed at the decorations.

Vincent frowned for a moment, then dismissed it with a shrug.

"Sophia left that stuff the last time she was in the car. I haven't had a chance to clear it out."

Forgot to clear it out?

Or didn't want to?

I got in the car and noticed a small, high-end makeup bag by my feet. A limited-edition Chanel.

"Forgot to put this away, too?"

Vincent's face turned red. "I'll have someone clean it out right away."

He used to freak out if I left a single strand of hair in his car. Now he was letting another woman's personal things sit here for who knows how long.

The difference in our reactions was stark.

When we got to the gallery, I saw my colleagues huddled around the front desk, buzzing with excitement.

"This champagne is so expensive! Dom Pérignon!"

"And these roses, they must have cost a fortune!"

Anna came over and whispered, "Bella, are these from your husband?"

I looked at the expensive champagne and bouquets.

"They're not for me."

"Huh? Then who are they for?"

The others were murmuring among themselves.

“You guys haven’t heard? The rumor is, Don Vincent’s former assistant, Sophia, was upset about something, so he had all this sent over to cheer her up.”

“Still calling her an assistant? I give it a month before she’s the official girlfriend!”

“God, I’m so envious… To have a man like that go to such lengths to appease you. I guess we’re all benefiting from it, in a way.”

I stood there, watching the romantic gestures that should have belonged to a wife being used to please another woman.

And the rest of us, the "irrelevant" ones, were just there to enjoy the benefits.

"Bella, aren't you allergic to lilies? Let's get these flowers into Sophia's office." Anna pointed at the bouquets, pulling me away.

Even my co-workers remembered something like that. Had Vincent really forgotten?

Sophia loved strong scents. Jasmine perfume, lily bouquets.

I remembered when we first got married, Vincent memorized everything I liked. I loved the delicate scent of lily of the valley, and he had them specially ordered and planted all around our villa. I was allergic to lilies, so he'd never let one in the house.

Now, he'd even forgotten my allergies.

"Bella, are you okay?" Anna asked, her voice full of concern.

"I'm fine." I looked away. "Let's get back to work."

I went to my office and started preparing for next month's big exhibition. It was a project I'd been planning for six months, featuring ten up-and-coming artists. The client was one of New York's biggest art investment funds. The deal was worth millions. This exhibition was supposed to be a major milestone in my career.

At eleven o'clock that night, I was the only one left in the gallery, still finalizing the details.

The door opened and Vincent walked in.

"Why are you still working so late?"

"Prepping for the exhibition." I didn't look up.

"What exhibition is so important?" He walked over to my desk.

"The emerging artists showcase next month."

Vincent glanced at the papers on my desk. "Bella, I need to talk to you about something."

"What is it?"

"This exhibition. Give it to Sophia."

My hands froze over the keyboard. I looked up at him.

"What?"

"Sophia has a genuine eye for this stuff. She needs a serious platform to build her reputation," Vincent said, as if it was the most reasonable thing in the world. "She's trying to build a new life, you know? To put her past behind her. She wants to be seen as more than just some girl from the clubs."

"I've been working on this for six months."

"I know how hard you've worked, but this is more important for Sophia right now," he said, sitting down. "She's under a lot of pressure. People are always gossiping about her. This exhibition will help her establish a name for herself in the art world."

I looked at his earnest expression. He was fighting for another woman's future. For her reputation, her career.

But when I first wanted to get into this business, what did he say?

"Why don't you just stay home with me? Be my little princess. I'll spoil you. What does a woman need to work for?"

Apparently, for someone else, he could support all of her ambitions.

"Okay," I nodded.

Vincent stared. "Okay?"

"I agree. She can have the exhibition."

"You're... not going to fight me on this?" he asked, a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

"Why would I be mad? We're getting a divorce. My work has nothing to do with you."

Vincent's expression was complicated. He pulled a small, elegant box from his pocket.

"This is for you. As compensation."

Inside was a diamond necklace, simple and elegant.

"This will look good on you," he said, his voice gentle. "And Bella, can you take back what you said about the divorce?"

"What?"

"I've been thinking. I know you don’t really want a divorce. You’re just saying that because you’re angry. We just have a communication problem." He reached for my hand. "I'll take you to Vegas this weekend. We can start over."

I looked at the necklace, but all I could see was the one he gave Sophia.

"Vincent, do you think a necklace can fix our problems?"

"No, this is just a start," he said, his eyes pleading. "Bella, I'll change."

"I don't need you to change." I closed the box. "I just need you to let me go."

"Bella..."

"I'll take the necklace, as payment for the last six months of my work." I stood up. "But the divorce is final."

Vincent's face darkened. "Why are you being so stubborn? I will never agree to it. You need to calm down and not do something you’ll regret."

"I'm not being stubborn. I'm finally seeing things clearly."

I grabbed my bag and headed for the door.

"Bella, we're husband and wife!" he yelled after me.

"Ex-husband and ex-wife," I said without looking back, and walked out of the gallery.

On the way home, I was scrolling through Instagram. Sophia's latest post popped up. In the photo, she was wearing a complete set of diamond jewelry. A necklace, earrings, and a bracelet, all from the same designer, the same collection. Exquisite and ridiculously expensive.

The caption read: "Building my forever with the only man who matters. Thank you, V."

I zoomed in on the picture, studying the jewelry. Then I took out the necklace Vincent had just given me and compared them.

The same brand. The same design.

A sharp pain shot through my heart.

The necklace he'd given me wasn't a gift. It was an afterthought. A scrap from the feast he'd laid out for her.

Just like me. I was just the extra piece in this family, the one that didn't belong anymore.

My last day.

I was on the balcony, bringing in the laundry, when my wedding ring slipped off my finger.

"No!"

I lunged for it, leaning over the railing, almost falling eighteen stories.

A strong hand yanked me back.

"Are you crazy?!" Vincent pulled me back onto the balcony. "You almost died for a ring?"

I looked down. The ring was long gone.

"It's just a ring," Vincent said, his voice laced with an easy dismissiveness. "It's gone. I'll buy you another one."

Just a ring?

I looked at his hand. His ring finger was bare.

"Where's yours?"

He instinctively clenched his fist. "It's being repaired."

"How long has it been in for repairs?"

"About a month. The diamond was loose." He avoided my eyes.

What a pathetic excuse.

A month. The exact same amount of time since he started showing up at family events with Sophia on his arm.

"Bella, tomorrow is our anniversary," he said suddenly. "Let's have dinner."

I looked at him and nodded. "Okay."

One last meal. A final end to our story.

"Seven o'clock. Bella Vista."

It was where we had our first date.

The next evening, I got to the restaurant on time. Seven o'clock came and went. Seven-fifteen. Seven-thirty.

No Vincent.

"Miss, perhaps your friend was held up," the waiter said kindly. "Would you like to order first?"

"I'll wait a little longer."

Eight o'clock. Eight-thirty.

My phone finally buzzed. Not a call from Vincent, but a text from his cousin, Marco, with a screenshot. It was a picture of Sophia from her nightclub days, scantily clad, drinking with a customer.

Marco's message was simple: `This is making the rounds. Thought you should know.`

I stared at the photo, a bad feeling creeping over me.

Sure enough, ten minutes later, the restaurant doors burst open. Vincent stormed in, his face a thundercloud, with a sobbing Sophia trailing behind him.

"Bella!" he snarled, his voice a low growl of fury. "What the hell did you do?"

All the other diners turned to stare.

"What are you talking about?" I asked calmly.

"You have some nerve, Bella," he snarled, his voice low and dangerous. "Playing these games behind my back. I thought you had more class than this."

Sophia cried beside him. "Bella, I know you hate me, but you shouldn't have done this. That was my past. I've changed."

"Why are you trying to ruin me?" she wailed. "What did I ever do to you?"

The other customers started whispering. Someone was filming with their phone.

"Vincent, I didn't post those pictures," I said, looking right at him.

"Don't lie to me." The disappointment in his eyes was sharper than the fury. "Who else could it be? You're jealous of her, so you tried to ruin her."

"Bella, I overestimated you! I thought you had at least some decency!"

I looked at this man. Three years of marriage, and he didn't have an ounce of trust in me.

"Fine." I pulled a document out of my purse.

"What's that?" Vincent frowned.

"The divorce papers." I pushed them across the table to him. "Sign them."

"You..." He was stunned.

"Since you think I'm so vicious and filthy, let's just get a divorce," I said, my voice steady. "Then I won't have to disgust you anymore."

Vincent's face went through a dozen shades of fury.

Sophia tried to play peacemaker. "Bella, don't be rash. Vincent is just angry."

"You're husband and wife. Don't fight because of me."

"Shut up!" Vincent suddenly snapped at her. "This has nothing to do with you!"

Sophia flinched, and her tears flowed even harder.

"Vincent, if you think I'm so despicable, then sign the papers." I put a pen down in front of him.

"Bella, don't push me!"

"I'm not pushing you. I'm setting you free." I stood up. "Weren't you the one who said I was an embarrassment? Well, now you're free."

Vincent stared at the divorce papers, his hand trembling. Everyone in the restaurant was watching. His pride wouldn't let him back down in public.

"Fine!" He snatched the pen, his knuckles white. With a single, vicious slash, he signed his name. "You're going to regret this, Bella." His tone was stern, but a sliver of unease hid beneath it.

He raised his voice as if trying to convince himself.

"You're an orphan with nothing and nowhere to go. I'll be waiting for the day you come crawling back to me."

After signing, he grabbed Sophia to leave.

"Vincent!" Sophia cried. "I don't want to ruin your marriage!"

"Let's go!" he snarled, dragging her out of the restaurant.

I sat there, staring at the signed divorce papers.

It was over.

Three years of marriage, over just like that.

Our last wedding anniversary was now our divorce anniversary.

I looked at the table of cold Italian food, picked up my fork, and ate every last bite of the pasta in front of me. It tasted like ash, but I needed my strength.

Then, I grabbed the suitcase I'd already stashed in the corner and hailed a cab to the airport.

On the way, I sent Vincent one last text.

“I left the key at home. I'm gone. Don't contact me again.”

Message sent. I turned off my phone and boarded the plane to Seattle.