Chapter 3

The next morning, Lorenzo was up early, preparing an elaborate breakfast spread,

He’d prepared a gourmet breakfast spread – eggs benedict, fresh croissants, and my favorite blueberry scones from that little French bakery downtown.

“Try this,” he murmured, holding up a forkful of perfectly poached egg. “Just like our first breakfast together, remember?” His voice was dripping with manufactured tenderness,

Across the table, Isabella pouted until Lorenzo discreetly texted her: “I’ll make it up to you later. Anything you want. Just don’t make a scene in front of her.”

Satisfied, Isabella threw me a contemptuous glance before leaving the table, deliberately brushing against Lorenzo as she passed.

I ignored Lorenzo’s offered bite, pretending to fumble with my utensils as I ate something else. Mistaking my behavior for sulking, he insisted on taking me out after breakfast.

for what he claimed was my birthday celebration.

journey, Lorenzo held my hand tightly, ostensibly to prevent me from falling, reminiscing about our past happiness. I remained

joke that turned out to be. Lorenzo craved excitement and younger flesh, forgetting our wedding

covered in red rose petals. He knew I hated roses – they were

down his cheek. He guided

to tears myself. He had loved me once,

Lorenzo’s hurt expression lasted mere seconds before his

made my simple outfit look dowdy by comparison. “Happy birthday, madam,” she purred, sliding next to Lorenzo and gripping his hand despite the

she announced. “Shall

Minute

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