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.

luxury yacht and invited friends for what he claimed was my

prevent me from falling, reminiscing about our past happiness. I remained silent, bitter irony mixing with pain in

turned

hated roses – they were Isabella’s favorite. How fitting that even my birthday celebration wasn’t really

voice cracked with emotion, a tear rolling down his cheek. He guided my finger to touch his tear. Such a convincing performance of devotion.

I might have been moved to tears myself. He had loved

lasted

simple outfit look dowdy by comparison. “Happy birthday, madam,” she purred, sliding next to Lorenzo and

ready, sir,” she announced. “Shall I

Minute

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