Seven Years of Love Seven Minutes of Truth

Chapter 2

Atlas had never truly forgotten her.

He had merely played his part–pretending to love me, pretending to be the devoted husband–while his heart had always belonged to someone else.

I had underestimated just how deeply he loved Ivy.

The sharp *clatter* of a phone hitting the hardwood floor snapped me out of my thoughts. Atlas’s phone had slipped from his pocket, skidding to a stop at my feet.

I bent down to pick it up, and just as my fingers brushed against the sleek screen, a message popped up.

“Atlas, thank you for taking drinks for me tonight. And the necklace… I can’t accept it. It’s far too precious.”

A cold wave swept through me. The next notification was worse.

A social media post–from Ivy Monroe.

“Love is priceless.”

Attached was a photo–a breathtaking diamond necklace, radiant under the soft glow of candlelight.

I recognized it instantly. The world’s only one of its kind, recently auctioned for an astronomical price–one billion dollars. A mysterious bidder had outspent everyone to claim it.

Now, I knew who that bidder was.

And Ivy? She had posted it fo

me to see. She wanted me to know.

Just last week, Atlas had be?

so busy that he barely had time to eat. He had collapsed from stomach pain and been rushed to the ER. I had been beside myself with worry, torn between anger at his negligence and heartache that he would push himself so hard.

Yet the moment he opened his eyes, he boarded a flight to England.

I had thought it was for work. I had been furious at him for putting his job above his own health.

He hadn’t gone

in agony, doubled over from pain, Atlas had flown across the world to bid on the rarest necklace in

existence–for her.

dull ringing filled my

fingers moved on

screen flashed

06:50

of Love, Seven

66.9%

Chapter 1

wat lassen rthday Amer

here

bitter laugh laddded in my tapet, ind

had always refused to let me sex fashions, insating that we needed perumal spare and boundaries

i knew why.

moment the home screen appeared, I was greeted with her faceday–ling

softened every time

as I tapped into

album had the same

“Ivy, age 10.”

“Ivy, age 11.”

“Ivy, age 12.”

to “Ivy, age 25.”

Every stage of her life, carefully documented. And

swiped through frantically, my breathing growing shallow.

single picture of me. Not even one of him.

Only her.

revolved around her, from the very beginning

trembled as I clicked into his notes. And then I saw it. His

[20XX – ]

a tree. It’s my fault–1 never should’ve planted

[20XX – ]

long as she’s happy, nothing else matters.

[20XX –]