Chapter 8

After discussing their impending divorce for what felt like hours, Mila and Miranda finally left the cozy bar around ten in the evening.

As soon as they reached the entrance, Mila came to an abrupt halt.

"What's up?" Miranda asked, stepping out from behind her.

"It's Lysander's car."

Mila pointed to a sleek black Rolls-Royce Phantom parked diagonally across the street, its license plate boasting the number 99999.

She knew it all too well.

Just as they were puzzling over why Lysander's car was parked there, the rear door swung open, and out stepped a striking woman in a cropped pink puffer jacket.

Her long, wavy chestnut hair cascaded messily over her shoulders, her enchanting doe eyes glistening with unshed tears, and her cheeks were flushed even in the biting winter air. Her steps were unsteady, and her jacket hung open, giving her a somewhat disheveled appearance.

Something was definitely off.

her instantly: Giselle, Lysander's old flame from way back. They never

upon spotting Mila,

Lysander emerged

beneath was unbuttoned at the collar and sported a lipstick smear; his lips were a deep red, as though stained

Mila knew Lysander well enough to recognize

in that car

the presence of his old flame, he couldn't even wait to get home. Meanwhile, it had been nearly a year since there

started between them? How long had they

face turned ashen. Standing just inside the doorway of the bar, Lysander hadn't even noticed her. He was too busy steadying the wobbly Giselle, leaning

touching, exuding an air of intimate

fueled by outrage over her friend's betrayal. She

her back, speaking coolly, "Don't make

public confrontation could harm her career, and there was no sense in jeopardizing it over such a

she was momentarily stunned. "You

felt Mila's hand trembling against hers. Her anger was swiftly replaced by a wave of sympathy and fury

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