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.

recognized her instantly: Giselle, Lysander's old flame from way back. They never expected to run into

over and, upon spotting Mila, hastily covered her smudged

Lysander emerged from the

was unbuttoned at the collar and sported a lipstick smear; his lips were

lack of love in their marriage, Mila knew Lysander well enough to recognize

had happened in that car was

couldn't even wait to get home. Meanwhile, it had been nearly a

them? How long had they been

hadn't even noticed her. He was too busy steadying the wobbly Giselle, leaning in close to murmur

heads were nearly touching, exuding an

by outrage over her friend's betrayal. She

speaking coolly, "Don't make a scene.

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

calm resolve caught Miranda off guard, and she was momentarily stunned. "You had the presence of mind to

against hers. Her anger was swiftly replaced by a wave of

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