The people from the flea market arrived quickly.
Seeing the brand–new furniture, untouched and still wrapped, they were overjoyed and paid without hesitation.
+28)
Just as Lydia finished checking the payment, Michael showed up. He frowned at the furniture being loaded back onto the truck, looking worn–out and helpless.
“I told you we’d need it for the wedding,” he said. “And these are all the brands you mentioned before. Even if you cancel and reorder, it’s still the same.”
He had asked his assistant to pick only the best.
The atmosphere turned awkward. One of the flea market guys seemed to pick up on something and said to Lydia, “Ms. Sullivan, I’ve already paid in full. According to our trade rules, this stuff is mine now.”
Lydia nodded. “Of course. Go ahead.”
The truck pulled away soon after, its oversized flea market logo glowing on the back. Michael’s headache only worsened at the sight.
“You sold all that as secondhand?” he asked, clearly upset. “If you didn’t like it, you could’ve just returned it at full price.”
Lydia gave him a cold, pointed smile. “Once something’s been touched by someone else, I find it dirty. How could I return it at full price?”
Her words carried a deeper meaning, one that made Michael uneasy.
But he told himself that they were getting married. Nothing could go wrong.
He steadied his nerves and softened his voice, trying to sound indulgent. “As long as you’re happy. Just pick out whatever you want. Tell me, and I’ll have my assistant take care of it.”
He spoke as if nothing had changed. But Lydia only felt a growing chill inside.
“There’s a tradition back in my hometown,” she said flatly. “The bride and groom shouldn’t see each other before the wedding. I won’t be coming home.”
Michael visibly relaxed at her words. He stepped forward and wrapped her in his arms. “Okay. Whatever you say.”
Lydia let him hold her, her body stiff, her heart filled with nothing but bitter irony.
Over the next few days, Lydia and Michael really didn’t see each other again.
But Ciara’s updates–visible only to Lydia on WhatsApp–were unusually frequent.
[The soup you made for me was amazing.]
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+28
Chapter 3
[My ankle really hurt when you were massaging it, but that kind of pain made me feel so happy.]
It was just a nightmare. You didn’t have to insist on staying the night.]
You said you couldn’t help yourself, and staying over was just an excuse. You’re so bad…]
Each post came with a photo.
In those photos, Michael’s hands–the same ones that once made Lydia feel safe–were holding Ciara’s ankle, wrapped around her waist, and even slipping up her chest.
[If it’s with you, I’m willing.]
That post was paired with a shot of crumpled lingerie scattered on the floor, taken in close–up. Lydia couldn’t take it anymore. She rushed into the bathroom and retched over the sink.
“Ms. Sullivan, are you alright?” her subordinate, Hunter Swanson, stood outside the door, worry all over his face, but hesitant to come in because of the situation.
It took Lydia a long while to pull herself together.
She looked up at the mirror. Her eyes were red and teary from the nausea, her face pale and pathetic.
She forced a weak smile. “I’m fine. Must’ve eaten something bad.”
Hunter sighed. “Back then, to win deals for Stellar Horizon Group, you went to those dinners behind Mr. Finnian’s back and drank so much you ruined your stomach. You really need to take care of yourself.”
Stellar Horizon Group was the small company Dennis had given Michael to manage back in college. Lydia had sold a few antiques to help raise funds, but without solid projects, the company was running on fumes.
Later, Michael proved himself and joined the management team of Finnian Group. Compared to that giant corporation, Stellar Horizon was barely a blip. To thank Lydia for her help, Michael spun it off from Finnian Group and gave her half the shares.
Lydia had wanted to focus on supporting him, so she had promoted Hunter to run Stellar Horizon. Over the years, the company had done fairly well.
Lydia straightened up and stepped out of the bathroom. On the table in the private room was the equity transfer agreement she’d already signed.
“You can send the money over in installments. I’m not in a rush,” she told Hunter. “Stellar Horizon’s future is in your hands
now.”
Hunter couldn’t hide his excitement. “Ms. Sullivan, I won’t let you down.”
But Lydia didn’t really care anymore.
She was walking away from Michael–letting go of the company they had once fought so hard to build together meant nothing now.
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Chapter 3
281
The afternoon before they were supposed to get their marriage license, Michael sent Lydia a message. [Ciara’s moved out.
I had the house cleaned up. If you’re not comfortable staying across the street, you can move back anytime. I’ll stay at a
hotel.]
Lydia thought of that photo–the twisted mess of lingerie–and felt another wave of nausea rise in her gut.
[Okay.] She replied with just one word, then called a professional cleaning crew.
Nothing in the villa had changed. But every now and then, she would still find little traces of another woman–feminine products wedged between the couch cushions, under the nightstand, or tucked into the corner of a desk drawer.
She was numb to Ciara’s petty tricks by now.
Lydia didn’t lift a finger during the cleanup. She just had the crew pack away all her belongings, erase every sign of her presence, and sanitize every surface.
It wasn’t until seven in the evening that the work was finally done.
Just as the cleaning team drove away, Michael’s car pulled into the driveway.
Seeing Lydia still there, he paused before getting out, resting one arm on the open car door, eyes fixed on her. Despite the dark circles under them, his gaze was intense, burning.
“Lydia, do we really have to wait until the wedding to live together?” he asked. “I can’t sleep without you.”
Her phone buzzed in her hand. Lydia looked down and tapped the screen.
Another update from Ciara. [Thank you for the birthday gift–and the spaghetti you made. I’ll always be by your side, no matter what.]
This time, there were three photos. One of fireworks exploding over a beach. One of the sun rising over the ocean. And the last, a plate of spaghetti loaded with ingredients.
Next to the plate was an open gift box containing a rainbow–colored diamond bracelet. Inside the bracelet was a ring–its massive, pigeon–egg–sized diamond catching the light and gleaming blindingly.
It was a custom piece from a luxury brand partnered with Finnian Group. The very engagement ring Lydia had picked out for herself.
A bitter ache twisted in Lydia’s chest. She almost laughed.
Of course Michael couldn’t sleep without her–he was too busy massaging Ciara’s legs, sleeping with her, taking her to the beach for fireworks and sunrise views. He had his hands full.
But on Lydia’s birthday, the cake she baked herself sat untouched until the next day, because his packed schedule couldn’t spare her even a moment.
His love–and his lack of it–couldn’t be clearer. There was nothing left to hold on to.
ee
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19:58 Fri, 15 Aug
Chapter 3
“What’s wrong? Don’t you feel sorry for me?” Michael had walked over at some point, gently pinching her cheek.
She forced herself not to flinch from his touch, lifting her head to look at the man she had loved for so, so long.
“I’m hungry,” she said. “Make me some spaghetti.”
Michael gave a helpless, doting smile. “If you want spaghetti, I’ll have the cook make it for you. Let’s have that tonight, okay?”
His hand slid down from her shoulder and gently held hers. Lydia lowered her head, staring at their interlocked fingers.
Michael had beautiful hands–long, slender fingers. She had imagined countless times how perfect they would look with a wedding ring on.
In a voice barely above a whisper, she asked, “We’re getting our marriage license tomorrow. Did you pick out the rings?”
Michael’s fingers paused as they brushed over hers. A moment later, his low voice came from above her head. “You pick them. I’m afraid if I choose, you won’t like it and end up selling it later.”
But Lydia had already told him which one she liked. He just hadn’t remembered.
She slowly pulled her hand away and said calmly, “Okay. Suddenly I don’t feel like eating spaghetti anymore. I’ll go sleep across the street.”
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