Chapter 2

When I came downstairs, Tristan was sitting on the couch in a daze.

A cup of coffee sat on the coffee table, long since cold, beside his glowing phone screen. It was open to a messaging thread.

I knew exactly who he was waiting for—Maisie.

After letting out a silent sigh, I pulled out my phone and switched accounts with practiced ease, my thumbs flying across the screen to fire off a message.

"Tris, why haven't you replied to me today? Are you swamped with work? Don't forget to eat, okay? I get worried when you skip meals."

Tristan practically jumped. He snatched up his phone, a remarkably tender smile washing over his face as he began typing his response.

I rolled my suitcase into the center of the living room and said, "I'll be on my way."

He flinched, hastily locking his screen. When he looked up, his eyes dropped to my lone, pathetic little suitcase, his brows drawing together.

"Is that all you're taking?" he asked. "What about the jewelry? The car? I signed them over to you. Why aren't you taking them?"

"I don't need them," I replied evenly, pulling my suitcase. "Those things don't belong to me."

Tristan's expression darkened.

In a few long strides, he crossed the room and blocked the door, looking down at me with anger in his eyes.

"Serena, do you feel anything at all?" His voice rose with irritation. "It's been three years. Even a cat would've gotten attached by now. But look at you. We get a divorce, and you already can't wait to erase every trace of us? You won't even keep a single keepsake?"

Look at that—classic textbook male logic.

He was the one stepping out on the marriage, he was the one demanding a divorce, and somehow I was the bad guy for wanting a clean break.

I lifted my head and looked at him calmly. "Let's just keep our dignity intact, Tristan."

The light in his eyes dimmed at once. He let out a bitter, self-deprecating chuckle and stepped to the side.

"Right… Let's keep our dignity. Go, then."

I wheeled my suitcase toward the door, but just as I stepped over the frame, his muffled voice sounded behind me.

"At least eat something before you head out. Call it… a final meal."

I halted in my tracks.

Turning around, I saw his broad frame slumped in the shadows of the entryway, his head hanging low. My damn professional work ethic chose that exact moment to flare up.

Fine. For old times' sake, I might as well put a proper end to the performance.

"Okay," I said, leaving my suitcase behind. "I'll make some pasta."

Tristan's head snapped up. The light in his eyes was almost blinding.

Soon, steam filled the kitchen.

I fell into my usual routine, whipping the eggs and dropping the pasta perfectly into the boiling water. Instead of waiting in the living room, Tristan leaned against the kitchen doorframe, his eyes glued to me.

My phone buzzed inside my apron pocket.

It was a message from Tristan to Maisie.

"She's leaving. But I feel awful, Maisie. Am I a terrible person?"

Holding the ladle in one hand to stir the pot, I slipped my other hand into my pocket and replied without looking.

"Everyone has the right to choose their own happiness. Don't be sad, Tris. I'll treat you twice as well from now on!"

The message was sent.

A long sigh came from behind me, then I felt his arms wrapping around my waist.

Tristan hugged me from behind and pressed his face into the curve of my neck. His breath was hot against my skin, and his voice trembled when he spoke.

"Serena, if you had just shown me a fraction of warmth these past three years, if you had given me even half of what Maisie gives me, would we have ended up in this situation today?"

The ladle froze in my hand.

The embrace lasted for all of five seconds before Tristan abruptly tore himself away, taking a massive step backward. "I'm sorry… I shouldn't have done that."

He turned away, too embarrassed to look at me.

I calmly turned off the stove and served the pasta. "Eat up. I'll leave as soon as you're done."

The meal unfolded in unusual silence, with Tristan eating at an agonizingly slow pace.