Chapter 4

One day, Tristan threw a lavish dinner to celebrate Winnie's official appointment.

Standing in the banquet hall, he introduced the radiant, trusted aide at his side, his praise and high hopes for her plain in every word. He told everyone to look after her from now on.

A murmur rippled through the room.

Was this truly the same Tristan who had always been so cold and uncompromising?

Meanwhile, I, his wife in name, sat forgotten in a corner, no more than a guest who didn't matter.

Tristan's gaze swept the crowd and brushed past me, light as a shadow.

Just then, Winnie's heel wobbled beneath her, and she lurched forward.

Tristan, who had been calm a moment ago, shifted in an instant. He hurried forward and caught her, his grip firm yet taut with tension.

My hand tightened around the stem of my glass. I couldn't stand to watch their closeness for another second. Turning away, I slipped out onto the terrace for air.

The cool night breeze made me feel a little better, but it also carried Tristan's conversation with his friend to my ears.

"So, another cold war with Anna?"

Tristan offered a distracted grunt.

His friend sighed. "You're so damn stubborn. When are you going to swallow your pride and actually try to make peace with Anna? Women like her don't come around every day."

"I know."

"Then, why keep hyping up Winnie right in front of her? All that's going to do is make things worse between you two. What if Anna finally gets fed up and leaves?"

"She won't." Tristan paused, then said with complete confidence, "I'll just soothe her if she gets jealous. She'd never walk away from me."

Tristan was still brimming with that same old confidence. He honestly believed I'd cave first and come crawling back like I always used to.

I shook my head.

Just then, Winnie's voice drifted up behind me. She'd slipped over at some point without me noticing, a triumphant smile playing on her lips.

"Fancy seeing you here, Anna. Out for some fresh air on your own? I feel bad. The moment I showed up, I ended up taking your place in the Spallone family."

I caught the challenge in her voice and replied coolly, "Winnie, are we even that close?"

Her smile only widened. "I barely know you, but you should know me, right? There's no way Tristan hasn't mentioned me."

I wasn't about to argue, so I turned to go.

When I didn't give her the flustered blow-up she wanted, she decided to put on a little act. She purposefully lurched forward and slammed into the balcony balustrade with a shriek.

"Anna! Why did you push me?"

Of course, Tristan came running at the sound.

The moment he saw Winnie's glistening eyes, he turned on me like a whip. "Anna! What the hell is wrong with you? You dared to lay a hand on her with everyone watching?"

I met his gaze without offering a word of defense, my voice cracking as I forced out, "Tristan, I'm asking you one last time. Do you believe her, or me?"

He didn't answer. He only looked at me with eyes cold and heavy with disappointment, then turned and gently helped Winnie up.

That was all I needed to hear.

I bit down on my lower lip until the sharp taste of blood spread across my tongue, and still I felt nothing.

A complicated look flickered in Tristan's eyes. He started to speak.

But Winnie, sagging against him, cut in, her voice small. "Tristan, my back really hurts. We should go to the hospital."

Tristan quickly picked her up. As he moved past me, he didn't spare me so much as a glance.

That was when the Spallone family soldati came over, courteous but firm. "Apologies, Ms. Jovine. This is Ms. Leigh's celebration. Anyone who isn't friendly toward her isn't welcome."

I drew a deep breath and blinked the tears back.

"I get it. Don't bother throwing me out. I'll leave on my own," I said, eyes red-rimmed.

When I went back to the villa for my suitcase, I spotted an elegant card on the table in the living room. It was an appointment card from a premier wedding studio, with Tristan's and my name printed on it.

I had no idea when he'd left it.

He'd finally remembered the wedding shoot he'd promised me, the one I'd pleaded for for five years. But it was too little, too late.

I tore the card to shreds, dropped it in the trash, and went straight to the airport.

On the plane, I took out my phone and sent Tristan one last text.

"The divorce agreement and my resignation letter are on your desk. Don't forget to look at them when you get back."

After that, I popped out my SIM card and snapped it in two.

Tristan and I would never see each other again.