Chapter 3

This home used to smell like fresh roses and vanilla candles, but now it reeked of cold calculation.

Every move Ronan made felt like a scene from a meticulously rehearsed script.

Even the rich aroma of the crème brûlée on the counter was just another prop to build up his image as the perfect fiancé.

[Keep all the evidence secure. Print out four copies, including everything you sent me earlier, and drop them off at the front desk of The Velvet Room by 5:00 PM.]

After hitting send, I transferred the remaining balance to Ellie, adding a hefty bonus tip on top.

[You got it, Miss Peyton! Will be there on the dot!]

With the good news confirmed, sleep was completely out of the question. I retreated to the bathroom and sank into a steaming hot bath.

Only when the hot water hit me did I realize I was shaking uncontrollably. It wasn't from the cold, but from the girl inside me who still loved Ronan, putting up one last violent desperate fight.

“I still love him.”

Yeah. I admitted it. I still loved him. Eight years of history couldn't just disappear overnight. Of course, I still loved him.

However, I loved myself more.

…

After wrapping myself in a towel, I headed to the walk-in closet to pick out my battle armor. I had a war to fight today.

I settled on a sharp, charcoal-gray blazer and matching low heels.

Standing in front of the full-length mirror, I stared at my polished reflection. Thinking about what I’d be walking away with in a few hours, I tried to force a smile. Yet the smile cracked before it reached my eyes. The woman in the mirror had bloodshot eyes, and her forced grin looked more like a sob.

I took a deep breath, pulled out my makeup bag, and carefully concealed the redness around my eyes.

Ready to go, I grabbed my bag and walked out with my head held high.

In the dining area, Ronan set down two servings of crème brûlée on the table.

Seeing me step out of the closet, he held up his spoon.

“Perfect timing. Dessert is ready. Grab a few bites before we head out.”

The crème brûlée carried a warm, sweet scent of caramelized sugar and vanilla.

The moment the smell hit my nose, my stomach lurched as if someone had slammed a fist straight into my gut. It made me sick.

It wasn't just the crème brûlée. The man holding a spoon with a warm smile on his face was equally sickening.

How could Ronan act so completely unfazed?

He had been tangled up in bed with another girl this morning, yet here he was by noon, scooping crème brûlée with a spoon, the dessert made with love just for me.

I stared at the bowls on the table. Inside wasn’t just crème brûlée, but his hypocrisy, his betrayal, and his utter contempt for me.

Noticing my sour mood, Ronan tested the waters carefully.

“Peyton, this is your absolute favorite. I’ve made it with love and care. We still have time, why don't you try a quick taste?”

He scooped up a spoonful of crème brûlée and offered it to my lips.

I turned my head away, refusing to bite.

“No thanks. Go change your clothes. We need to get to the restaurant.”

My voice was so steady it surprised even me. Only the sharp sting of my fingernails digging into my palms reminded me of the sheer fury burning inside.

After being shut down, Ronan dropped his gaze, looking thoroughly rejected.

In the past, whenever he looked hurt like that, I would rush over to comfort him, cup his face, and ask what was wrong.

Right now, holding back from slapping him twice across the face was the absolute peak of my self-control. Did he seriously expect me to coddle him?

Was his disappointment even real?

Or was this just another play, testing if my heart would soften again, seeing if he could manipulate me back into his trap with a few sweet, pathetic words?