Chapter 7

I walked into the restaurant alone.

It looked almost exactly the same as it did ten years ago. The dim chandeliers, the checkered tablecloths, the old jukebox in the corner playing the same jazz record on a loop.

I ordered a glass of water and sat at a table by the window.

This was the spot. Ten years ago, he’d saved me from humiliation. I’d watched his tall figure walk away and thought it was fate.

I learned later it was just the start of a curse.

I stayed for an hour, taking videos of the corners where I used to watch him from, capturing the last ghosts of my love for him.

Then I got up, paid the bill, and went home.

Back at the estate, the news was already reporting that Angelina’s ex-husband had escaped from custody. So that’s what Donatello had to handle. I wasn’t surprised.

I called my bank manager. “Is the asset transfer complete?”

“Yes, Miss Merouin. It’s all been deposited.”

I hadn’t taken a single piece of Vexille property or a single share of stock. The only thing I took was the money from selling a villa he’d given me when we first married.

I considered it severance pay for three years of service.

The countdown to my departure was down to three hours.

I started throwing away the last of my things. The love letters I wrote him when I was chasing him—I don't even know if he ever read them. I tore them up, one by one, and tossed them into the fireplace.

Then I opened my laptop and edited the video I’d taken.

For the final shot, I turned the camera on myself.

“Donatello.”

I looked into the lens, my voice calm, a slight smile on my face.

“I was in love with you for ten years.”

“For seven years, I watched you from afar. You never saw me.”

“For three years of marriage, I stood by your side. You never looked at me then, either.”

“I thought if I was good enough, quiet enough, useful enough, that one day you would finally see me.”

“But the person in your heart was always Angelina.”

“I can’t change that. So I’m letting you go. And I’m setting myself free.”

I paused and gave a small, light laugh.

“Donatello, we’re divorced.”

I turned off the camera and placed it on the nightstand, next to the divorce agreement we had both signed a month ago.

Then I picked up my last suitcase and walked out the door without looking back.

The city lights rose up behind me, but they had nothing to do with me anymore.

(Donatello’s POV)

By the time Donatello finished cleaning up the mess with the escaped ex-husband, it was deep into the night.

He called Avril’s phone. It went straight to voicemail.

In three years, he’d never not been able to reach her.

Remembering the last attack, a knot of dread tightened in his stomach. He sped back to the estate.

The house was silent. Everything was in its place, but one glance told him something was wrong.

Where were her things? He couldn't see a single trace of her.

A dark premonition washed over him. He tore through the house, finally finding the small camera on the nightstand in their bedroom.

Next to it was a manila folder.

He pressed play on the camera first, a flicker of hope that this was an anniversary surprise.

The screen lit up with the warm glow of the old restaurant. He felt the corner of his mouth lift into an unconscious smile. He remembered the first time he saw her there, the stubborn, defiant look on her face. He was never one to get involved, but something had made him step in that day. He remembered being amused by her sheer nerve, this girl who refused to take no for an answer.

Then the screen cut to her face.

“Donatello, I was in love with you for ten years…”

His smile froze, then slowly vanished.

“Donatello, we’re divorced.”

In disbelief, he snatched the folder off the table.

The words Divorce Agreement stared back at him. He flipped to the last page.

Next to the neat signature of Avril Merouin was his own sprawling, confident autograph: Donatello Vexille.