Chapter 2

Morgan cast me a cold, indifferent look before kicking my homemade cake right off the table. It was an incredibly simple, rudimentary cake—the base had been baked in an oven, the whipped cream was smeared on, and the birthday wishes were written in a crooked, messy scrawl.

Then, he looked at Ingrid tenderly. "So long as it's from you, there'll always be room."

The private room instantly erupted into lively chatter, and someone jeered, "No wonder Morgan prefers Ingi. I can't believe she actually gifted a cake that looks that cheap. At this point, she's just addicted to playing the victim."

"Exactly. She doesn't even come close to Ingi's taste and thoughtfulness."

Years ago, Morgan and I had been so poor that we lived in a semi-basement. On his birthday, I had sold my blood for 50 dollars, bought some basic ingredients from the grocery store, and spent hours until I cobbled together an ugly cake.

Morgan had burst into tears after having a few bites of it. He had held me tightly and choked out, "This is the best cake I've ever eaten in my life, Mila! I want to eat it every year from now on."

Ten years had elapsed in the blink of an eye. The best cake had lost its value, and so had the man I loved most.

My mind went blank again. I was well aware that it was a trauma response; it was my mind's way of protecting me.

Looking at the crushed cake on the floor, I let out a chuckle before spinning around and pushing the door open. "Goodbye, Morgan."

After leaving the private room, I fished out my phone and dialed a number I hadn't called in ages. "I admit defeat, Mom. From now on, I'll live my life exactly how you want."

…

When I stepped outside the restaurant, the cold night wind made me shudder.

An ambulance and a fire truck were parked right at the entrance. Their strobing red and blue lights painted the night, attracting a crowd of onlookers. Several paramedics were leaning against their vehicle and chatting.

The moment I emerged, one of them recognized me. "There she is—the reason I got called in on my day off."

One of the firefighters let out a whistle. "I guess she's not jumping off the ledge this time. What a shame. We came all the way here for nothing, boys."

Whispers rippled through the crowd of onlookers.

"Isn't that Mr. Franklin's wife? Is she attempting to take her own life again?"

"I heard this is the 99th time he's asked for a divorce. Apparently, she pulls this stunt every time."

"She's gorgeous, though. Why would she go that far?"

"She's obsessed with him. Word on the street is Mr. Franklin checked out of his marriage a long time ago..."

Frozen in place, I bore the weight of their stares—some filled with pity, others with pure mockery.

These people weren't wrong. For years, I had wasted an insane amount of public resources. I had slit my wrists, ingested toxins, attempted to drown myself in the river, and once, I had set the curtains at home on fire in an attempt to immolate myself.

Each incident had been dramatic, and each time, it had ended with Morgan temporarily coming back to me.

The ambulance driver gave me a sympathetic look and sighed. "Young lady, are you getting in? Or are we not needed today?"

I shook my head. Then, I walked up to the medical team and hung my head. "I'm so sorry for causing you all so much trouble. It won't happen again."

I turned to the firefighters and apologized sincerely. "I'm incredibly sorry. I wasn't in my right mind. I kept draining public resources on a man who didn't deserve it. I promise it won't happen again!"

The crowd fell silent for a split second before erupting into an even louder frenzy of murmurs.

"She's putting on an act, right?"

"She's definitely playing hard to get!"

"I'll bet five hundred dollars she'll be back in the news within three days!"

I didn't defend myself. I merely straightened up and weaved through the gauntlet of their piercing gazes, heading straight for the parking lot.