Chapter 3

Phillip pointed at the shrimp on the table and ordered, "Not going to apologize, huh? Fine. Peel this whole plate of shrimp, and I'll let you go.

"Otherwise, that shabby gallery of yours will be nothing but rubble by tomorrow."

He knew just where to hit me.

I stayed quiet for a couple of seconds, then pulled up a chair and sat down.

I slipped on the disposable gloves and got to work peeling shrimp.

Heads off, shells gone, veins out, every move felt like muscle memory carved into my bones.

Phillip watched me, head down, quietly peeling shrimp, and smirked.

"That's the Flora I remember, so well-behaved," he said with a hint of mockery.

My hands inside the gloves were swollen and blistered, itching like hell. But for the gallery, I clenched my teeth and forced myself to keep it together.

After peeling the last shrimp, I pulled off my gloves and looked at the plate stacked with shrimp meat.

Lawrence used to dig in just like this, grinning as he called me his "shrimp-peeling ace."

But nothing was the same anymore.

Phillip shoved the plate toward Briana, giving me a mocking look. "Not bad. Briana, have a taste."

Briana smugly picked up a shrimp.

I wiped my swollen, red fingers with a tissue and murmured, "He used to really like shrimp."

Phillip stiffened, and his movements suddenly halted.

Briana ended up in the hospital after that whole "red wine shower" incident.

Phillip, to avenge Briana and make my life miserable, forced me to bring her meals to the hospital every day.

"Since you love serving people so much, go ahead," he sneered.

I showed up at the hospital with a thermos in hand.

Inside was beef and cilantro.

Lawrence couldn't stand cilantro, but he'd always force it down, frowning, to make me happy.

I wanted to see how Phillip, with that Lawrence-lookalike face, would react to cilantro.

Inside the hospital room, Phillip was busy peeling an apple for Briana.

When he saw me walk in, he snorted. "Glad you finally figured it out."

Briana wrinkled her nose at the food in the thermos. "Ugh, why is it all cilantro? Phillip, you know I hate this stuff."

Phillip shot the cilantro a look, his brows furrowing.

He pointed at Briana and said to me, "Feed her."

I walked over, mechanically scooped up a spoonful of beef, and held it out to Briana.

Briana shrieked, "Jeez, it's burning," and suddenly flung her hand, knocking the spoon away.

Scalding soup splattered all over the back of my hand, leaving a huge red mark in seconds.

I didn't flinch or say a word. I just watched the beef hit the floor.

"Too bad. He loved that," I muttered under my breath.

Phillip, still checking if Briana was burned, snapped his head around when he heard me.

"Who likes that stuff? I've never eaten cilantro in my life. Flora, who are you really seeing when you look at me?" Phillip snapped.

His voice had a faint tremor, barely noticeable.

I came back to myself, looking at the furious Phillip, a mocking smile tugging at my lips.

"Relax, Mr. Morton. I meant my dog," I said coolly.

Phillip, furious, sent the thermos crashing to the floor.

"Get out! Go back where you came from," he roared.

I turned and left the hospital, heading straight for the old villa we once called home.

I wasn't there to patch things up. I just came to take the last thing that was still mine, that piano.

Lawrence and I picked it out together, and our initials are still carved on the inside of the lid.

Phillip followed me back to the villa.

When he saw me heading straight for the piano, he lost it.

He yelled, "That beat-up piano means that much to you? You used to play it for me every damn day. Now we're getting divorced, and you still want to take it?

"If you want to break it off, make it clean!"

Phillip snatched up the golf club and smashed it down hard onto the piano keys.

Bang! The screeching crash of the piano tore through the hall, keys shattered, black and white pieces flying, splinters of wood exploding everywhere.

"No!" I screamed.

For the first time, I lost my composure. I rushed over like a madwoman, throwing myself in front of the piano lid to shield it.

The golf club slammed into my shoulder and slid down onto the piano.

A sharp splinter sliced across the corner of my eye, blood streaming down instantly and blurring my vision.

Phillip was stunned.

He stared at me, my face covered in blood, and the golf club dropped to the floor with a loud clang.

"Flora..." he called out, instinctively reaching out toward me.

I shoved him away, not giving a damn about the pain or the blood on my face.

My hands trembling, I reached out and touched the inside of the piano lid.

There, the initials "L.F." had been shattered, leaving only a deep crack behind.

My heart shattered right then and there.

I ran my fingers over the jagged letters, tears and blood dripping down my face.

This was the last piece of Lawrence I had left, the only thing that still tied me to him.

Phillip watched me cry, a trace of heartache flickering across his face.

"Why are you crying? It's just a piano. If you behaved, I'd get you ten Steinways," he said.

I looked up at Phillip. "Phillip, you're so pathetic.

"Now that you've smashed it, you don't even have a proper replacement to hold onto anymore."