Chapter 3

Night fell. I was curled up on the couch, trying to kill time with a movie so boring that it was making me drowsy, when my phone buzzed on the coffee table.

It was a text from Edward: [Where are you?]

I jolted upright, nearly flinging the remote across the room.

I was supposed to be meeting him today. But I had completely forgotten.

A quick glance at the clock confirmed it. I was already an hour late for our meeting at 7 p.m.

Guilt clawed at my chest. I hesitated, thumbs hovering. I almost texted him to cancel, but the memory of those glowing comments stopped me. I needed to end this, and I needed to do it properly.

I threw on the first clean thing I could find and rushed out.

He was at a table by the window, the low restaurant lighting carving his profile into sharp, cold lines.

His shirt was buttoned only at the collar, the fabric falling open to reveal the elegant line of his collarbones and the faint shadow of his abs. The sleeves were casually rolled to his forearms, exposing the fading bruises on his wrists.

He was innocent yet sultry, with a touch of roguish charm.

Frowning, he looked up as I approached. "Nice of you to show up, Ms. Grant," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Only two hours late."

"One hour left," he said, tapping his watch. "Then I have to be at the hospital."

My heart skipped a beat. That outfit was sending my pulse into overdrive.

My brain hadn't caught up yet, but my body was already moving. I strode forward, grabbed a fistful of his tie, and pulled him slightly toward me. "Dressed to kill," I purred, fixing my gaze on his. "Were you hoping to seduce me?"

He shot me a look of pure exasperation and yanked his tie out of my grasp. "Isn't this what you asked for?" he snapped.

I blinked. He was right. I vaguely remembered saying something about it last time. But he usually ignored my demands. I never thought he would actually do it.

A strange, unfamiliar flutter went through my chest.

Just then, a new set of comments materialized.

[Jeez! Edward in this outfit is literally a crime. The villainess has taste!]

[Wait, she told him to wear a shirt, but did she say to only button one button? What's the difference between that and being shirtless?]

[Oh my god! Look at those abs and that V-line. I am horny!]

I fought back the primal urge to lunge at him, took a deep breath, and forced my expression into one of cool indifference.

"Edward," I said, looking him dead in the eye. "I'm bored. We're done."

I pulled the pre-loaded bank card from my purse and slid it across the table, declaring, "There's two million dollars in there. Consider it a severance package."

The air crackled.

He stared at the card and then at me, his expression shifting from confusion to burning humiliation. He shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "Olivia," he spat, his voice shaking with rage, "do you get off on humiliating me?"

I just looked at him, genuinely confused. "Is it not enough?" I asked.

His jaw clenched, his chest heaving. He snatched the card from the table, and for a second, I thought he accepted it.

Instead, he threw it at me. It hit my chest and clattered to the floor.

"Take your money," he snarled, his eyes like shards of ice. "And get the hell out of my sight."

Without another word, he turned and strode out of the restaurant, his back rigid, not giving me so much as a final glance.

I bent down, picked up the card, and placed it quietly back on the table. As I turned to leave, my gaze fell on a small, untouched box on the corner of the table.

Inside was a slice of matcha mousse cake, elegantly decorated with a mint leaf and white chocolate shavings. It was the signature dessert from my favorite bakery.

I just froze.

No one, besides me, knew I loved this flavor.

My own parents threw me lavish birthday parties every year, but the cake, the gifts, and the dresses were all things Charlotte would love.

They remembered Charlotte loved strawberry cream and princess dresses, but they never once learned that I hated sickeningly sweet things. I loved the bitter edge of matcha, and I preferred clean, simple lines.

And then, the comments were back.

[No freaking way! Did Edward actually buy her favorite matcha mousse cake?]

[Dude, I can't believe it. What's crazier is he was so worried she'd think it was cheap that he saved up to buy the most expensive version.]

[He hates her so much, but he still remembers what she likes. My heart can't take this!]

Slowly, I opened the box and took a bite.

The delicate, bitter notes of matcha melted on my tongue, perfectly balanced with just the right amount of sweetness. The texture was smooth, rich, and familiar.

How ridiculously thoughtful of him.