Chapter 3

I kept seeing Claire's posts on Facebook more and more often. Tristan took her out to fancy dinners, went to art exhibitions with her, helped her find a place to live, and even went furniture shopping with her.

In the photos, she was all smiles, and Tristan stood beside her, looking at her with a tenderness I had never seen before.

Even Sophie was getting irritated by those posts, so she asked me out for coffee. "Eva, you can't keep going like this! Just look at Claire. She's all over social media. She's obviously trying to steal Tristan from you."

I stirred my coffee, not saying a word.

"Honestly, you should just confront him and make him choose. Either he cuts Claire out of his life for good, or you get a divorce!" Sophie insisted.

"He'd pick Claire," I said calmly.

Sophie fell silent.

"Sophie, I should've realized this a long time ago," I said with a smile. "For the past three years, I've been lying to myself, thinking that if I was good enough, if I cared enough, he would finally notice me.

"But now I know some people are just out of reach, no matter how hard you try."

"So what are you going to do?"

"I don't know," I said, shaking my head. "But I can't keep living like this."

I felt so tired.

Loving someone so deeply that I had lost myself had been too much to bear.

When I got home that night, Tristan was actually there for once.

He was sitting on the couch with a stack of documents in front of him. When he saw me, he slid them over. "Take a look."

I picked them up. It was a property contract for a luxury apartment in the most exclusive part of Valeridge. It was a 4,000-square-foot unit, fully furnished. The name on the contract was mine.

"What does this mean?" I asked.

"Claire's current place doesn't have good security, so she wants to move. This apartment is close to her new place, so you can look out for each other," he said, as if it were nothing. "All the paperwork's done. Just sign it."

I stared at the contract. Then, suddenly, a laugh slipped out. I laughed until tears started to fall. "Tristan, do I really mean that little to you? Do you think a big apartment can erase everything I feel? Do you really respect me?"

He frowned. "That's not what I meant. Claire's alone in this country, and as her friend, I thought you could—"

"I'm not her friend!" I threw the contract onto the floor. "Tristan, I'm your wife. And you want me to take care of your ex while you hand me an apartment like it fixes everything?

"What am I to you? Your maid? Or a mistress you keep?"

"Eva, calm down," he said.

"I am calm," I said, wiping away my tears and meeting his eyes. "Tristan, I want a divorce."

The room went dead silent.

He stared at me, as if trying to determine whether I was serious. "What did you say?"

"I said I want a divorce," I repeated, each word steady and clear. "Three years is enough for me. Since Claire is back and you still can't let her go, I'm done. I wish you both happiness."

He suddenly stood up. "Eva, don't do this. Like I said, Claire needs someone right now. I'm just trying to help her—"

"Help her with what?" I cut him off. "Help her get through her divorce so you can end up together afterward? Tristan, I'm not stupid. I'm stepping aside. I won't be in your way anymore."

His expression darkened as he strode over and grabbed my wrist. "I won't agree."

"Why?" I stared at him. "You don't love me, so what's the point of keeping me around? Am I just decoration to you? Or am I just Claire's stand-in?"

His grip tightened, his voice low. "Eva, marriage isn't something you treat lightly. I told you I'll take care of everything for you."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Tristan, this isn't what I want. I want love. If you can't give me that, then don't hold me back."

He was silent for a long moment. Then he finally let go of my wrist and ran a hand over his forehead. "We'll talk about this another time.

"Claire's birthday is next weekend. I'm throwing a party at home, and I want you to help with the preparations."

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Do you not understand what I'm saying? I said I want a divorce."

"And I told you I'm not agreeing to it," he said flatly, his eyes cold. "Eva, stop this. Don't even think about divorce."

He said nothing more, turned, and went back to the bedroom, leaving me alone in the living room.