Chapter 1

I found some underwear under my boyfriend's pillow, and it definitely wasn't mine.

I bet it belonged to his assistant.

People at work just wouldn't shut up about the two of them.

Like how Darren Griffith would go out of his way every morning to pick up breakfast for his assistant from a place miles away.

Or how her Instagram was flooded with photos of her and Darren, all lovey-dovey.

And then there was that time she just twisted her ankle, and Darren scooped her up like she was made of glass and carried her straight into the office.

But honestly, I couldn't care less about any of that anymore.

Two weeks ago, when the movie theater collapsed, even though I was hurt, he looked right past me. He only had eyes for his assistant and rushed to save her.

That was when I knew I was done with him for good.

I dialed up my parents, keeping my voice steady.

"Mom, Dad, I'm coming home in a few days to take over the company," I said.

On the other end, my parents sounded absolutely thrilled. They kept agreeing, peppering me with questions about the exact date I'd be home, and only hung up once they were sure about everything.

Just as I set my phone down, the door opened softly, and Darren walked in. He was carrying takeout, and there was a gentle, almost unconscious warmth in his eyes.

He glanced at me, a faint smile tugging at his lips, and set the oatmeal down in front of me. "I brought you some oatmeal. Who were you talking to just now?"

I lowered my gaze, my voice steady. "My parents."

Darren gave a casual nod, his eyes never leaving his phone, occasionally letting out a few amused chuckles.

I knew he never really cared about what I said.

For the first time ever, I didn't try to fill the silence. I just let the quiet settle between us.

I put on a movie, and before long, I was starting to doze off. That was when Darren finally turned his attention to me.

He frowned slightly, his eyes landing on the untouched oatmeal. "Daniella, you're hurt. You need to take care of yourself. Why aren't you eating?"

I arched an eyebrow, saying nothing. I just picked up the bowl and took a couple of half-hearted sips of the bland oatmeal.

Two weeks ago, Darren said he'd take me to the movies. I thought maybe it was our shot at patching things up.

But then his assistant, Mollie Gordon, tagged along.

Halfway through the movie, all hell broke loose. A steel frame overhead came crashing down out of nowhere.

My leg got pinned, and all I could do was watch as Darren grabbed Mollie and rushed her out of the theater. He never once looked my way.

In the end, it was the rescue team who pulled me out.

My leg was mostly fine, but the baby I'd been carrying for three months... I lost it.

During the two weeks I spent in the hospital, it was like Darren had dropped off the face of the earth, not a single call, not even a text.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, Darren's phone suddenly rang.

He glanced at me instinctively, then got up and walked into the living room to answer it.

Lying in the bedroom, I could just make out his voice, soft, gentle, the kind of tenderness he'd never shown me before.

I logged into my secret Instagram account and scrolled through my feed.

Darren and Mollie were the only ones I followed on this account. They'd both just posted new photos, a breathtaking sunset, the sky ablaze with color.

They each made half a heart with their hands, one from the left, one from the right, and when I put the two photos together, it formed a perfect heart.

Their captions were identical: [Sunset is best when you share it with the one you love.]

I switched back to my main account and checked Instagram, but the only thing that popped up was Mollie's update.

Turns out Darren had me blocked ages ago.

I gave Mollie's post a like, then tossed my phone aside.

I made myself comfortable on the bed, and then the front door slammed shut.

Darren had left again.

Soon enough, he texted me: [I'm going to grab some food. What do you want?]

I didn't reply.

Half an hour later, he sent me another photo, a takeout container of seafood congee.

Next to it was a large food box with a sticky note stuck on top: [Dinner for the world's smartest and prettiest assistant.]

I couldn't hold it in anymore, so I texted him back: [Darren, I'm allergic to seafood. Seriously? After four years together, you still don't know?]

He left me on read for ages.

When he finally got home, he set the cold seafood congee in front of me, looking annoyed. "It's just dinner. Why are you being so dramatic? I already bought it. Take it or leave it."

Without breaking eye contact, I tossed the seafood congee straight into the trash.