Chapter 1

On Gilbert Sanchez's birthday night, I wrapped myself up like a gift and slipped into his bed.

As things got heated, he kissed me fiercely, almost like he was punishing me.

But in the very next moment, all the passion in his eyes vanished, replaced by icy coldness. "Get out," he said, his voice cold as frost.

After that night, Gilbert withdrew all the affection he'd ever shown me.

He brought his fiancée home and made me wait outside the door as my punishment. I was left there to "think about what I'd done."

I'd never felt so tired before.

I didn't want to love him anymore.

*****

On the tenth day of our silent standoff, Gilbert sent his assistant, Martin Wood, to deliver a message.

Tonight was his engagement party, and his fiancée wanted to meet me. I was expected to attend.

Martin kept glancing at me, worried. "Ms. Grant, you really should go. Mr. Sanchez..."

Standing by the tall window, I caught a glimpse of my pale face reflected in the glass.

I said with a sly smile, "Of course I'll go. If my dear future aunt wants to see me, how could I say no?"

Martin's eyes went wide. "Your what?"

I shot back, "Isn't Gilbert technically my uncle?"

Turning around with a breezy, almost careless smile, I added, "So naturally, that makes his fiancée my aunt."

Martin was left standing there like a statue as I headed straight upstairs to my room.

Of course, he was shocked.

Back then, I was so stubborn, so sure that Gilbert and I were meant to be.

I never wanted to admit he was actually my guardian.

I never called him "Uncle Gilbert," just "Gilbert." I always ignored the real relationship between us.

But now, I was just exhausted.

"Andrea, I've made up my mind. Next week, I'm heading to Lira to crash at your place," I said.

My cousin, Andrea Carter, sounded thrilled on the other end.

She said, "Seriously? Bridget, you're finally doing it! Make sure you say goodbye to your friends, especially Uncle Gilbert. He's looked after you for so long."

"I know," I murmured.

Then I cut in softly, "I'll give him a proper goodbye."

After hanging up, I walked to the room at the end of the upstairs hall and opened the door.

One whole wall was covered in pictures of me and Gilbert.

Right in the middle was a blown-up shot—me with a birthday hat on, my eyes shut tight, making a wish.

Gilbert was right next to me, looking at me with that soft, gentle gaze.

Even now, after all this time, I can still remember how fast my heart was beating at that moment.

Back then, I really believed he loved me the same way I loved him.

Five years ago, I made a wish to always stay with Gilbert.

But time moved on, and things changed.

That wish of mine—it was impossible now. There was no way it could ever come true.

I pulled up a chair and took the frames down, one by one.

Then, with a knife in hand, I carefully sliced myself out of every photo.

One after another.

Before I realized it, my vision was swimming with tears.

But I just kept going, cutting myself out of each photo no matter how much it hurt.

Our families—the Grant and the Sanchez families—had been close for generations.

When I was ten, my parents died unexpectedly, and Gilbert took me in, raised me, and gave me a home.

He'd taken care of me for 12 whole years.

And I was the one who caught feelings I shouldn't have.

A year ago, on Gilbert's birthday, I did the boldest thing I've ever done.

I slipped into some sexy lingerie, threw on a trench coat, and tied myself up with a ribbon—a gift, just for him.

When he stumbled in, drunk, I was waiting for him.

The moment I pressed my lips to his, he kissed me back, rough and hungry, his hands scorching as they roamed my skin.

But in the very next second, he suddenly snapped out of it. All the desire in his eyes vanished, replaced by shock and anger.

He tossed my clothes at me and snapped, "Get out."

I didn't listen. I hugged him from behind, blurting out a messy confession.

But that only made him even angrier.

He snapped, "Bridget. I'm nine years older than you. I'm your guardian. What you feel for me is just dependence, not love. Go back to your room, now!"

I sobbed, "I'm 23. I know what love is. Is it really so wrong to love you?"

Gilbert scoffed. "Ridiculous! I've spoiled you rotten all these years. That's the problem."

For a whole year after that, he withdrew every ounce of affection and privilege he used to give me.

Once his precious girl, now I was nobody—just a stranger living under his roof.

Ten days ago, I finally mustered up the courage to talk to him again.

That day, for the first time ever, Gilbert came to pick me up after work, but sitting in the passenger seat was a woman I'd never seen before.

"It's perfectly normal for me to date someone. Don't give me that look," he said, his voice icy.

That broke me.

Three days straight, I cried my eyes out. After that, I just went numb.

He was really going through with it. He was getting engaged.

I knew then. It was time for me to leave.

Tonight, I'd be there as his ward, playing my part and wishing him well.