Chapter 3
"Really?" I locked eyes with him. "Then why doesn't she drop her little surprises on someone else?"
"Iris," his voice grew heavy, a hint of impatience creeping in. "Can you act a little more grown-up? Is it really necessary to make a fuss over something so petty here? Do you think it makes you look good?"
He shut me down again. I couldn't think of a comeback.
It was always like this.
To him, all my anger and hurt were just me being dramatic and spoiling the vibe. But when another woman sent him a suggestive dessert on his anniversary, that was just a cute girl's greeting.
He even grabbed a spoon, scooped up some tiramisu, and held it out for me to taste.
"Come on, don't be upset," he said, treating me like I was some brat throwing a fit. "Just have a bite. Don't let her good intentions go to waste."
I gazed at him, his handsome face, and the dessert another woman had sent, now being offered to me by his hand.
In that moment, I felt like the punchline to a cruel joke.
Sitting at my own anniversary dinner, I was nothing but the clown at my own party, left out of the fun.
I shot to my feet.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor, shrieking like a scream.
Everyone in the restaurant turned to stare at me.
I looked at Landon, whose face instantly soured, and smiled.
I tossed my napkin onto the table, slung my bag over my shoulder, and walked out without looking back.
I didn't say a word.
Landon ran after me and caught me by the arm in the parking lot.
"Iris, what the hell are you pulling now?" he said through gritted teeth, his anger barely contained.
I shook off his hand, yanked open the car door, and got straight in. He followed, slamming the door so hard the whole car shook.
Neither of us said a word.
Dead silence filled the ride.
The air inside was cold as ice.
Even breathing felt like a struggle.
There was not a single word of explanation from him, not even a syllable.
When we got home, I slammed the door shut behind me with a loud bang. I couldn't take it anymore.
"Landon," I turned around, my chest heaving, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "Don't you have anything to say?"
He didn't even look at me.
Instead, he deliberately loosened his tie, unhurriedly removed his jacket, and hung it up on the rack.
Every move was so composed as if he were silently mocking how rattled I was.
"What do you want me to say?" he shot back. "That some clueless girl messed up and brought the wrong thing? Or that you're just overreacting and ruining our anniversary?"
Here he went again.
It was always someone else's fault, or mine.
He was always the saint, always squeaky clean, like he could do no wrong.
"Landon," I turned to him, locking eyes with him, my stare unwavering. "Why is it so hard for you to stay away from other women?"
My voice was shaking, every word felt like it was being forced out between gritted teeth, the pain almost unbearable.
"Is it really that hard for you to acknowledge me? To admit you have a girlfriend?" I pressed.
He didn't answer me. Instead, he walked over to the dining table, poured himself a glass of water, and then turned around, giving me an unnervingly calm, almost cruel look I'd never seen before.
"Iris," he said, his voice icy. "Is all this really just because of a dessert?"