Chapter 3
"I haven't done a single thing wrong. The blame's on all of you."
Sergio was speechless.
The composure drained from his face, giving way to a flash of annoyance. "Wendi, stop fixating on one tiny slip and beating it to death.
"We've been together forever, and you're constantly up on your high horse, judging everyone else. You think you've got zero flaws?"
This was the first time Sergio had ever come undone like that in front of me.
He was obviously pushed to his limit.
I didn't question whether Sergio had loved me once—he had.
The guy who'd trekked halfway across the country to track me down during my volunteer stint in the mountains, all over a sketchy weather report.
The one who'd woken from a dream where I was crying and camped out at my door through the night.
The man who'd jumped in front of a knife for me amid a chaotic hospital protest.
That was him, through and through.
Back then, our love could overcome anything. But now that the dust had settled, his idealized "crush" had faded into bland everyday thing, and the passionate "red rose" had turned into nothing but a pesky bloodstain.
Not worth savoring, but too much hassle to discard.
Even after mentally prepping myself all night, I couldn't help but feel shaken in that moment.
Years ago, on that snowy winter night, propriety kept him from openly offering to escort me home—so instead, he'd trailed silently behind, stepping in my footprints to watch over me from a distance. And now, that same man had let me slip away for good.
Decision made, I wasn't wasting another second. I spun on my heel and walked away.
The door clicked shut behind me, and an over-the-top voice echoed from inside.
"Whoa, your fiancée's intense, Sergio. She's not dumping you, right?"
Sergio sounded sure of himself. "Nah, she won't.
"I'm the only option she's got."
He didn't even try to keep it down—like the words were for her ears, but also a jab aimed at me.
In the lobby downstairs, I caught sight of my ex, Boyd, striding toward the elevators with a entourage of Conrad Group bigwigs.
The irony stung even more.
These two, who used to be at each other's throats, were now buddying up for deals.
In business, there were no forever foes, I guess.
Boyd spotted me and ditched the group, hurrying over with urgency.
"Wendi, you see? Men are all cut from the same cloth."
That one sentence told me everything—he'd had a hand in Sergio's turnaround.
No surprise, then, that the man who'd once felt sorry for how my ex mistreated me was now obsessing over my past marriage.
Boyd had probably spun him yarns about our "living-together tales," maybe even our "couple quirks."
He watched me warily. "Back when we split, you swore Sergio wouldn't disappoint you—but look where we are?
"Wendi, we're just regular guys. I only slipped up the way every dude does eventually. Is that truly beyond forgiveness?"
I kept my tone even. "Do you see me, Wendi, as some desperate woman who can't survive without a ring on her finger?
"Are my only paths in life really just you or him?
"Boyd, your manipulative smirk turns my stomach. But even if I'm the loser here, you're no winner.
"Relax—I wouldn't touch leftovers like you with a ten-foot pole."
Still, as I turned away, my eyes prickled with the threat of tears.
I'd never had real feelings for Boyd, so his games rolled off me like water.
But I'd gone all-in with my heart on Sergio coming through.
The year we first crossed paths, he'd even relay a midnight coat to me via a third party, paranoid about fueling rumors.
He maintained that respectful buffer, wracking his brain to orchestrate every "accidental" run-in.
He'd protected me with kid gloves for five long years.
On divorce day, Boyd and I were both stone-faced—but Sergio, lurking outside, had tears in his eyes.
Once we made it official, he poured his soul into loving me, pampering me to the point where I could hardly tie my own shoes.
And yet, a guy like that had left me defeated.
Utterly defeated.
I returned to the hospital, wrapped up my current cases, cashed in my annual leave, and headed for the snow-covered mountains in the southwest.
The last time I'd come here was right after my divorce.
Closing the book on one chapter, I'd craved a trip to empty my mind and gear up for whatever came next.
Back then, Sergio had wheedled my travel plans out of my mentor and tagged along without an invitation.
Surrounded by that sweeping, majestic scenery, he couldn't hold back his feelings anymore.
He told me, "On the drive up, the guide quoted a poem by a famous person.
"'In that life, I turned mountains, turned waters, turned stupas—not for the afterlife, but just to meet you on the path.'
"I realized that's me to a T.
"Wendi, we've only got about 30,000 days in this life—I can't afford to lose any more time without you."
Maybe the views were too enchanting, or his vow too irresistible, but I accepted his confession.