Chapter 3

When I opened my eyes, Julian was nowhere to be found.

Looking at the digital calendar on the wall, four days had passed. I must have been pulled out of the ICU again.

Just as I managed to sit up, the room door pushed open.

It was Vivian.

She placed an elaborate basket of pink carnations on my nightstand, smiling like a sweet angel. "Mrs. Miller, I hope you have a speedy recovery."

With her delicate features and baby-doll charm, she was exactly the type Julian loved to spoil.

I didn't want to see a young girl throw her life away, so I gave her a flat look. "Do you know who paid for those flowers?"

Vivian’s smile turned sharp. "My boyfriend did. And I know you’re just his old business partner."

I gave a cold smirk. "He’s in his thirties and tells you he’s single? And you actually believe that?"

Her sweet mask slipped, replaced by sneering contempt.

"Listen, lady. I was trying to be polite, but you’re pushing it."

"The other day you faked an episode just to drag him to your bedside. Who do you think you are? You’re way too old to play the helpless damsel."

I frowned. "I’m his legal wife. Don't let him play you."

Vivian let out an obnoxious laugh. "Julian is a billionaire bachelor. That doesn't mean you get to daydream about being married to him! Get real!"

"I have no reason to lie to you," I said calmly. "You have your whole life ahead of you. Why throw it away on a cheater who doesn't even love you?"

To my surprise, Vivian’s eyes gleamed with pure ambition.

"So what? The only real side chick is the woman who isn't loved anymore."

"Look at you, you’re practically a corpse. Even if you were his wife once, have some dignity and step aside. Stop bleeding his money dry just to keep yourself breathing!"

I choked on my breath. "You—!"

Vivian sneered, sweeping the flower basket off the table. It crashed to the floor, petals scattering everywhere.

"If I knew you were this pathetic, I wouldn't have bothered pretending."

"If he actually cared about you, do you think he’d be sleeping in my bed? You think this started yesterday? We’ve been together since last Christmas!"

"You can’t compete with me, grandma."

With a flip of her hair, she strutted out.

I sat frozen in the sterile room.

Last Christmas.

The exact day Julian broke his promise and skipped our tenth wedding anniversary.

So every time he sent me a lavish bouquet to apologize, he was coming straight out of her bed.

The weekly flowers weren't romantic gestures. They were the cheap crumbs of his guilty conscience.

My hands shook as I pulled open the nightstand drawer.

Six months. Twenty-four weeks. Twenty-four bouquets. Every time they withered, I had carefully peeled off the florist tags, tucking them away like precious treasures.

I thought we had forever ahead of us. I thought one day, when we were old and gray, I’d pull these out to show him: *Look how much you loved me.*