Chapter 2

Lucia's POV

To meet my project deadline, I stayed at the office.

During that time, Holden didn't call once.

Probably because Vivienne had moved into the master bedroom, and he was busy finding creative inspiration from his muse.

He simply couldn't remember he had a wife.

Not until Friday night, my birthday, did Holden send me a text.

"Lucia, Vivienne's sample garment still needs adjustments. I can't spend your birthday with you tonight."

"I'll make up your birthday present later."

I wasn't at all surprised he was missing my birthday.

My only surprise was that he actually remembered today was my birthday.

In the past, I'd start hinting a month before my birthday, begging him to spend it with me.

But what was the result?

The first year, Vivienne was in a bad mood, so he left me sitting alone in the restaurant we'd booked and flew to Paris overnight to be with her. He disappeared for an entire week without a single word of explanation.

The second year, he took Vivienne to London Fashion Week while I waited at home in front of cold dishes, from dawn until dark.

Back then, I called him frantically, demanding to know,

"Holden, who's more important, me or Vivienne?"

How did he respond?

He said,

"Can you stop being so childish? We're doing this for work. The adult world isn't just about romance."

Back then, I would cry and make scenes. I'd grab scissors and charge into his study threatening to cut up those clothes.

But now, I felt nothing inside.

My finger tapped the screen as I replied with one word:

"Okay."

Putting down my phone, I went to the convenience store and bought a small mousse cake.

Sitting by the window of the convenience store, I stuck a candle in it.

The cheap candle's flame flickered weakly, ready to go out at any moment.

I didn't make a wish. I just blew it out.

Taking the first bite, I remembered that painful experience.

It was also my birthday. Holden had come home late for once, bringing back half a cake.

He said,

"Sorry I'm late. I brought this for you."

I was thrilled beyond measure. Even though it was leftovers, I cherished it like treasure and ate it.

But after just one bite, I tasted mango.

I'm severely allergic to mango. He knew that.

I forced down the swelling pain in my throat and asked him,

"Why is it mango flavored? Don't you know I'm allergic to mango?"

He froze for a moment, his eyes evasive.

"Oh, I forgot. Vivienne likes mango. I bought it out of habit."

That night, an ambulance took me away. My whole body broke out in hives, and I couldn't breathe.

And there at my bedside, all he said was,

"Next time remember to remind me you're allergic to mango."

The mousse cake in my mouth was sickeningly sweet. I swallowed it down and forced myself to finish before taking out my phone.

Opening my notes, below the remaining 20 points, I typed another line.

"Ninth time: He missed my birthday again to alter clothes for Vivienne. Deducted 10 points."

Looking at the lonely number on the screen.

10 points left.

Just one more time.

I closed my phone, stood up, and went back to the office.