Sebastian was seated near the window, Bianca across from him. He bent toward her, gently dabbing the corner of her lips with a napkin, his expression tender — the same softness he once reserved only for me back when we were crammed into that run-down apartment with cracked walls and leaking pipes.
My chest constricted. I turned on my heel, wanting to escape before they noticed me, but I rushed straight into someone’s shoulder.
“I’m so sorry,” I blurted automatically.
The man lifted his head.
The warmth in his eyes vanished in an instant.
He rose from his chair and walked toward me with long, angry strides.
“So now you’re stalking me too?” he snapped.
I hadn’t even drawn a proper breath when he continued, his voice colder.
“I’ve already explained everything about Bianca and me. It was strictly business. How long are you planning to humiliate yourself like this?”
I tried to speak, but Mrs. Sterling’s words from the night before echoed cruelly in my head:
Their marriage has been planned for years. He has feelings for her as well.
Planned. Marriage. Arranged.
The truth I had been too blind — and too in love — to see.
“Sebastian, there’s no need to sound so harsh,” Bianca said gently as she stood and slipped to his side. “It’s just a coincidence that we ran into each other. Why don’t we all have lunch together?”
Before I could object, she looped her arm through his and ushered me toward their table like I had no right to refuse. I ended up sitting opposite him, trapped under the weight of his frigid stare.
“What would you like to order, Miss Monroe?” Bianca passed me the menu, smiling politely. “The Spanish dishes here are quite famous.”
The menu might as well have been written in code. “I’m not hungry.”
“At least have some soup,” she urged, already waving the waiter over. A bowl of steaming seafood broth was set down in front of me. “It’s very fresh.”
The scent hit my nose and my stomach twisted violently. I was allergic. One sip would land me in the ER.
Before I could protest, Sebastian’s phone rang. He stepped aside to answer.
Bianca leaned in, her lips barely moving.
“Go on, taste it. A dish like that probably costs more than what you earned in a whole month when you were living in that rat hole you called home.”
My fingers clenched around the napkin.
She took a slow sip of wine, eyes gleaming. “You don’t seriously think you belong in places like this, do you? Women like you don’t marry into families like his. If Sebastian hadn’t lost his memory, you wouldn’t even qualify to polish his shoes.”
Heat rushed to my face, but I forced my chin up. “You can keep your—”
“Oh!”
She suddenly gasped and “accidentally” tipped the entire bowl, scalding soup splashing over both our hands.
Agony tore through my skin. I recoiled sharply, biting down on a scream. Even though I had been reborn, the humiliation followed me in different forms, as if fate refused to let me escape public cruelty.
Sebastian rushed back at once, grabbing Bianca’s wrist. “What happened?”
She trembled slightly, perfectly pitiful. “It’s nothing… I was just startled. I suppose Aurelia doesn’t like seeing us together. It’s understandable…”
His gaze sliced toward me. “How many times do I have to explain things to you? What’s wrong with you?”
My hand burned, angry red blisters already rising. “She did it on purpose—”
“Enough!” he barked. “I saw it all. When did you become this pathetic?”
Then he pulled Bianca into his arms and turned away from me.
She nestled against his chest, but not before flashing me a smug smile over his shoulder.
I stared at my injured hand, shaking with pain. Three years ago, when I burned myself in our kitchen, he’d raced out at midnight just to buy ointment. Now he didn’t spare me a glance.
I left alone, smiling bitterly.
The villa greeted me with darkness and silence, just like always when Sebastian wasn’t home. I dug out the first-aid kit and treated the burn myself. The disinfectant stung, the ointment barely soothed it, and the bandage throbbed like ants crawling beneath my skin.
When I straightened, my eyes drifted to the grand piano in the corner — the Cielo he’d bought after regaining his memory, promising to teach me how to play.
It was coated in dust.
He’d never played a single note. Never taught me anything. Just like our marriage — once sworn, now abandoned.
I turned away quickly and went upstairs. In the bedroom, I pulled out a suitcase and started packing. Clothes. IDs. Bank cards. One item at a time, I folded my past into that case.
Halfway through, the door creaked open.
Sebastian stood there, jacket over his arm, tie loosened, the powerful aura of the Sterling heir radiating off him once more.
His eyes locked onto the suitcase.
“What are you doing?”
