I returned to the apartment we shared, only to hear Caspin's flirtatious voice mingling with another woman's as the elevator doors opened.
"Call me hubby."
"Hubby..."
"Who do you love the most?"
"Hubby..."
"So good. I'd do anything for you."
I stood frozen, the color draining from my face.
Even with the central air blasting against the summer heat, I felt like I was trapped in an arctic wasteland.
An hour later, Caspin sauntered in with a petite woman in his arms.
The moment Ivy Reed saw me in the living room, she looked as if she’d been grievously wronged, her eyes instantly welling with tears.
"What is she doing here? Didn't you say this was our home?"
"You were lying to me? You're not over her, are you?"
"I may love you, but I won't sell my dignity. I'm leaving right now!"
Caspin anxiously grabbed her, pulling her tight into his embrace. "What are you talking about? It's legally certified; you're my wife. Of course this is our home. She's just here to pack her things."
He looked at me without a word of explanation or apology.
"Clementine, the hotel in the suburbs is very quiet. You should go stay there for a while."
My mind went blank.
Before the anger, there was just a dull, physical ache in my chest.
Three years ago, when we first rented this place, Caspin had held me, his eyes red with emotion.
"Clementine, this will be our forever home. It’ll be you, me, and our children."
Now, three years later, the man who had promised me a home was kicking me out of it.
"Clementine, my wife is unhappy. I don't want to say this a second time."
A smile played on his lips, but his low voice carried a clear, serious warning.
My throat felt tight, as if it were clogged with water-logged cotton.
I dimly realized he wasn't joking.
Seeing the smug certainty in his eyes, I gave a hoarse nod.
"I understand."
As I stood up, Caspin's eyes flickered. He suddenly strode forward and grabbed my arm, his voice softening a fraction. "The Metropolitan Charity Gala is tonight. You should come with me."
I started to refuse, but he cut me off.
"Ivy's never been to an event like this. You can be her assistant, help her get acquainted with the scene."
I was stunned, so baffled I wanted to laugh.
But then I thought of the little time I had left and decided not to argue.
Before the gala, Ivy claimed she lacked suitable jewelry and, from my jewelry box, precisely selected the one-of-a-kind "Star of Clementine" diamond necklace Caspin had commissioned for me.
She clung to Caspin's arm, becoming the center of attention while I trailed behind, holding a champagne flute.
The guests' mocking whispers trailed me like a phantom limb.
"Mr. Thorne has some nerve. Making his ex-girlfriend play assistant to his new flame, and she doesn't even dare to say a word."
"Ex-girlfriend? Didn't you hear? He married the intern. Clementine was just some designer he strung along for a decade of free labor. She's a nobody."
"How pathetic can you be? Ten years and she has nothing to show for it. I'd rather be dead than live a life like that."
I fled the ballroom and hid in the restroom.
But then I heard someone teasing Caspin.
