"Lucas."
My voice cut through the silence like a blade.
"You're absolutely right. What kind of decent girl runs off with a man at sixteen? What kind of person shamelessly elopes and leaves everything behind?"
I rose from the sofa and met his gaze. His face twisted with ugly irritation.
"Me," I said coldly. "That was me."
"So what?" he scoffed.
I grabbed the cake from the table. With one vicious swing, I smashed it directly into his face.
Cream splattered everywhere. Before he could explode, I cut him off. "I've already let you off easy."
"What the hell is wrong with you?" he roared, clawing frosting from his eyes. "What more do you want?"
"What more?"
I snatched my phone and shoved the screen inches from his cream-smeared face. Yara Chavez's message glowed on the display.
"Your girlfriend says you bought her that necklace I've wanted for years," I said, my voice arctic. "Apparently, that was her price for 'allowing' you one hour to light a candle for me. Should I be grateful?"
His jaw clenched, but I wasn't done.
"Am I supposed to feel lucky you spent millions on her just to spare me sixty minutes? If you love this cake so much, Lucas, it's all yours."
I turned to leave, but his hand locked around my wrist. Frosting dripped down his face, making his fury almost comical—yet his grip was iron. Those eyes I'd adored for ten years now glared at me, cold and hard.
"Alex," he hissed. "Haven't you made enough of a scene? I promised to spend your birthday with you, and I'm here. I kept my word. Stop looking for reasons to be miserable."
He still thought this was a jealous tantrum. A desperate bid for his attention.
He was wrong.
The body never lies. And right now, my skin crawled where he touched me.
I stared at his hand on my arm. Nausea churned in my stomach. I wrenched free, grabbed a wet wipe, and scrubbed my wrist until the skin turned raw—desperate to erase the feel of him.
"Lucas." I dropped the soiled wipe. "I don't need this anymore."
I looked him dead in the eye.
"And I don't love you anymore."
He stared at my reddened wrist, stunned. The realization hit him like a slap. His bloodshot eyes searched my face before he let out a cold, hollow laugh.
"Fine." His voice turned to ice. "Don't you dare regret this, Alex."
He stormed out and slammed the door hard enough to rattle the walls.
I stood in the wreckage of the living room, frozen, until my phone buzzed.
Yara. She didn't miss a beat.
Big Sister, three million for one hour. Why don't you know how to cherish it?
A selfie followed—Yara preening, the diamond necklace glittering at her throat.
Honestly? You aren't worth three million. I wouldn't pay thirty. But what can I do? Lucas is just too sentimental. No matter how successful he gets, he won't forget the wife who suffered through poverty with him.
I could hear her mocking laughter through the screen. The arrogance Lucas had bred in her.
It was always the same. Whenever Yara attacked me, he defended her.
"Yara is young," he'd say. "She doesn't know any better. You're not a child, Alex. Why stoop to her level over petty things?"
He never hid his bias. From the day I discovered her, the scales had never tipped in my favor.
The worst was when he threatened divorce.
He'd looked me in the eye, his voice stripped of empathy. "Alex, I won't let Yara live without status. I won't let her be tormented by your jealousy until she breaks."
