I stood outside the restaurant, the cool evening air doing little to calm the storm raging inside me. A black SUV pulled up, and Adonis jumped out, a wide grin on his face. He rushed towards me, his eyes shining, and without a word, he gently covered my eyes with his hands.
"No peeking, my love," he whispered, his voice laced with the familiar tenderness that once made my heart soar. "I want this to be perfect."
He led me inside, his hand warm at my back. I could smell the subtle scent of expensive flowers, hear the soft strains of a string quartet. The air was thick with expectation, crafted entirely by him, for me. Or so he thought.
"Okay," he murmured, his breath tickling my ear. "Open your eyes."
I blinked, adjusting to the soft lighting. We were in our old booth, the one where he' d first confessed his love to me in high school. Balloons in red and gold floated above, and a banner, hastily put up, read: "Happy 10 Year Anniversary, Adonis & Ivory!"
A decade. Ten years. It felt like ten lifetimes. My heart didn't swell with joy. It ached with a profound, desolate sadness for the pure love that had died. This wasn't a celebration. This was a funeral.
"Surprise, my love!" Adonis beamed, pulling out my chair. "I wanted to make this night unforgettable. A fresh start for us, after all the ritual nonsense."
My smile felt brittle on my lips. A fresh start? You have no idea how fresh it's going to be, Adonis.
I looked around. The flowers were wilting, the balloons already losing air, drooping at odd angles. The banner was crooked, the letters slightly askew. The whole setup screamed afterthought, a rushed attempt to appease. Not the meticulous planning Adonis was known for.
Adonis, however, seemed oblivious. He was still beaming, but his gaze fell on the crooked banner, and his smile faltered. His eyes narrowed. "What is this?" he muttered, a vein pulsing in his temple. "This is not what I asked for! This is sloppy! Manager!"
A harried-looking man in a black suit rushed over, wringing his hands. "Mr. Livingston, sir, I assure you, we tried our best-"
"Your best?" Adonis thundered, his voice echoing in the quiet restaurant. "This is an insult! I specifically instructed you on the exact layout, the flower arrangements, the precise angle of the banner! This is a disaster!"
The manager paled. "Sir, I… I gave the instructions to your assistant, Ariel. She said she' d oversee the setup personally."
My blood ran cold. Ariel. Of course.
Adonis' s anger visibly deflated, replaced by a flicker of irritation. He ran a hand through his hair, turning back to me with a forced smile. "I'm so sorry, Ivory, my love. It seems Ariel can't even get simple instructions right. Don't worry, I'll deal with her later. I'll make sure she's severely reprimanded. This night is about us."
I watched him, a chilling calm washing over me. He wasn't truly angry at Ariel. He was angry that his careless facade had been exposed. He was protecting her, deflecting blame, just as I knew he would.
"It's fine, Adonis," I said, my voice flat. "It really doesn't matter." I sat down, my movements deliberate, as if a single wrong step would shatter the fragile peace I was cultivating inside myself.
He seemed relieved by my apparent acceptance. "See? That's why I love you, Ivory. Always so understanding." He pulled out a small, fancy box. "And now for the pièce de résistance!"
He lifted the lid, revealing a perfectly round, creamy white cake. My stomach lurched. It was a chestnut cake. My eyes burned.
"Your favorite, right?" he asked, his eyes sparkling. "I remembered how much you loved them when we were kids."
My throat tightened. I was severely allergic to chestnuts. I hadn't been able to eat them since I was six years old, after a trip to the ER. He knew this. He had been there. He had held my hand as the doctors pushed an IV into my arm. How could he forget something so fundamental about me?
"Adonis," I said softly, my voice barely a whisper. "You know I'm allergic to chestnuts."
His smile froze. His eyes widened, then narrowed. He stared at the cake as if it had personally offended him. "Allergic?" he repeated slowly, disbelief warring with anger. "But… you used to love them! This is impossible! Ariel! Where is that woman?"
He pushed back his chair, his face contorted with rage, and stormed out of the restaurant, shouting Ariel's name. I watched him go, a profound sense of emptiness settling over me. The old Adonis, the one who knew every detail about me, every preference, every allergy, was truly gone. He had been replaced by this careless, self-absorbed stranger.
I hesitated for a moment, then slowly rose from my seat. It was time. This charade had gone on long enough. I followed him, drawn by a morbid curiosity, a need to witness the final, undeniable proof of his betrayal.
