Chapter 3

The caption read:

*"Thank you for the best gift. Let's make up for all the years we missed."*

I recognized the necklace immediately. I had seen the box on Walter's desk weeks ago. It was engraved with the words: *One True Love.*

I had foolishly thought it was a surprise for me.

A bitter smile touched my lips. It was never for me.

Nothing was ever for me.

I liked Charlotte's post.

At that exact moment, a notification popped up: *Flight Booking Confirmed.*

My eyes closed. A long exhale escaped my lungs. A profound sense of exhaustion washed over me.

It was almost over.

When I returned home, the house was bright.

My body was weak from the surgery, and I moved slowly. I found Walter in the kitchen, wearing an apron, cooking. Charlotte leaned against the doorframe, watching him with a soft, possessive gaze.

They looked like the perfect domestic couple.

I was the intruder in my own home.

Walter, who claimed he didn't know how to boil water, was cooking for her.

I smiled. There was no warmth in it. It was the smile of someone who finally understood the joke.

I remembered when I was up for a promotion. I was the top sales performer in the company, yet Walter—my boss—rejected my application. He claimed he couldn't show favoritism.

But when Charlotte returned to the country with zero experience, she was promoted two levels within a month.

He protected her. He prioritized her.

It was so obvious now.

I coughed lightly. They both turned to look at me.

There was no shame in their eyes. Walter spoke as if nothing were amiss. "We went out to eat, and Charlotte had too much wine. I'm making her some hangover soup."

I didn't respond. I simply turned and walked to the bedroom.

A few minutes later, the door creaked open. Charlotte walked in, closing the distance between us until she was looking down at me.

"You saw the text, didn't you?" She smirked.

So, it was her.

"Whether I saw it or not... does it matter?" I looked up at her.

Dark, unmistakable hickeys marred her neck. She didn't bother to hide them.

"Your husband treats you like garbage." Charlotte sneered. "Are you still going to cling to him shamelessly?"

My gaze remained calm. "I never clung to him. If he had been honest about you two, I would have divorced him in a heartbeat."

Charlotte laughed, a harsh sound. "Liar. If you weren't clinging to him, why does he refuse every time I ask him to divorce you?"

My frown deepened. "He refuses?"

"He loves *me*." She hissed, her face twisting with jealousy. "You must have something on him. That's the only reason he keeps you around."

A flicker of confusion rose in my chest. Walter didn't want a divorce?

That didn't make sense.

Before I could speak, Charlotte suddenly threw herself to the floor.

"Jessica!" She wailed, her voice trembling with fake terror. "I only came to bring you some soup! Why would you push me?"

*Bang.*

The door flew open. Walter stood there, his face thunderous.

In a split second, I understood Charlotte's game.

"Walter, I—"

He didn't let me finish. He strode across the room, grabbed the bowl of steaming soup from the table, and hurled it.

Not at the floor.

At me.

The scalding liquid splashed across my face and chest.

I screamed. The heat seared my skin, the pain instantaneous and blinding.

Walter faltered for a second, his eyes widening as he saw the red burns blooming on my skin. But he quickly steeled himself, his expression turning to ice.

"Jessica Harding," he growled, his voice vibrating with menace. "You'd better pray she's okay. If you hurt her, I will destroy you."