Chapter 1

I found out by accident that my fiancé, Adrian Black, was learning to make handmade pasta.

For a split second, I thought he'd finally remembered. Handmade pasta was my favorite food in the world.

Then I heard his friend Victor laughing at him from the kitchen doorway.

"Guess the old flame really can't compete with the new one. Bella's been with you eight years. She loves pasta more than anything, but she gave it up to eat steak and potatoes with you every single day."

"And now look at you — eating pasta with your little assistant every chance you get, and on top of that, learning to cook it for her."

Adrian chuckled, his tone light and easy.

"Chloe's the exception. The girl can't stomach potatoes. What am I supposed to do?"

So Adrian was capable of making exceptions after all.

He just made his for an assistant who'd been on the job less than six months.

Victor pressed further. "Bella's been so good to you, and you've never once bent for her."

"If Bella finds out about this, you're in deep trouble. Don't forget — she's the Boss of the Moretti family."

Adrian let out a dismissive laugh.

"She's the Boss out there. With me, she doesn't have a temper. She's gone along with everything I've wanted for eight years. What trouble could there possibly be?"

My heart went cold, piece by piece.

He was right.

There wouldn't be any trouble.

Because I didn't want him anymore.

By the time Adrian came home, I was sitting at the dining table, eating a plate of birthday pasta.

I had also just canceled my ticket to the Maldives — the flight that was supposed to leave in seven days.

Six months ago, before Chloe appeared in his life, Adrian had promised me with genuine excitement that he would give me a grand, unforgettable wedding.

I waited a long time.

Then, a month ago, he suddenly informed me the wedding had been changed to a destination ceremony in the Maldives.

He said it would be a ceremony just for the two of us, one we'd remember for the rest of our lives.

It wasn't until today that I understood.

He didn't want romance. He was afraid Chloe would be upset if she saw our wedding. So he sweet-talked me into shrinking it down to a trip.

Adrian was still looking down at his phone when he walked through the door. He barely glanced at me.

"Pasta tonight? How come?"

He pulled out a chair, sat across from me, and frowned at the empty table. "You didn't make dinner?"

Every night for the past eight years, I would cook his favorite dishes ahead of time and sit at the table waiting for him to come home.

When we first got together, Adrian had been recovering from a serious illness he'd had as a teenager. At six-foot-one, he weighed only a hundred and thirty pounds. He was so thin he looked like a strong gust could knock him over.

I did everything I could to build him back up.

Over eight years, I fed him from a hundred and thirty pounds to a hundred and seventy.

His friends and family all said that meeting me was the luckiest thing that ever happened to him.

He used to say it himself, many times — that having me as his partner was the greatest blessing of his life.

I still remembered those words clearly.

But he had changed.

I looked up at him. "There's a plate in the kitchen. I saved one for you."

His brow furrowed immediately, his face full of resistance.

"I don't eat pasta. You know that."

"Let's go out."

He was already scrolling through restaurants on his phone as he spoke. He didn't even look up.

I stared at him.

"Today is my birthday. I've eaten potatoes with you for eight years. You can't eat one plate of pasta with me?"

He didn't know there was no plate waiting for him in the kitchen.

I just wanted to see his attitude one last time, so I could kill whatever was left of my hope.

He blinked, and only then did he remember it was my birthday.

In eight years together, he'd spent the first seven carefully preparing birthday gifts for me and clearing his entire schedule to spend the day with me.

This year, he forgot.

"Let's go out and celebrate." He stood up and reached for my hand.

I didn't move. I just looked at him, calm and still.

"No need. Just eat a plate of pasta with me."

He frowned, confused. His voice came out heavier.

"I don't like pasta. You know that."

"The sight of it turns my stomach. I can't get a single bite down."

"What is wrong with you today? Why are you trying to force me?"

"You've never been like this before."

He looked at me like I was a stranger who had suddenly lost control.