Chapter 6

When I regained consciousness, my skull throbbed and everything felt heavy. Because of the injury, they kept me longer. Adrian never returned. Not a single time. But I already knew the reason. He was with her. Naturally. I didn't call him. Didn't send a text either. What would've been the point?

The day I was set to be discharged, the housekeeper rang me. "Miss Mika, regarding Mr. Kingsley's birthday celebration this year — how would you like it arranged?"

I held the phone and said nothing for a while.

Birthday.

I'd handled every single one of these myself, every year. His family never gave a damn about things like that. Power, money, business deals — that was all that registered with them. Never him, the actual person.

I remembered the very first birthday I'd attended for him. Everything had looked flawless, except there'd been food on the table he couldn't eat, something that could set off a reaction. Later I'd spotted him off alone, quietly taking his medication.

"Why didn't you just say something to them?" I'd asked back then, my chest aching.

"What's the point?" he'd said, not even bothering to look at me. "They couldn't care less about that. So long as the company keeps running, that's all they need from me."

From that point on, I took charge of it — every dish, every detail, everything he liked and everything he avoided. I made certain he never had to deal with that kind of thing again.

"Miss Mika?" the housekeeper's voice came again.

I shut my eyes briefly. "I'll take care of it."

This would be the last one.

After the divorce, someone else would handle it.

Not me. Never again.

**

I put it all together the same careful, quiet way I always had — like it still meant something to me. But this time I kept the housekeeper at my side the entire day, walking her through every single step so she'd remember it all.

"The cake needs to be vanilla berry. He can't stand anything too rich or sugary — a few bites and it turns his stomach."

"And take note — the flowers should be white lilies, never red. He can't stand anything too loud or flashy, says it looks tacky."

"Keep the whiskey off the main table. He drinks it, sure, but it gives him headaches if his stomach's empty."

I paused, then added quietly, "Make sure you hold onto all of this. Next time, this will be your job. Don't botch it."

The housekeeper looked puzzled. "Madam... won't you still be arranging this next year?"

I didn't respond.

Next time, I wouldn't even be around anymore.

How could I be?

The night of the banquet, everything looked immaculate. Lights strung everywhere, soft music drifting through the air, guests laughing like this house genuinely held any warmth at all. I stood at the entrance in a pale blue gown, welcoming each guest, smiling the way I always did — as though I hadn't already checked out on the inside.

Then he stepped through the door.

Adrian.

Charlotte right beside him.

Her arm looped through his, leaning into him like it was where she'd always belonged. She had on something soft and delicate, pale pink, as though she might break at the slightest touch. She gazed up at him, smiling. And he looked right back.

God. He actually looked back.

That's when it clicked for me.

He'd already smoothed everything over with her.

Of course he had.

His attention never strayed from her the entire evening. The instant her glass ran low, he noticed before anyone else could.

"Don't pour her that," he said, low but firm. "Bring her something lighter. She doesn't handle her liquor well."

When her dress slipped slightly out of place, he frowned and waved someone over.

"Fix it properly. Don't let it drag on the floor."

She laughed at something, eyes crinkling, soft and easy — and he actually smiled back. Not that cold, distant thing he usually wore. A genuine smile.

I stood there watching a moment too long.

Then I forced myself to look away.

What had I even been expecting?

He never once looked my way.

Not a single time.

I drifted off to the side, greeting guests like some member of the staff rather than the woman of the house.

When it came time for gifts, people brought out one extravagant item after another — jewelry, rare collectibles, things worth more than most people would ever see in a lifetime. Then mine was carried in. A custom fountain pen, elegant and understated, something I'd chosen carefully since he'd once mentioned he preferred things quiet and functional.

The butler set it down on a tray.

"Mrs. Kingsley really knows Mr. Kingsley's taste," someone commented with a smile. "Not flashy at all, but it suits him perfectly."

"Refined, just like him."

Adrian glanced at it, then at me.

For one second, I thought—

"Thanks," he said, offhand.

That was the entirety of his reaction.

Then Charlotte's gift came out.

A small box.

Inside sat a handmade leather bracelet, the stitching crooked, uneven in spots, clearly not the work of a professional.

The room fell silent.

Then someone let out a soft laugh.

"...Wait, seriously? People still give gifts like this?"

"Looks cheap, honestly. Can't imagine Mr. Kingsley would even wear it."

"Who let her walk in dressed like that, bringing something like this?"

Charlotte's face drained of color. She took a small step back, as though she wished she could vanish entirely.

Adrian's expression turned dark instantly. He picked up the bracelet and the whole room went quiet. Without a moment's hesitation, he slid it onto his wrist.

"I like this one," he said, his voice quiet but sharp enough to slice through the silence. "At least this actually means something. Somebody put real time into making it."

Nobody said a word.

Then his gaze shifted to the pen. He picked it up, studied it briefly, then let out a dismissive scoff.

"Something like this," he said coldly, "you can pick up anywhere. Nothing special about it at all."

My chest clenched.

Before I could even respond, he tossed it straight into the trash bin. The sound echoed far louder than it should have.

The hall went silent for a beat, and then suddenly everyone was nodding along.

"Mr. Kingsley has a point — handmade things actually carry meaning."

"Exactly, expensive items are hollow without any heart behind them."

"This one's clearly far more special — you can tell how much effort went into it."

I just stood there.

It felt like every drop of blood in my body had turned to ice. I'd spent three months on that gift — traveling around, comparing shops, weighing different designs, picking out something I genuinely believed he'd love.

And now?

Discarded like garbage.

Just so she could look good in front of everyone.

But hadn't it always been this way?

He could cancel meetings, drop everything at a moment's notice — for her. But my own birthday? He couldn't even remember the date. She'd get sick and he'd stay awake all night tending to her. I once ran a fever for hours straight and he never even called to check. She'd say a single word and he'd board a flight across the globe. I once asked him to just have dinner with me, and he told me he was busy.

Every single time, he chose her.

Every time, without exception.

Just like tonight.

I pressed a hand lightly against my chest. There used to be so much pain there, enough that I thought I'd stop breathing entirely.

But now?

Nothing.

Empty.

So this was what it felt like once you finally stopped loving someone?

All that suffering, all that waiting around — it just evaporated, like none of it had ever mattered at all.

Then the crowd swarmed around Charlotte. The same people who'd mocked her minutes earlier were now beaming at her, showering her with praise, angling to get closer.

I stood off in the corner and let a small smile show.

That's simply how it worked here.

One look from him, and everyone falls in line.

None of it mattered anymore anyway.

After the divorce, he'd probably fold her properly into the family soon enough. Tonight was just the opening move.

The banquet wound down slowly. Guests trickled out one by one. I stood by the door, smiling, offering my goodbyes the way I always had.

Flawless.

Courteous.

As though I were still Mrs. Kingsley. Only once the final guest departed did I finally let myself exhale.

When I turned back around, they were both still there.

Adrian and Charlotte.

Rain was pouring hard outside. A cold gust swept in, damp and cutting. Charlotte shivered suddenly and let out a sneeze.

Adrian's frown appeared instantly. "You're cold?"

"I'm fine... just a little," she murmured, though her voice sounded frail.

"Fine, my ass," he muttered, already shrugging off his suit jacket to drape it over her shoulders. "You're shivering. Stop pretending you're not."

She pulled it tight around herself, still trembling faintly.

"It's still so cold..."

His eyes swept the room.

Then they landed on me. On the scarf wrapped around my neck — a soft wool one, the last thing my grandmother had ever made before she passed away.

"Give her that," he said.

My fingers clenched instantly.

"M-my grandmother made this," I said quietly, my voice barely holding steady. "It's not something I can just hand over—"

"I know exactly what it is," he cut in, his tone gone colder. "She's just borrowing it for a bit. Why are you turning this into some huge deal?"