Chapter 3

When I woke up the next morning, the housekeeper informed me that Ethan had slept in his study last night.

I didn't care. I spent the morning going over my prenuptial asset list with Chloe, checking off every single item.

I also gathered every gift, piece of jewelry, and trinket Ethan had given me over the years.

Among them was a leather-bound journal he had written by hand.

He had started it the year we met and kept writing into our marriage.

Every page was filled with declarations of his undying love.

But ever since Clara moved into the estate, not a single new page had been written.

He had once promised me that on every birthday, he would personally bake me a cake and watch me blow out the candles.

But for the past two years, there had been no cakes. No wishes.

Today was my birthday.

And he had forgotten it entirely.

With stinging eyes, I packed all of his old gifts and the journal into a cardboard box.

"Take this to the incinerator in the backyard," I told the maid. "Burn it all."

"Aria, what is all this?"

Ethan had just walked through the front door.

His brow was knit tight as he watched the maid carry the heavy box out toward the yard.

I looked up calmly. "Just some old, useless clutter. It was taking up space."

He didn't think twice about it.

Walking into the living room, he set a beautifully wrapped pastry box on the coffee table.

His voice was soft. "I went out of my way to get you those lemon madeleines you love. Go on, try some."

I looked at the box, a cold, mocking smile playing at the corners of my lips.

The very last spark of warmth in my heart died right then.

The box didn't contain lemon madeleines. They were almond macarons.

The bakery always color-coded their ribbons. Yellow for lemon. Red for almond.

The ribbon on this box was bright red.

It was packed with the one ingredient that could put me in anaphylactic shock.

I have been severely allergic to almonds since childhood. Even a trace of it would break me out in hives and restrict my breathing.

When we first got married, I told him this.

He had promised me that no almond products would ever cross the threshold of our home.

And for a long time, he kept that promise.

But now, three years later, a box of deadly almonds was sitting right in front of me.

Handed to me by my own husband.

Seeing me stare at the box without opening it, Ethan’s face darkened.

He assumed I was just being stubborn.

"Aria, I've already come home and tried to make peace. How long are you going to keep up this attitude? Do you want me to get down on my knees and beg?"

"I already explained to you, that night was an emergency. Clara was having a medical crisis. Did you expect me to just let her die?"

I looked up, my gaze entirely hollow.

"You forgot. I'm violently allergic to almonds."

Ethan froze. He lunged forward and tore open the pastry box.

When he saw the rows of colorful almond macarons inside, all the color drained from his face.

"I... the clerk at the bakery must have grabbed the wrong box! I swear I asked for lemon."

I didn't bother calling him out.

He was the CEO of Vance Enterprises.

The staff at that high-end bakery would never make a mistake on his order.

The truth was simple: he bought almond macarons for Clara so often that the staff just assumed that was what he wanted.

"I see. I'm going to rest now."

I nodded politely, walked right past him, and headed upstairs.

I left him standing in the middle of the living room, looking utterly lost.

***

0