Chapter 5

Scarlett's POV

He looked down into the steel barrel.

The fire was still roaring. Through the glowing embers, he could clearly see the charred remains of our wedding portrait and the pink diamond ring, blackened by the soot.

Tristan’s pupils constricted violently, his voice cracking. “You burned our photos? And the ring? Scarlett, have you lost your mind?! Why would you burn these?!”

His grip hurt, but I didn't bother pulling away. I just turned my head slowly, looking at him with dead, empty eyes.

He had sprinted hard. Strands of hair were plastered across his forehead, his breath ragged, his eyes brimming with panic and distress. How sick. A man who had betrayed me for six years and forged a marriage license could still put on such a convincing display of heartbreak.

“Just clearing out some trash that shouldn’t be here,” I said quietly, my voice colder than ice.

“Trash? Those are our memories!” Tristan’s brow furrowed deep. He reached out to pull me into his arms. “Scarlett, are you just stressed from the corporate audit? Or did my mom come over and harass you again? Talk to me. Don’t take it out on our things...”

I leaned away, dodging his touch.

My eyes caught the faint smudge of lipstick near the corner of his suit collar, and the subtle scent of rose perfume clinging to his lapel... I never wore rose. It was a sweet, heavy scent that only suited a younger girl.

“Tristan,” I cut him off, staring straight into his eyes. “Where were you just now? I thought you were stuck in an international board meeting.”

His eyes flickered for a fraction of a second, but his tone stayed smooth. “The meeting wrapped up early, so I grabbed a drink with a few investment bankers. Why?”

Still lying.

The very last ember of hope in my heart went out completely. Looking at the man I had loved for over a decade and lived with for seven years, an overwhelming exhaustion crushed me.

I wanted to see, just one last time, if he cared about me even a fraction of an inch.

“Tristan,” I murmured softly. “I don’t feel well tonight. I’m scared. I only want one thing from you. Stay home with me. Turn your phone off, and don’t go anywhere. Just for tonight.”

I stared at him unblinkingly, as if giving him one final trial.

If he stayed tonight, it would prove that our decade together still held some tiny shred of meaning to him. And when I began dismantling Vance Group, I might have left him a sliver of mercy.

Tristan looked at me, taking my hand in his. A flash of hesitation crossed his eyes, but he answered firmly, “Okay. I won’t leave. I’m not going anywhere tonight. I’ll stay right here with you...”

Before the words could fully leave his mouth, his phone blared loudly from his suit pocket.

The piercing ringtone shattered the silence of the yard.

He pulled the phone out. The caller ID glowed brightly with the name *Wendy*.

He glanced at me, his thumb freezing over the screen. He moved to decline it, but after a second’s hesitation, he turned his back to me and swiped to answer. “Hello?”

The night was dead silent. The audio leaked clearly through the speaker.

First came a woman’s frantic, tearful sobs, followed immediately by a small child’s trembling whimper: “Daddy... I have a fever. My head hurts so bad... Daddy, when are you coming home...?”

I stood rooted to the spot, listening to that clear, sweet *Daddy*, a cold smile carving its way onto my lips.

Tristan’s hand tightened around the phone so hard his knuckles turned white, all color draining from his face. He shot a frantic look back at me, dropping his voice to a whisper. “Don’t cry, listen to your mom. I’m on my way.”

Ending the call, he spun around, unable to meet my eyes, words tumbling out in a rush. “Scarlett, that was... Julian. He’s a friend’s son. He’s running a severe fever and having febrile seizures. His father is out of the country, and his mother has no one else to help her. I just need to run to the hospital to check on them. As soon as they’re settled, I’ll rush right back to be with you, okay?”

Julian. Julian Vance.

He didn't even bother inventing a different name.

Seeing that I didn't push back, Tristan assumed I had accepted the excuse. He gave my shoulder a quick squeeze. “It’s freezing out here. Go inside. I’ll be back in two hours at the most.”

Without even sparing a final glance at the smoldering barrel, he sprinted toward the gates.

The Maybach’s engine roared to life once more, its taillights cutting through the darkness as it sped into the distance.

I stood alone in the cold, watching his taillights vanish, and slowly brushed a windblown strand of hair from my cheek.

Tristan, I gave you your chance. You made your choice.