Chapter 3

Felicity's POV

He slammed the door shut behind him.

My phone buzzed on the bed.

Two jewelry design sketches from Raymond.

"Pick one," his next message read. "For our wedding rings."

I stared at the screen for a long time. My mind was a mess, still stuck on what had just happened — I couldn't think about rings right now.

I turned off the screen and threw myself onto the wide, empty bed.

That night, my dreams were red.

The color of that fire six years ago. The crack of a breaking beam, Valencia's piercing scream, and Michael's eyes staring at me through the flames — full of despair and hatred.

I tried desperately to explain, but smoke filled my throat, and I couldn't get a single word out.

"Felicity, why won't you just die?" Dream-Michael had his hands around my neck. His face slowly shifted into Saskia's smug, triumphant smile.

I jolted awake, drenched in sweat.

The sky outside was just beginning to lighten. The whole villa was silent, like one enormous tomb. Michael hadn't come home last night — probably stayed with Saskia, wrapped up in whatever he called love.

Tonight was the charity auction at Whispering Pines Hotel. I had to show up as Michael's "accessory," proof to the world of his "perfect marriage."

I washed up, did my makeup, and picked out a minimalist black backless gown, all without any expression on my face. The woman in the mirror looked as cold and hard as a stone pulled from an icehouse.

I was about to call the driver when a black Maybach pulled up outside the villa.

The rear window rolled down, revealing Raymond's profile. He was wearing a dark gray suit today, top button done all the way up, giving off an air that was both restrained and dangerous.

"Get in." He turned his head. His eyes paused for a second on my slightly pale face. His tone was as steady as ever, but softer than it had been on the phone last night.

I was a little surprised. "Mr. Carter, what are you doing here?"

"It's on my way." 

He wasn't giving me a chance to say no. His long fingers tapped lightly on the tablet resting on his knee. 

"I'm the guest of honor tonight. It's not unreasonable for my future 'partner' to get used to this kind of thing."

I hesitated, then got in. The cabin had a faint scent of cold fir, which, surprisingly, settled the restlessness inside me.

The car moved smoothly toward Whispering Pines Hotel. Raymond wasn't looking at me — he was working, his fingers scrolling across the screen at a steady, unhurried pace.

I sat as far from him as I could, my palms slightly damp.

"You didn't like either of the ring sketches from last night?" He spoke suddenly, his voice low and clear in the enclosed space.

That's when I remembered — I'd never replied to his message.

I looked down at my bare fingers. "The blue one on the right. It's beautiful."

He finally turned to look at me. His gaze rested on my face for a moment, then he let out a soft sound — barely a sigh.

"I think the blue diamond suits you too."

He didn't push further, didn't use his words to sting me the way Michael always did.

That perfectly measured distance between us actually let me breathe a little easier.

When we arrived at Whispering Pines Hotel, I didn't wait for him to come around and open my door. I pushed it open and stepped out myself.

"Thank you, Mr. Carter. I'll go in through the side entrance." I didn't look back as I gathered my skirt and walked quickly toward the corridor.

Just then, a flashy Bentley pulled up at the main entrance.

Michael stepped out. He was wearing a well-tailored white suit, looking every bit the perfect prince. And standing beside him was Saskia, in a fire-red gown that demanded every eye in the room.

They walked in arm in arm, smiling for the cameras like they had nothing to hide.

I stood in the shadows and watched. There wasn't a single ripple inside me. I guess when you've truly given up on someone, even anger starts to feel like too much effort.

I slipped away to a quiet corner on a secluded terrace, looking for a moment of peace in the middle of all the noise.

"Felicity!"

Jasmine Faye came rushing over and grabbed my hand. "There you are! I just saw Michael walk in with his mistress — how are you so calm?"

Jasmine was my best friend. The only person who knew about the architecture dreams I'd had six years ago.

"I'm not bothered, because I'm getting a divorce, Jasmine." My voice was steady.

Jasmine froze. Then her eyes went red, and she pulled me into a tight hug. 

"Thank God. You finally came to your senses. I thought you were going to waste your whole life on that piece of trash."

She let go and pulled a document out of her bag with a secretive look.

"Look at this. The permit for the Skylake District museum project. I got it for you. All you need is the land, and you can start drawing again."

I took the document. My fingertips trembled slightly. For the first time in six years of losing myself, I felt my blood start to burn.

"But the land is in Raymond's hands..." Jasmine looked worried. "That man isn't easy to deal with. Should we look somewhere else?"

"No need." I looked out at the lights in the distance. "Because I agreed to marry Raymond after the divorce."

Jasmine spat out the sip of champagne she'd just taken. She stared at me in horror, mouth open to shriek, but I clapped my hand over it before she could make a sound.

People nearby still noticed the commotion and turned to look.

"What's so exciting over here?"

Saskia's voice came from behind us, sweet in a way that turned your stomach. She was holding two glasses of red wine, walking toward us slowly.

Jasmine rolled her eyes and was about to say something, but I stopped her.

Saskia came up to me and leaned in close, dropping her voice so only I could hear.

"Did you enjoy listening in last night? Michael was so into it. He held me all night. You'll never know what that feels like."

I looked at her face, full of provocation, and felt nothing but pity.

"What exactly do you think you're showing off, Saskia?" I let a cold smile cross my lips. "Because in that moment, neither of us was anything to him. Just two sad substitutes."

Saskia's face went rigid — the fury of someone whose mask had just been ripped off.

"Shut up! You murderer! You killed Valencia!" She raised her voice, and everyone around us turned to look.

I laughed and stepped toward her. 

"You know better than anyone who started that fire, Saskia. When you're lying in bed at night, does Valencia ever come to you in your dreams?"

A flash of fear crossed Saskia's eyes. She clearly hadn't expected me to push back this hard.

"How dare you threaten me?" She smiled, vicious and cold, then dropped her voice. "Michael has always believed you burned Valencia alive. So if you're thinking about 'burning' me too — what do you think he'd do?"

Before I could react, Saskia grabbed a cake knife from the table, shoved it into my hand, and started screaming like she'd lost her mind.

"No! Please, don't hurt me!"