Chapter 2

The next morning, I woke up and started packing my bags for Milan. I was halfway through when Julian pushed the door open, exhaustion heavy in his eyes.

But he didn't come in alone—he brought with him a faint smudge of coral lipstick on the collar of his light gray cashmere coat.

The glaring color made my entire body stiffen.

In the past, whenever I wore even a slightly bold lipstick, he would frown and sharply criticize me. He'd say such makeup was unprofessional for ice training and would end up staining his clothes. So, for years, I had gotten entirely used to keeping my face completely bare.

Looking back, he was never a stickler for cleanliness—he just didn't like me dressing up.

Because coral was Lily's signature color.

Seeing me crouched on the floor organizing my suitcase, his footsteps faltered. "Lily had terrible stomach cramps from the champagne last night. She was too scared to go to the ER alone, so I crashed on the couch in her hotel suite. That's why I didn't come home."

I looked up at him, mildly surprised. We had played the loving couple in front of everyone for three years, and this was the very first time he had ever volunteered an excuse for staying out all night.

I gave a calm nod and said nothing. Taking that as a cue, he relaxed and stepped closer, his gaze drifting to my stack of neatly folded heavy sweaters. "Are you packing... going somewhere to rest your ankle?"

"You could say that," I replied, keeping my head down as I zipped up a compartment.

For some reason, he let out a visible breath of relief. "Taking some time off will be good for you," he said quickly. "I still have things to handle at the training center today. Just came back to grab something, then I've gotta run. I won't be able to join you for lunch."

"Okay."

I didn't look up. I had originally planned to use lunchtime to calmly tell him that I had submitted my partnership dissolution request to the federation, officially ending our seven-year relationship. But it seemed he wouldn't even give me the time to say the words out loud.

With that, Julian grabbed a Tiffany-blue box tied with a silver ribbon from the study, snatched his spare national team parka from the walk-in closet, and hurried out the door, his shoulder carelessly clipping the display cabinet.

The moment the door slammed shut, the sheer force of the impact, combined with his clumsy bump, rattled the wood. A dull, distorted thud followed. The crystal trophy that had sat there for eight years was shaken loose.

It hit the floor with a sharp, echoing shatter, sending glittering shards flying in every direction.

I turned to look. It was our commemorative trophy, the one from our very first pairs skating gold medal at the Youth Olympic Games.

I remembered the day he brought it home. He had held it so carefully, placing it in the most prominent spot in the room. He had held me tight and promised that no matter how harsh the judges were or how tough the odds became, he would never let go of my hand on the ice.

But ever since Lily joined the training camp three years ago as a prodigy and became his pampered protégée, he had scrubbed those vows clean from his memory.

In the massive, empty apartment, the only sound was the ticking of the wall clock.

After a long silence, I took a broom and swept up the shattered pieces piece by piece.

Then, I dumped those ruined crystals—which held my entire youth and deepest devotion—straight into the trash, right along with the very last trace of love I had left for Julian.

That night, after I finally finished packing for Milan and leaned wearily against the headboard to rest, my phone buzzed. It was Samantha.

As Julian's and my mutual best friend and the Maid of Honor at our wedding, she practically blew out my speaker the second I answered.

"What the hell is Julian playing at? Have you seen Instagram? He's openly flaunting that manipulative bitch Lily online! You guys aren't even divorced yet, how dare he treat you like you don't even exist?"

Pulling the phone slightly away from my ear, I swiped past the call screen and opened Instagram. Lily's latest post had already been boosted to the very top of my feed.

In the photo, she was holding her face in a coy, blushing pose. Resting on her collarbone was a custom diamond necklace shaped like an ice skate blade. And sitting just beside her on the table was that exact same Tiffany-blue box Julian had rushed home to grab at noon.

It hit me with absolute clarity. He hadn't swung by the apartment on his break to handle official business. He just needed to pick up his gift for Lily.

The caption underneath made my eyes burn.

[Three full years since I joined the camp. Thank you for always being my rock on the ice, Julian. Happy 3rd Anniversary! ✨⛸️]

Staring at the screen, I froze.

Three-year anniversary?

A deeply buried corner of my memory suddenly twitched. Today was also the third anniversary of my wedding to Julian.

But over the last three years, whenever this exact date rolled around, he always had an arsenal of excuses: gearing up for the Grand Prix, helping Lily practice extra jumps, or doing damage control for sponsors. We had never actually celebrated our anniversary once. So much so that even I had completely forgotten about it.

I let out a long breath and calmly cut her off. "Samantha, he doesn't need a divorce. Because in these past three years, we never actually signed the marriage certificate."

"What?!" Samantha's shriek of sheer disbelief nearly ruptured my eardrum. "You had a wedding three years ago, and you never made it legal?!"

Yeah. She heard me right.

Three years ago, we exchanged rings and vows in front of every friend and family member we possessed. But right after that, our appointment at City Hall to make it official and sign the papers was unilaterally canceled by Julian.

To rush Lily to the ER.

To console Lily during an emotional breakdown.

Or even just to fetch Lily a newly fitted pair of skates.

Exactly twenty-eight times.