Chapter 2

Adas had never truly forgotten her. He had merely played his part—pretending to love me, pretending to be the devoted husband—while his heart always belonged to someone else. I had underestimated the depth of his love for her.

The sharp clatter of a phone hitting the hardwood floor jolted me from my thoughts. Adas’s phone had slipped from his pocket, skidding to a stop at my feet. I bent to pick it up, and as my fingers brushed the sleek screen, a message appeared: “Atlas, thank you for the drinks tonight. And the necklace… I can’t accept it. It’s far too precious.”

A cold wave washed over me. The next notification was worse: a social media post from Ivy Monroe. “Love is priceless.” Attached was a photo—a breathtaking diamond necklace, radiant under candlelight. I recognized it instantly: the world’s only one of its kind, recently auctioned for a billion dollars. A mysterious bidder had outspent everyone. Now, I knew who that bidder was. And Ivy? She had posted it for me to see. She wanted me to know.

Just last week, Atlas had been so busy he’d barely eaten, collapsing from stomach pain and being rushed to the ER. I had been beside myself with worry, torn between anger at his negligence and heartache at his self-neglect. Yet, the moment he opened his eyes, he boarded a flight to England. I had thought it was for work, furious that he prioritized his job over his health. But now, I knew the truth. He hadn’t gone for business. He had gone to that auction. Even in agony, doubled over in pain, Atlas had flown across the world to bid on the rarest necklace—for her.

A dull ringing filled my ears. Before I could reconsider, my fingers moved on their own, typing in his passcode. The lock screen flashed open. It worked. His passcode wasn’t his birthday, nor mine. It was hers—Ivy’s birthday. A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it.

Atlas had always refused to let me see his phone, insisting on privacy. Now I knew why. The moment the home screen appeared, I was greeted with her face—smiling, bright, captivating. No wonder his expression softened every time he unlocked his phone.

My heart pounded as I tapped into his photo gallery. Every album followed the same format: “Ivy, age 10,” “Ivy, age 11,” “Ivy, age 12,” and so on, up to “Ivy, age 25.” Hundreds—thousands—of photos. Every stage of her life, meticulously documented. And in all of them, she was smiling.

I swiped frantically, my breathing shallow. Not a single picture of me. Not one of him. Only her. Just like his heart—his entire being had revolved around her from the very beginning.

My hands trembled as I opened his notes. His diary.

[20XX –] “Ivy scraped her knee today climbing a tree. It’s my fault—I never should have planted them in the yard.” [20XX –] “Ivy got married today. As long as she’s happy, nothing else matters. My life exists to make her smile.” [20XX –] “I got married today. When I saw Ivy sitting in the crowd, I wished—God, I wished—she was the one standing beside me.”

I gasped for air. My hands went numb, the phone slipping from my grip and landing on the car seat. At that moment, the vehicle turned into the long driveway of our estate. The garden came into view—or what used to be a garden. I stiffened. Bare earth stretched before me, empty and lifeless. Once, two beautiful peach trees had stood there—trees Atlas had specially transported from my father’s old estate. My father had planted them for me when I was ten. They had been my connection to him, a reminder that he was still with me. Then, one day, their roots had inexplicably rotted, and they had withered away. I had been devastated. Atlas had held me for three days and nights as I sobbed, whispering soothing words, stroking my hair, promising he would always be there.

Now, staring at the barren ground, realization struck me. It had also been him. The one thing my father had left me—Atlas had destroyed it.

Tears blurred my vision as a final notification appeared on the phone’s screen. A message from his assistant: “Mr. Whitmore, as per your instructions, your will has been finalized. All assets will be left to Miss Ivy Monroe. We just need your signature for it to be effective.”