Urban Romance

By the time I got off work, all my personal belongings had already been taken care of.

As the elevator descended, a weightless feeling wrapped around my body.

Back then, Tristan had cornered me against the mirrored wall, kissed me like he'd lost himself, and whispered, "Riley, how lucky could I be to have you as my wife?"

His eyes were so bright back then, as if he truly believed his own lie.

...

After making plans to say goodbye to a friend in the city, I picked a restaurant by the river.

I had just taken my seat when Tristan walked in with Scarlett, his arm around her waist.

He tilted his head to listen to her, a carefree smile tugging at his lips.

Tristan spotted me first. He paused for a second, then his smile widened. Instead of avoiding me, he walked straight over.

"So, when you said you had plans, you just meant you were eating alone?" he asked.

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down as if he belonged there.

"The steak here is good." Tristan picked up the wine bottle on my table and glanced at the label. "But this one's too light. I'll have them open a better one."

A server brought the wine he'd ordered. Tristan poured two glasses of wine, sliding one toward me and handing the other to Scarlett.

Scarlett wasn't in a condition to drink, so she didn't take it.

Tristan looked at me. "How is it?"

"It's fine."

"Just fine?" His smile widened. "I remember you used to love this one. You said it had... that bitter almond note."

"People's tastes change." I set the glass down. "Things that used to feel great don't always look that way once you see them again."

Something dark flickered in Tristan's eyes. But he smiled again and pulled Scarlett close by the shoulder.

"Did you hear that?" he asked, lowering his head to her with a doting grin. "She's teaching you. Don't take men too seriously."

Scarlett gave his chest a light, playful tap. "What about you? Can I take you seriously?"

"Me?" Tristan looked up at me, but his words were direct at Scarlett. "Someone like me is just for fun. Don't take it seriously."

Tristan spoke in that careless, teasing tone, as if he expected me to stand up coldly and leave them alone.

But I didn't take the hint. I just lifted my glass and took another sip.

It wasn't until I got a message saying my friend couldn't make it that I finally stood up. "My friend isn't able to come after all. Excuse me."

I turned to leave, but Scarlett spoke up. "Riley, next week is Mr. Godfrey's birthday. We're throwing a yacht party. You should come."

I stopped in my tracks.

"You have to come," Scarlett said in a sweet voice. "Mr. Godfrey said the birthday gift he wants most is..."

She deliberately trailed off and looked at Tristan.

He reached over and pinched her cheek, smiling as he teased, "You talk too much."

I nodded. "If you're not worried that I'll ruin the party, I can come."

I walked out of the restaurant without looking back. Their laughter was sealed behind the glass, fading until I couldn't hear it anymore.

When I got back to the villa, it was 7:00 pm.

The housekeeper, Winnie Kendall, was in the kitchen making soup.

"Mrs. Godfrey, you're back?" she asked. "Mr. Godfrey just called and said he'd be home late. Should I save some soup for him?"

"No." I set my bag down. "He won't be coming back."

Winnie hesitated as though she were weighing her words. "Then are you sleeping here tonight?"

My hand paused on my coat. "What do you mean?"

"While you were away on your business trip," Winnie said, her voice dropping lower, "Ms. Robertson... moved in."

The air seemed to freeze for a moment.

I kept unfastening my coat. "Which room did she use?"

"The master bedroom," Winnie said. "Four nights in a row. Mr. Godfrey... was here every night too."

I nodded.

"Mrs. Godfrey," she said carefully, "It's not that I didn't want to tell you. Mr. Godfrey said you'd be upset if you found out. He told me—"

"It's fine," I cut in. "I'm not blaming you."

I lifted my eyes and looked around the living room. I'd picked every piece of furniture and hung every painting.

Tristan loved it. He used to say, "Riley, this place only feels like home when you're in it."

Now, it felt like a hotel. Anyone could come in and sleep here for a few nights.

"Mrs. Godfrey, don't hold it in. You can let it out—cry if you need to. It's better than bearing it alone..."

Cry?

I looked into my own eyes in the glass reflection. There was nothing in them. They were hollow.

A well that had been dry for years couldn't suddenly fill up just like that.

"Winnie, you can go home for the night," I said.

Then, I went upstairs. The moment I pushed open the master bedroom door, a sweet, unfamiliar scent hit me in the face.

The sheets had been changed, and my skincare had been shoved to the corner of the vanity. I opened the window and let the night air rush in until it thinned out that cloying smell.

In the deepest drawer of the walk-in closet, I found seven journals, lined up by year. They were still there.

The cover of the first one was cherry-blossom pink, the kind a teenage girl would've loved. That first year of marriage, I'd written every day about what I cooked for Tristan.

On the last page, there was a line in pencil.

"Seven-year plan, progress: 1/7."

In the second journal, the "main character" abruptly changed. The pages were filled with courses and plans for making myself more attractive.

By the third, there was hardly anything left to write down. It wasn't that nothing happened. I just stopped having time to write it down.

I used to think that writing down our good times over seven years would keep our marriage going. But I hadn't written a single word in four years.

Those four years were spent on more practical things—checking hotel charges linked to his phone number, tracking where the flowers his assistant ordered were delivered...

Looking back, I'd spent four years being too understanding and yet never enough. I couldn't even count how many women I'd had to deal with.

I dropped the journals into the trash bin.

Seven years had passed, but my plan had only moved one step forward.

I was the only one still grinding through it.

Tristan had long been enjoying himself, fooling around with different women.

Just then, my phone buzzed with a flight update. "Ms. Aiken, your specially arranged flight has been confirmed. It departs at 12:00 am."

I replied, "Thank you."

When I did one last check of my suitcase, my fingers hit something hard at the bottom.

It was the thin silver ring Tristan had proposed with.

I tossed it aside, grabbed my suitcase, and walked out.

The rideshare was waiting right on time. The driver looked at me and asked, "To the airport?"

"Yes," I said.

...

Third-Person Point of View

As expected, Tristan got tangled up with Scarlett and didn't make it home.

The next day, close to noon, his phone buzzed and woke him up.

It was an automatic alert from the bank.

"Your account ending in 8818 transferred one dollar at 03:47 am to the account 'Riley'. Remarks: Divorce agreement payment."

He frowned, thinking he must have read it wrong.

Just as he leaned in to check again, a news notification lit up his screen.

"Breaking: Aiken Group Completes Strategic Split, Aiken and Lyndon Families Announce Marriage Alliance."

"What is it?" Scarlett leaned in, her arm curling around his neck. "Who is it? It's so early..."

Tristan rubbed at his brow as the screen lit again. It was his lawyer.

"Mr. Godfrey, the divorce agreement with both parties' signatures has been filed with the court at Ms. Aiken's request. You must respond within seven days."

"You had just left last Friday when Ms. Robertson came to work in your heels. I asked her why she was wearing your shoes, and she said..."

Margot's voice caught. She swallowed hard. "She said Mr. Godfrey told her those heels suited her and that you wouldn't mind."

She looked up, her eyes red. "Ms. Aiken, do you really not mind?"

I looked at Margot, who was more upset than I was.

I smiled faintly, though there was no real emotion behind it. "Those heels never fit me right. If she likes them, she can have them."

Before I left, I hadn't known that Tristan and Scarlett were already fooling around. The company was gearing up to break into a new market, so I didn't have the bandwidth to keep an eye on Tristan.

Besides, he'd had a mistress living near the office.

Seeing how bold Scarlett was, I figured the mistress must already be out of the picture.

"Wipe your tears," I said, pulling a tissue and handing it to Margot. "I won't be around next week. Keep an eye on things at the company."

Margot froze. "Where are you going?"

I didn't answer. I only looked out the window.

The sunlight was perfect, just like that afternoon seven years ago when we got our marriage certificate.

Back then, Tristan went to the Aiken residence alone. He knelt in Dad's study for three hours, begging him to accept him.

"Mr. Aiken, I know you don't approve of me. But Riley trusts me, and I swear I won't let her lose."

Despite that, Tristan was still thrown out eventually.

But that day, Dad stood by the window for a long while. In the end, he took Tristan's flawed proposal, revised it himself in the study, and secretly mailed it to me.

Bringing up the past would only cheapen genuine kindness. But if I didn't say anything, Tristan would really believe he'd been a genius from day one. He thought all that data, connections, and money were things he'd earned entirely on his own.

Not long after Margot left, Tristan called me from his car.

"You really scared Scarlett," he said with a soft laugh. "I'll need some time to settle her down. I'll come back later. Leave the door unlocked for me."

I fell silent for a moment before asking, "Didn't we agree you wouldn't get another woman pregnant?"

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line.

"Pregnant?" His voice stayed calm.

"Scarlett went to a private obstetrics and gynecology hospital. She wouldn't do that for no reason."

Tristan fell silent for a moment, then let out a low laugh. "You checked on her?"

"It's on the company's accounts," I said evenly. "500 thousand dollars for a prenatal checkup package was filed under employee benefits. Mr. Godfrey, you were quite generous with approving it."

He sounded like he genuinely didn't know. Maybe when he approved the payment, he didn't bother checking what it was actually for.

His tone softened as he coaxed me. "Riley, it was an accident. She's young and doesn't know better. She thought getting pregnant would mean something."

"So?" I asked.

"I'll handle it," he said firmly. "Don't worry. No one's going to threaten your position."

"Tristan." 

"Yeah?"

"Do you remember," I asked slowly, "how we lost our first child?"

His breathing stopped on the other end.

"Enough, Riley! That was a long time ago. There's no point in digging up the past."

"Right," I said, smiling faintly, almost wistfully. "It's all in the past."

All of it was now in the past—the child who never made it into this world, the vows he'd sworn on his knees… and the thing he never let go of...

"Get some rest," he said. "Once I calm her down, I'll come home."

With that, he hung up.

I raised my hand and, for the first and last time, blocked him.

Then, I replied to the message that had been waiting for me all week. "Everything's been handled. I'll be at the wedding on time."

By the time I got off work, all my personal belongings had already been taken care of.

As the elevator descended, a weightless feeling wrapped around my body.

Back then, Tristan had cornered me against the mirrored wall, kissed me like he'd lost himself, and whispered, "Riley, how lucky could I be to have you as my wife?"

His eyes were so bright back then, as if he truly believed his own lie.

...

After making plans to say goodbye to a friend in the city, I picked a restaurant by the river.

I had just taken my seat when Tristan walked in with Scarlett, his arm around her waist.

He tilted his head to listen to her, a carefree smile tugging at his lips.

Tristan spotted me first. He paused for a second, then his smile widened. Instead of avoiding me, he walked straight over.

"So, when you said you had plans, you just meant you were eating alone?" he asked.

He pulled out the chair across from me and sat down as if he belonged there.

"The steak here is good." Tristan picked up the

Chapter 4