Eight Chances to Forgive You

There was no denying that Ivan had never skimped on money when it came to her. If she cared only about wealth, she could easily turn a blind eye to everything that had happened recently. But she didn’t. What she sought was love and affection.

Ivan held her hand as he greeted various guests. Whenever someone asked about her identity, he would answer without hesitation, “My beloved, Alyssa Saunders. Also, my fiancée.”

He was attentive to her every move. When people offered her drinks, he would intercept them. “She doesn’t drink. I’ll take her place.”

He was meticulous to the point that even when she shifted her foot slightly, he noticed immediately, his voice full of concern, “Are your heels uncomfortable?”

Without waiting for her reply, he carried her to a sofa, removed her shoes, and began massaging her feet. He seemed oblivious to how such a gesture might appear, given his status.

Jealous glances were cast their way from all around, but Alyssa felt nothing but unease.

To everyone else, his actions screamed love and devotion. But only she knew the truth—he had changed. That knowledge felt stifling.

Pulling her feet away, Alyssa said lightly, “I’m fine now. Go ahead and talk to them. I’ll just sit here for a while.”

Ivan hesitated but eventually relented under her insistence. While he engaged a group of business associates in conversation, his eyes frequently darted back to her, as if afraid she might vanish if left unattended.

Just as he was finishing, a woman stepped into his path, holding a glass of wine. “President McCartney, I’d like to propose a toast.”

Her posture was deliberate, accentuating her curvaceous figure. But Ivan’s expression remained cold as he declined her offer.

Alyssa observed the scene from afar, feeling a pang she couldn’t quite describe.

So, he could say no. Then why couldn’t he say no to Monica?

The thought puzzled her, and she decided it wasn’t worth pondering anymore.

Some guests, seeing her sitting alone, approached her, attempting to strike up a conversation. She responded perfunctorily at first, but as more people came, her patience waned.

Rising from her seat without a word, she headed for the exit.

Ivan, who had been keeping an eye on her the entire time, caught up quickly. “Are you tired, Aly? Let me take you home.”

“No need. You stay and handle your business. I can manage on my own,” Alyssa replied, trying to withdraw her hand from his grasp. But his grip remained firm.

“The driver didn’t come with us. I can’t let you go back alone. I’ll take you.” His tone left no room for argument, so she didn’t press further and silently got into the passenger seat.

They had only driven halfway when his phone began to ring incessantly. He glanced at the screen and rejected the call. But the caller was persistent, trying again and again.

By the tenth call, Ivan shot her a quick glance, then answered, this time holding the phone to his ear without enabling the speaker.

The sharp sound of brakes suddenly filled the air as he pulled the car over to the side of the road.

Alyssa watched his expression shift from calm to alarmed, a rare sight for her. Curiosity got the better of her, and she asked, “What happened?”

“Nothing,” he replied, feigning nonchalance. “It’s just Peter. He’s upset I left early and is threatening to end our friendship if I don’t go back.”

Peter was the birthday host for tonight’s event.

Though Ivan’s words seemed plausible, his uneasy expression told another story. Alyssa suspected this had less to do with Peter and more to do with Monica.

Ignoring his protests, she got out of the car and shut the door behind her.

“Go back. Don’t let this ruin your friendships. I’ll be fine on my own.”

After so many years together, how could she not recognize that his heart was tipping further away from her?

Without sparing him another glance, Alyssa walked away. Her shoes rubbed painfully against her heels, but she didn’t stop, counting silently in her head.

This was the sixth time.