Love and hate intertwined

Going to his office to deliver lunch that afternoon was a complete whim. I hadn't texted him.

In the lobby, the receptionist recognized me instantly and waved me through to his private executive floor.

I had been to Vance Capital many times.

Silas never hid me; he would confidently introduce me to his board members and those cutthroat partners, saying, "This is my wife."

He always spoke with an old-money aristocratic gravity and formality that naively led me to believe our relationship was unbreakable, strong enough to weather any storm.

But life is a cruel, merciless writer. It gives you a beautiful dream to lower your defenses, only to shatter it and force you to confront the brutal reality underneath.

I stepped off the elevator and walked down the thick-carpeted corridor toward his corner office. Through the half-open glass door of the adjacent private lounge, I saw him.

My husband was engaged in a lively conversation with a woman.

In her hands, she held the delicate stainless-steel bento box I had packed for him that morning.

Serena Thorne hadn't changed a bit since our college days. Her dark hair cascaded over her shoulders in effortless waves, and when she smiled, her eyes curved into half-moons, making her look like a seemingly harmless cat.

"Thank you so much, Silas," Serena said softly. "The breakfast was absolutely delicious."

"It's nothing," Silas said evenly, taking the empty container from her hands.

Serena opened her mouth to say something else, but her gaze drifted over his shoulder and landed on me, frozen in the hallway. An exaggerated look of surprise instantly bloomed on her face.

"Nina?!" she gasped, practically skipping over to me. "Oh my god, it's been so long!"

She reached out to grab my hand but noticed the insulated lunch bag I was carrying. She feigned a frown. "Are you here to drop off Silas's lunch? Wait... did you make the breakfast from this morning too?"

She pressed a hand to her chest, her face a picture of innocent guilt. "Honey, I am so sorry. My blood sugar was so low this morning, and I was just dropping by, so Silas insisted I eat it. If I had known you made it specifically for him, I never would have touched it."

Serena flashed me a brilliant, blinding smile. "I have to say, though, Nina, your cooking is absolutely incredible."

Of course it was. Silas had an infamously sensitive stomach and an extremely picky palate.

I had spent four years, burned my fingers countless times, and stood over scorching stoves to perfect those recipes just for him.

He knew that.

I forced a smile, mirroring hers, and hid my free hand behind my back.

My manicured nails dug so deeply into my palms that the skin broke. Right then and there, under the crushing weight of betrayal and the phantom pain of my cancer, a new emotion quietly took root.

I found the reality of this entirely unacceptable.

It was then that the blurry outlines of a plan for revenge began to come into sharp focus.