On Our Anniversary, He Lit Fireworks for His First Love

Her eyes lit up with delight, and she blew right past me, rushing straight to Oscar.

"Is this the surprise you were talking about? It's gorgeous! I knew you were the best to me, Oscar!"

She didn't even wait for his response before whipping out her phone, snapping selfies against the sky. The backdrop was that massive "Peace for Years to Come" display—and me, standing in the shadows.

Oscar watched her, a flicker of indulgence crossing his gaze before guilt crept in and his eyes darted to me.

"Dora, let me explain."

His voice dropped low, carrying that signature blend of unquestionable tenderness and authority.

"Summer just got back to the country. She hasn't found her footing in the entertainment industry yet. Tonight's trending topic could help her build name recognition. You know she's a traditional opera inheritor too—practically in the same field as you. Helping each other out is a win-win."

Win-win.

What a beautiful phrase.

Using my blood and sweat to dress her up for the spotlight. Using our wedding anniversary to pave her road.

I looked at him, and the light in my eyes dimmed, bit by bit.

"Oscar, do you even know what 'Phoenix Seeks His Mate' means?" I asked.

His brow furrowed slightly, as if he thought I was being unreasonable.

"Dora, don't throw a tantrum right now. Summer's been in poor health since she was a child. You're the elder here—what's wrong with giving her a little leeway? Besides, I'm right here with you. It's just a name on a post. Since when did you become so vain?"

Vain.

In his eyes, defending my own dignity was vanity.

Summer finished her photos and seemed to finally notice me. She crept over timidly, clutching the edge of Oscar's sleeve, teeth pressed into her lower lip, eyes rimmed with red.

"Dora, please don't blame Oscar. It's all my fault. I just casually mentioned that I envied people who got to see fireworks, and I never expected him to actually remember. If you're upset, I'll have them take the trending post down right now."

She looked like she was about to cry.

Oscar's heart softened instantly. He turned his hand to grip her wrist, then shot me a look, his tone dropping several degrees.

"Dora, why are you scaring her?"

I laughed.

I hadn't said a single word, and I'd already scared her?

The pregnancy test in my pocket dug into my palm, sharp and unforgiving.

I drew a deep breath and crushed the gift I'd never gotten to give—along with the lab report—in my fist.

"I'm not upset."

I looked at the man and woman standing before me, and my voice came out so calm it frightened even me.

"Oscar, you're right. I'm an artist. I shouldn't be so petty."

"Consider these fireworks a funeral offering for Miss Fox... oh, pardon me—a first lesson for her."

"After all, only things that are fleeting and short-lived are worthy of a relationship that can't stand the light of day."

"Dora!" Oscar's voice came out in a low snarl, his face ashen.

But I had already turned away. I shrugged off the coat still warm from his body and tossed it into a nearby trash can.

"It's dirty. I don't want it."

Oscar came after me.

In the parking garage, he seized my wrist, his grip so brutal it felt like he was trying to grind my bones to dust.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

He pinned me hard against the car door, those striking eyes blazing with fury—yet threaded with a barely perceptible flicker of panic.

"You threw that coat in front of all those people—who was that little performance for? Do you have any idea how many cameras were out there tonight?"

I stared back at him, ice in my gaze. "Isn't Mr. Delgado the master of PR? What's the matter—can't handle something this small?"

"Dora!"

He sucked in a breath, visibly fighting to keep his rage in check.