Twelve Years Later, His Canary Flew Away

I looked at Monica. Her words were utterly ridiculous.

"If you're not happy, I can pull out of this alliance."

A flash of triumph flickered in Monica's eyes before it was masked by a look of wounded innocence.

"I truly don't want to ruin your relationship. If my presence is making you uncomfortable, I can have my family cancel the partnership with Soren."

"I can even cut off all contact with him, if it will give you peace of mind."

Her voice trembled as if she were on the verge of tears.

What a performance.

Seeing Monica's tears, Soren immediately grew protective, shielding her behind him.

"Abby, that's enough!"

"Monica is doing this for us. How can you treat her like this?"

"She's willing to back out of the alliance for you. What more do you want?"

I couldn't help but laugh at the scene before me.

"What do I want?"

"Do you really think this is what keeping a professional distance looks like?"

Soren's expression turned ugly.

"What's not professional? We're just business partners."

"Do business partners need to be that close?"

"Abby, stop being so unreasonable," Soren snapped.

"You're the one who told me to get close to Monica's family, and now you're complaining that we are?"

"What the hell do you want?"

I stared at him for a few seconds.

"Just marry her."

"What did you say?" Soren looked at me, confused.

"That way, you can officially become the Don of a major family."

"Isn't that what you really want?"

With that, I turned and walked away.

Soren called my name from behind, but I ignored him.

Back home, I poured myself a glass of red wine and opened my phone.

I found myself scrolling through my phone, my thumb stopping on Monica's latest post.

A group of people was on a luxury yacht, playing some drunken party game. She had been chosen and had to kiss anyone present.

Monica's gaze swept over to Soren, but he didn't move for a long moment.

"Soren, you're the one I know best here."

"Whoa, Princess Monica, what are we, invisible?"

As the catcalls and whistles grew louder, Monica's face turned redder and redder. She tried to explain, flustered, tears welling in her eyes.

Soren remained frozen in his seat.

"If Soren doesn't want to, I'll just take the forfeit and drink."

She closed her eyes and reached for a bottle of champagne.

Suddenly, a hand shot out and stopped her.

"You're allergic to alcohol. Are you trying to kill yourself?"

"Well, what am I supposed to do? I have to complete the game or take the penalty."

Looking at Monica, Soren lifted her chin.

"You couldn't have picked someone else?"

"No."

Fighting through her shyness, Monica grabbed the collar of Soren's shirt, stood on her toes, and kissed him.

And this time, Soren went from hesitating to actively deepening the kiss, his hand wrapping around her waist.

"Hell yeah, Boss!"

The cheers and laughter around them grew louder, but a white-hot pain seared through my chest.

Even though I had told myself I didn't care anymore, seeing that still hurt.

So, he knew I was angry because of Monica, yet he made no effort to comfort me.

After more than a decade together, tearing him out of my heart was excruciating.

At 11:50 PM, a small pebble hit the window of my art studio.

It was our old private signal.

But it had been years since Soren had the patience for little games like this.

For a second, I felt a dizzying sense that we were teenagers again.

I leaned out to look. Standing below was Soren, the same man who had been wrapped around Monica just hours ago.

He sounded desperate.

"Abby... stop this. Be good... Our future is in Italy..."

"Italy... it's beautiful there... When we get there, I'll take you to see the Colosseum..."

"Open the door. Let's talk this through."