Billionaire Wife's Old Flame

Instead of apology, Rachel's expression brimmed with smug certainty, tinged with a faint, almost imperceptible contempt.

I ignored her and lifted my gaze to meet Steve's eyes. "Do we really have to go together?"

His brow furrowed ever so slightly. Pulling me aside, he whispered, "Cassidy, Rachel doesn't come back often… don't worry, she'll be leaving again in a few days. We can always make up the anniversary later."

My face hardened, uncertain how to respond. But Steve took my silence as consent and waved for Rachel to join us.

It wasn't until we reached the garage that I froze in disbelief.

Benjamin, the chauffeur, bowed repeatedly in apology. "Sorry, Mr. Spencer. The other cars are all out for maintenance today. Only your sports car is available."

While Steve hesitated, Rachel had already slipped into the passenger seat, her movements smooth and natural.

"Steve, is this your new car? It's so sleek."

He didn't answer her. Instead, he turned to me with a guilty look.

"Cassidy, maybe you should head back in. We'll celebrate our anniversary another time, when I'm free."

As he spoke, he pressed a kiss to my forehead. Yet the subtle push of his hand carried nothing but dismissal.

…

Old memories surged, sharp and unwelcome. My eyes on Steve grew colder, threaded with impatience he failed to notice. He was too busy recalling the way I once adored him without reserve.

His gaze drifted to the vegetables in my hand, and his lips curved with smug satisfaction.

"Looks like you don't have much of a proper job now. Here's what—just admit you were wrong, and I'll take you back. Rachel's health is fragile. She needs someone to look after her."

His arrogance and his delusion sickened me. How could I ever have been so bewitched by a man like this?

I no longer wished to argue. I opened my mouth to reveal the truth, to tell him who I really was—only for Steve to cut me off.

"Don't feel wronged. Just look at your situation now."

With that, he pulled a familiar box from his pocket.

The sight of it made me pause in shock.

Back then, after Rachel returned, she forced herself into every corner of our lives. Soon, even seeing Steve required her approval first.

On my birthday, when Steve entered the restaurant, I glanced behind him and asked coolly, "Did Rachel not want to come along today?"

His face flickered with embarrassment. "Don't talk nonsense. Rachel and I aren't what you think."

But I was too drained to argue anymore. "It doesn't matter. The reason I asked you here today is because I want to—"

The word break had barely left my lips when his phone rang, cutting me off.

A woman's gentle, lingering voice flowed from the new ringtone.

He'd changed it.

And the voice—it was Rachel singing.

It sounded intimate and tender, a song meant only for a lover.

My face darkened. Steve realized what I had heard, but it was already too late to explain.

On the other end came Rachel's panicked voice. "Steve! I accidentally broke the emerald pendant in your room."

An emerald pendant?

A chill spread through me. The only emerald pendant in his room was the one I had given him—the sole keepsake left by my late adoptive parents, the token of love he and I had exchanged.

As expected, Steve's expression tensed instantly. "What emerald pendant?"

For a heartbeat, I thought he was worried about the pendant itself.

But his next words shattered every last illusion I had left.