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Love and hate intertwined Novel Cover

Love and hate intertwined

I had loved Silas for ten years. But on the very day I was diagnosed with a terminal illness, his first love returned home. I loved him. Whether he loved me in return, I didn't know—I couldn't feel it. But I was certain he would never cheat. In the final days of my life, I flawlessly played the role of the perfect wife. After I died, he found my diary. And when he finished reading it, he broke down and wept with a gut-wrenching, soul-crushing agony.
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Chapter 13

The ballroom at the Pierre Hotel was the epitome of luxury.

I stood in the darkest corner near an exit draped in velvet curtains, lingering on the edges like a ghost.

It didn't take long to find Silas. I had loved him for ten years; tracking him with my eyes was practically an instinct. He stood near the center of the room, impeccably handsome in a tailored black tuxedo.

Serena was nestled against his arm, radiating like a blooming rose in a deep V-neck ruby silk gown.

They navigated the crowd, every gesture exuding power and beauty. They laughed at the right jokes, won over the right investors, and carried themselves with the effortless grace of magazine cover models.

I knew this was going to happen. My prediction had been completely accurate.

And yet, witnessing it with my own eyes was soul-crushing.

My heart pounded violently, the rhythm erratic. Panic and sorrow wrapped around my chest like invisible vines, squeezing tighter and tighter until I couldn't breathe.

But I didn't scream, and I didn't storm over to throw a drink in her face. I just stood there, leaning against a marble pillar, watching my husband parade his mistress around town.

Suddenly, a venture capitalist we both knew walked up to Silas. He clapped Silas on the shoulder, laughed, and pointed directly at the corner where I was standing.

Silas turned his head.

I hadn't dressed up; I was just wearing a simple, dark trench coat.

I hadn't looked in a mirror for weeks because I was terrified of seeing my sunken cheeks, protruding collarbones, and sickly, ashen complexion, all of which made me look more like a corpse than a twenty-six-year-old woman.

I knew he recognized me. The color instantly drained from his face.

Across the brilliantly lit ballroom, our eyes met. I didn't cry, and I didn't frown. I just looked at him, my face entirely blank.

I saw his jaw clench. I saw him break away from Serena's grip.

He took a step toward me, trying to push his way through the bustling crowd of socialites, panic written all over his face.

Just as he headed my way, a complex smile curled onto my lips.

And then I turned and walked out.

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