The Best Season Has Already Passed

As my postpartum confinement period was ending, I found a reservation for a suite at a top Las Vegas casino hotel in the pocket of Ronan's jacket.

His name was on it.

And Scarlett’s, his ex-girlfriend.

Yet on the very day my confinement ended, he told me there was an urgent matter with the Family—that he had to go clean up a “mess.”

I tossed and turned all night, unable to sleep, only to find myself scrolling through social media. That’s when I saw it: a photo from his ex.

The photo, geotagged in Las Vegas, showed a shirtless Ronan. The O'Connell family crest we designed together—our tattoo—was now branded with the initial of Scarlett’s name.

I didn't explode. Instead, I turned to look at my daughter sleeping in her cradle, then picked up the encrypted phone.

Dad, I'm ready. I want to come home.

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1

When Ronan Shaw returned home, beaming, my suitcase was already packed.

He froze. "Ciara, what are you packing for?"

My voice was devoid of emotion, my gaze locked on the floor. "I'm going to stay with my father for a few days."

A flash of panic crossed Ronan's eyes. He pulled a diamond bracelet from his pocket, trying to fasten it to my wrist as he wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into an embrace.

"I've been so slammed with work, I completely lost track of when your confinement was ending. I'm sorry, darling."

"Mm."

My reply was ice. Ronan stared at me, and when I didn't question him as I usually would, his expression grew even more uneasy.

In the past, I would have clung to him, demanding to know every detail.

I had always thought that if I ever caught Ronan cheating, I would fall apart completely. I would cry, I would scream. I never imagined I would be this terrifyingly calm.

When I’d found that reservation in his jacket a few days ago, my heart had seized.

I’d let myself fantasize that maybe Ronan wasn’t so thoughtless, that he knew how to make me feel cherished. After all, giving the Shaws an heir was no small feat. He should have treasured me.

I had waited in quiet anticipation, steeling myself for a surprise he might have planned.

But night fell, and he never came home.

The next day, just as the lavish suite was meant to welcome its guests, I received his text.

Urgent business with the Family. We'll talk when I get back.

And I finally understood. That luxurious trip was never for me.

He had completely forgotten that my confinement was over. He’d forgotten it was a day to celebrate our daughter, Nora.

I glanced at the gut-wrenching photo on my phone.

Now, it felt like a cruel, deliberate humiliation.

Just then, my phone chimed—a social media notification.

It was Ronan's ex-girlfriend.

Her location? That casino hotel in Las Vegas.

The caption read: Some things are just meant to be yours. After all this time, it's still you.

In the photo, Ronan was shirtless, our family crest tattoo now marred by Scarlett's initial.

A cold laugh escaped my lips.

So it was true. The thrill of an old flame was utterly irreplaceable.

As I was lost in memory, Ronan walked into the room. He sniffed the air and frowned. "Are you reading these musty old books again? How many times have I told you? I hate that decaying smell."

Ever since I learned Ronan despised it, I had all but abandoned my work as an antique book restorer—along with every other habit he deemed "weak."

For so many years, I had always been the one to compromise. But after seeing that photo, something inside me had finally shattered.

Why should I suppress my own nature for a man who didn't love me?

Just then, our baby began to cry. I scooped her up, ready to head to the bedroom to feed her.

Before I could leave, Ronan strode forward and blocked my path.