Would You Divorce Over a Cup of Coffee

"Following you?" I walked toward them, my face calm. "You told me to come pick you up."

He seemed to be second-guessing whether he’d actually sent me the text.

After all, casually ordering me to do something and then forgetting about it moments later was a common occurrence for him.

Sophia was nestled in the booth beside Vincent, poured into a sexy red dress that hugged every perfect curve of her body.

"Oh, Vincent, I was only teasing. I sent the text."

"I wanted to see if Mrs. Salvatore really does everything you say." She batted her eyelashes, looking all innocent.

Vincent's face softened immediately. "Sophia, you're such a handful."

"But Bella, your timing is perfect. Drive us home."

I watched the scene, a storm churning inside me. But on the outside, I was perfectly still.

"Fine."

Vincent looked surprised, clearly not expecting me to agree so easily. The old me would have run out crying or stormed over and made a scene.

"Bella, you..." he started, trying to explain.

But I just reached out, took his coat, and let Sophia help him up as they followed me out.

"Let's go." I turned and walked toward the door.

In the car, Sophia sat in the back, chattering away to Vincent, her voice shrill and grating. Vincent would reply now and then, but his eyes kept flicking to me in the rearview mirror.

"You're quiet tonight, Bella," he finally said.

"What's there to talk about?"

We stopped at a red light. Vincent turned to look at me. "About what happened back there..."

"There's nothing to explain." I stared straight ahead. "We're getting a divorce. I won’t be interfering in your life anymore."

His face changed. He clearly wasn't used to this reaction from me.

The car fell into a dead silence.

The light turned green. A split second later, a black sedan shot out from a side street, aiming right for us.

Vincent lunged, pulling me into his arms.

"Watch out!"

There was a screech of tires as the black car scraped past us.

He held me tight against his chest. I could feel his heart hammering. The gesture was so familiar. He used to protect me just like this.

"Are you okay?" He let go, anxiously checking me for injuries.

I looked at his concerned face, and for a second, I felt dizzy.

Was this the same man who left me to die on a rooftop?

After the intersection, Vincent's hand instinctively found mine and held it.

His warm palm, the familiar touch. I almost forgot we were getting divorced.

But the second the car stopped, I pulled my hand away.

His affection was a poison, and I'd spent three years letting it seep into my veins. It would kill me if I let it.

I couldn't let myself fall for it again.

"Thanks."

Vincent's hand hung in the air, his expression complicated.

The next morning, as I was getting ready to go to the gallery, Vincent was waiting downstairs. "I'll drive you."

"No, thanks."

"Bella, we need to talk." His voice was pleading. "About yesterday..."

"I told you, there's nothing to talk about."

"Get in the car. I'm taking you to the gallery." He opened the passenger door.

I was about to refuse, but then I saw the inside and froze.

Leopard-print seat covers. A crystal charm hanging from the rearview mirror.

But the most glaring thing was a silk scarf draped over the passenger seat, carelessly left behind. The air still held the faint, cloying scent of her jasmine perfume.

Vincent was a neat freak. He never allowed a single thing out of place in his car. But now, his passenger seat looked like it belonged to another woman.

"What is..." I pointed at the decorations.

Vincent frowned for a moment, then dismissed it with a shrug.

"Sophia left that stuff the last time she was in the car. I haven't had a chance to clear it out."

Forgot to clear it out?

Or didn't want to?

I got in the car and noticed a small, high-end makeup bag by my feet. A limited-edition Chanel.

"Forgot to put this away, too?"

Vincent's face turned red. "I'll have someone clean it out right away."

He used to freak out if I left a single strand of hair in his car. Now he was letting another woman's personal things sit here for who knows how long.

The difference in our reactions was stark.

When we got to the gallery, I saw my colleagues huddled around the front desk, buzzing with excitement.

"This champagne is so expensive! Dom Pérignon!"

"And these roses, they must have cost a fortune!"

Anna came over and whispered, "Bella, are these from your husband?"

I looked at the expensive champagne and bouquets.

"They're not for me."

"Huh? Then who are they for?"

The others were murmuring among themselves.

“You guys haven’t heard? The rumor is, Don Vincent’s former assistant, Sophia, was upset about something, so he had all this sent over to cheer her up.”

“Still calling her an assistant? I give it a month before she’s the official girlfriend!”

“God, I’m so envious… To have a man like that go to such lengths to appease you. I guess we’re all benefiting from it, in a way.”

I stood there, watching the romantic gestures that should have belonged to a wife being used to please another woman.

And the rest of us, the "irrelevant" ones, were just there to enjoy the benefits.