Riley feels the weight of her words settle into his chest.
He looks down at the roses he has brought, now resting on the table between them.
They seem ridiculous, almost insulting, in the face of everything Amanda has endured.
“Is there nothing I can do?” he asks softly, his voice barely audible.
Amanda stands, smoothing her hands over her dress.
“You can let me go,” she said gently. “That’s what you can do, Riley. Let me live the life I’ve built for myself.”
Riley lowers his head and doesn’t speak for a long time.
Amanda ignores him and walks into the room.
A few minutes later, she walks out of the room, a necklace in her hand.
She hands Riley the necklace and says, “Give it back to you. It’s yours.”
Riley looks up, surprised, at the necklace in Amanda's hand. “This—”
“Maybe you don't rem
Riley bites his lip gently. He’s thinking about how to explain their relationship.He thinks about the photo Amanda has posted to insta—that mysterious man.He also remembers what Rex and Shawn has said to him.Riley takes a deep breath. His fingers clutch at his pants.“I wonder if... you can give me a moment,” he begins. “to talk about Faye.”Amanda sits upright and gently pushes her hair back off her forehead. And then she nods to Riley to show she’s listening.“Sure.” She answers.He exhales slowly, trying to find the right way to say it. “Do you know how my mum passed away?”Amanda freezes for a moment, giving Riley a sad look.She shakes her head slowly.It suddenly hit Riley that Amanda had asked him about his mom a few years ago but he didn’t tell her.He lowers his eyelids, his gaze dropping to the floor. “It was a air cr
Still, life doesn’t pause for reflection, and Riley forces himself to carry on.Determined to find a solution, he resolves to speak with Shawn and Rex, hoping their perspectives might offer clarity.But before he can arrange a time, his butler, Mr. Harris, calls to inform him that the villa’s cleaning has been completed.It has been a while since Riley last set foot in the villa.Ever since Amanda moved out, he’s only been back a handful of times.The place feels empty, too vast for one person, and its silence is oppressive.Riley has avoided it whenever possible, preferring the comfort of his more modest city apartment.Now, with the villa cleaned, he decides it’s time to return.Mr. Harris mentions something peculiar before ending the call.The janitors had discovered a few items in the rubbish bin that didn’t look like trash. Uncertain about what
He flips another page. This one lists his favourite foods:“Simple tastes. Grilled salmon and salad. Always skips dessert but secretly loves lemon tarts. Prefers red wine over white—Merlot especially.”He chuckles under his breath, the sound surprising even himself.She had always been spot-on with his quirks, even the ones he never admitted.How many times had she left a lemon tart on the counter, claiming it was “leftovers” from her baking, just so he wouldn’t feel guilty eating it?Further in, a recipe catches his eye:“Cinnamon coffee—Riley’s favourite.”Beneath it, Amanda had carefully outlined the steps: • Freshly ground beans, dark roast. • Two teaspoons of cinnamon powder. Must be fresh, not the old jar in the pantry! • Brew
Riley seems to see Amanda again, standing in front of him in a white dress, smiling at him.The memory fades, and Riley blinks, the present rushing back to him. His gaze shifts back to the box of incense on the desk, and a sudden thought strikes him.Why are these still here? he thinks.He presses his palms to his temples, as if trying to force the answer out of his own mind. It doesn’t take long for the memory to resurface—a detail he had buried so deeply it almost feels foreign.Amanda had given him these.It was early in her days as his secretary. At that time, she didn’t marry to him.He had been going through a rough patch, struggling with sleepless nights and the weight of his strained relationship with his father. His temper had been short, and the tension in the office had been palpable.One afternoon, Amanda had spoke to him directly, “You haven't been sleeping well lately.”Her bluntness had startled him at the time, but he’d admitted, grudgingly, that his sleep had been
Riley fumbles for the notebook, flipping through the pages to compare.The handwriting matches perfectly.It’s Amanda’s.She had made this for him, crafted this simple gift, with love and care.Riley can hardly bear it. His hand shakes as he puts the notebook back down, his eyes blurring with tears.He brushes his hand over his face, trying to stop them from falling, but they come anyway, hot and unbidden.He wipes his eyes quickly, but it doesn’t help.His fingers tremble, and when he touches the incense again, he feels a sting in his chest.It’s the scent that does it—the sweet, subtle fragrance of chestnut and vanilla.The same smell from the memory, the same scent Amanda wore when she stood in the sunlight, laughing.It’s her scent. She’s here, with me, in this room.But then, the grief hits him full
Riley sits on the floor for what feels like hours, clutching the ring in his hand. The room around him is quiet, but his thoughts are loud, crashing into each other like waves. Eventually, the ache in his stomach pulls him out of his haze. He groans softly and pushes himself up.Food. He needs food.Dragging his feet, he makes his way downstairs. The kitchen is eerily spotless, a sharp contrast to the chaos in his mind. He opens the fridge, half-expecting something to be there. But it’s empty. Not even a bottle of milk or a stray vegetable.He stares at the cold, bare shelves, memories of Amanda creeping in. She always made sure the fridge was stocked. If she didn’t have time to shop herself, she’d schedule deliveries or call the chef she liked. She was particular about it too—everything had to be fresh. No leftovers, no unnecessary waste.Now, without her, the kitchen feels lifeless.Riley closes the fridge with a heavy sigh and leans against the counter. His stomach grow
“I get it, you’re the big boss,” Amanda teased once, tugging on the lapel of his blazer. “But would it kill you to wear something a little softer? You’d look less… intimidating.”Riley sits on the floor and watches at the wardrobe for a moment.At first, she just made a few suggestions—adding lighter colors or experimenting with different cuts.Then, over time, she began handling it all, whether it was at the tailor’s shop or with stylists coming to their home.She had an eye for it.Amanda would lay out suits for various occasions: sharp, tailored ones for formal dinners, lighter and more relaxed styles for client lunches, even something playful for casual outings—though he rarely indulged her on that last one.People noticed.Strangers at events, colleagues in meetings—they’d compliment him on his style.“Looking sharp as always, Riley!
Amanda stretches her arms above her head, the morning light streaming through the curtains of her small apartment.The scent of her perfume lingers in the air, a calming reminder of the candles she poured the night before.But the scent isn't quite the same as last night's.Amanda lifts her wrist up again and holds it to the tip of her nose for a sniff.This perfume is a gift from Kara. She says it is a reparation, for her parents' earlier rude wording.And Kara never disappoints.Amanda really likes it. When surrounding by this scent, Amanda has a image in her head.The wind roars, driving the waves relentlessly against the shore.A wild bitter orange tree stands defiantly on the cliff’s edge, its brown, rough thorns dotted with tiny white blossoms.The bold, sharp scent of the flowers is carried by the sea breeze, sweeping across the grasslands before lingering near the driftwood scattered
From the beginning, there were signs their relationship wouldn’t last. Riley was distant, even cold at times. Amanda gave everything to make it work, hoping her love would be enough.She prepared his favorite meals, listened patiently to his complaints, and stayed up late to help him prepare for meetings. Riley never acknowledged her efforts.He never remembered her birthday unless she reminded him. When she brought him coffee, he didn’t look up from his laptop. And when she smiled at him across the dinner table, he barely glanced her way.Amanda told herself this was just who Riley was. He wasn’t expressive, but that didn’t mean he didn’t care.She clung to the tiny moments of happiness they shared. The time he brushed a strand of hair from her face without saying a word. The rare evenings they spent watching TV together, his arm loosely draped over her shoulder.But those moments were like drops of water in a vast desert.One night, Amanda sat at her desk, staring at a sticky not
Amanda was left standing in the wreckage of a life she no longer recognized. She wasn’t even an adult yet.While other kids her age were worrying about exams or crushes, Amanda was learning how to survive.She remembered how everything felt hollow during those days. Her life turned into something flat and lifeless, like a piece of paper too thin to hold any weight. Most of the time, it felt like she was floating in a gray fog, detached from the world around her.There were days when she doubted everything—herself, her purpose, her reason for existing. She questioned why she was alive, why she had been given so much only to have it ripped away. She cried until there were no tears left, screamed at the universe in her empty room, and then cried again.But through it all, she survived.Amanda’s gaze drops to her drink as she swirls the ice again, her grip tightening slightly. She remembers how, even in the darkest moments, there were small lights. Friends who stayed by her side, eve
Fiona looks down at her drink, swirling the remaining liquid. Her lips press into a thin line.She decides to stop thinking about Amanda. Maybe they just don’t get along—it happens sometimes, she tells herself. Not everyone has to like everyone.Amanda, on the other hand, barely notices Fiona’s mood. Her thoughts are elsewhere.That familiar figure she thought she saw earlier still lingers in her mind. She glances around the bar again, scanning the crowd, but there’s no sign of anyone who looks like Riley.She shakes her head and lets out a quiet breath, trying to dismiss the idea. Riley couldn’t possibly be here. It must have been a trick of the light, or maybe just her imagination playing with her.There’s no way it was him. She’s sure of it.The crowd around the pool table finally starts to break up, their excitement fading into quieter conversations and laughter.Amanda doesn&r
Grace is the first to react.She lets out a cheer and rushes over to Amanda, throwing her arms around her. “You were amazing!” she exclaims, her voice loud and full of pride.Amanda laughs, hugging her back. Her cheeks are flushed, but it’s not from embarrassment—it’s from exhilaration.Around Amanda, the crowd gathers, clapping and congratulating her.For a moment, Amanda allows herself to bask in the attention, her smile wide and unrestrained.Henry walks over, cue stick in hand. He’s smiling, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He extends a hand to Amanda.“Great game,” he says, his tone easygoing. “You’re really good. Where’d you learn to play like that?”Amanda shakes his hand, her grip firm. “Just practice,” she replies simply. “Guess it paid off.”Henry nods, though he can’t shake the strange feelin
Amanda shakes the thought away, forcing herself to refocus on the game.But the memory lingers. It takes her back to when Riley first taught her how to play pool.It was early in their marriage, during one of his rare evenings off. He had laughed as he guided her hands on the cue stick, explaining the basic rules.“It’s all about precision,” he’d said, his tone light but firm. “Think like you’re playing chess, but faster.”Back then, Amanda had thrown herself into learning, desperate to connect with him in any way she could. Riley loved pool, and Amanda had wanted to love it too—just like how she’d taken golf lessons to keep up with his hobbies.But their lives grew busier, and Riley grew more distant. Pool became just another forgotten thing, one more piece of him she could never quite reach.Yet, Amanda never gave up.She hired a coach, practicing un
Grace stands frozen for a moment.Amanda’s expression and tone take her back to their university days. It feels like she’s seeing the old Amanda again—the one who stood confidently in front of large crowds, fearless and full of energy.She remembers how Amanda led their debate team, always believing she could bring victory to her side.Grace breaks into a big smile.Suddenly, she doesn’t care anymore—winning or losing, none of it matters. Henry, Fiona—all of that feels unimportant now.What truly matters is this: Amanda has found her way back.Grace had invited Amanda to the bar to help her relax, meet new people, and maybe forget her troubles for a while.She just wanted Amanda to have a break, even if it meant using alcohol to dull her pain.She knew how much Amanda had loved Riley, and even though Amanda had decided to divorce him, Grace was scared that
Fiona shifts slightly in her seat, her fingers lightly drumming on the stem of her wine glass. She takes a slow sip, her gaze lingering on Amanda, though she pretends to focus on Henry instead.The conversation flows easily around her, Amanda’s voice carrying the kind of warmth and confidence that seems to draw everyone in.“Well,” Fiona says suddenly, cutting into the conversation. Her tone is light, but there’s a faint edge to it.“It’s great that you get to be so creative, Amanda. I really envy you for having that kind of freedom.” She pauses, tilting her head slightly and giving a practiced smile. “I hope one day I can earn that for myself—doing something I truly love.”It seems that Fiona doesn’t know Amanda at all. Amanda can see it from Fiona’s expression and words.So Amanda decides to pretend it’s the first time that she meets Fiona.Amanda tur
Amanda notices that Fiona’s gaze darts between Henry and her. Then Fiona's eyes linger on her for a long timeAmanda can feel Fiona’s gaze on her, even though she doesn’t look directly at her. The dim lighting of the bar can’t hide that kind of intensity.It’s the kind of look that burns—not in admiration, but in jealousy.Amanda knows it well.She doesn’t react.She’s learned not to.Attention, whether kind or cruel, has been a constant in her life.Back in school, she was one of those girls people naturally gravitated toward. Friends liked her wit and warmth, and boys—well, they liked her for other reasons.Almost all she felt at that time was kindness, and it seemed that the little bit of unkindness was drowned in the warm atmosphere around her.But what truly steeled her were her parents’ death and the five years she spent as Ri
Amanda moves through her day with quiet focus, the kind that comes from a well-worn routine. After finishing her breakfast, she spends the morning packaging orders for her online shop, carefully wrapping intense and candles in tissue paper before sliding them into sturdy boxes. She puts small thank-you notes in the box for each customer, her handwriting looping neatly across the cards.By noon, her workspace smells faintly of bitter orange and bergamot. She’s used to use different scent every day, which lets her creative juice flow.She tidies up and grabs her sketchpad, settling into the sunny corner of her living room. The hours slip by as she draws, her pencil tracing the contours of imagined landscapes and whimsical florals.Occasionally, she breaks away from her work. Some days, she packs a small bag and heads out on a solo trip. She’s visited nearby towns, strolled through markets, and even spent a quiet weekend hiking in the hills. These short getaways recharge her, filli