Flames of Betrayal
Nine years into my "non-cohabiting partnership" with Simon, his father passed away.
The first condition in his will was simple: Simon and Ella had to conceive a child.
On the day the child turned one month old, Simon would inherit his father's fortune.
Simon told me this himself—the night I walked in on them tangled in our bed.
Afterward, as he took a slow drag from his cigarette, he murmured, "Lily, just wait a little longer. Once I get the inheritance, I'll marry you."
But he went back on his word.
From then on, every time Simon planned to meet Ella at our house, he would hang a string of bells on the door.
Since his father's passing, those bells had chimed ninety-nine times.
After the ninety-ninth, the news arrived—Ella was pregnant, and their engagement party was set.
My daughter saw the invitation, hesitated, then softly asked, "Mom, is Daddy's name on this?"
I forced a smile and gently smoothed her messy hair into a neat ponytail.
"Daddy is marrying the one he loves," I said. "And I'm taking you home."
Simon never understood—I never cared about that marriage certificate.