Chapter 2
Looking at the invitation emails from over a dozen international racing teams, my cursor landed on
Ferrari Racing Team’s offer. Without hesitation, I accepted and booked a race to Paris for two days
later.
Five years ago, Blaze experienced the worst incident of his career while racing to Paris. Since then, the city’s name had become taboo. Not only did he stop racing there, but he’d also prevented me from watching any Monaco Grand Prixs.
Blaze, once I’m in Paris, we’ll probably never see each other again.
と
The next morning, I started packing. Halfway through, Blaze came home wearing a pink dress shirt, trailing a strong scent of rose perfume. I froze momentarily. He used to hate perfume. Throughout our years together, I never wore any, even throwing away my cherished collection. Now I realized – he didn’t hate perfume, he just didn’t like it on me.
Noticing me packing, he hesitated. “Alyssa took too long sobering up last night, so I got a hotel room and stayed there.” I glanced up, surprised. This was his first explanation in three years of marriage.
I nodded silently.
He approached me slowly. “Are you racing for work?”
I nodded again. “Something like that.”
He seemed relieved. “I have some business today. Just came to grab something. Won’t stay for lunch.‘
“Okay.” I continued packing, not looking up. I’d planned to tell him about my resignation over lunch, to officially end our eight–year relationship. Seems that chance was gone now.
He grabbed a red gift bag and some clothes from the door hook before rushing out.
Crash!
Our framed photo, hanging by the door for eight years, fell and shattered. It was from our first concert together, both of us smiling with clasped hands. He’d promised to attend a concert with me every year, no matter how busy. That promise, like many others, was forgotten when Alyssa became
his assistant.
Chapter 2
The clock ticked in the empty room. After a long silence, I cleaned up the glass and threw away the
photo of our happier times, along with my remaining attachment.
That evening, exhausted from packing, I received a call from my best friend.
“What’s wrong with Blaze? He’s flaunting his relationship with that vixen Alyssa on social media.
You’re not even divorced yet!”
I checked my phone. Alyssa’s latest post showed her wearing a Van Cleef & Arpels four–leaf clover necklace, holding the red bag Blaze had retrieved earlier. The caption read: “Three wonderful years
together. So grateful for you, Blaze. Happy anniversary!”
Then it hit me. Anniversary? Right… today was also our third wedding anniversary. We’d never celebrated it – I’d completely forgotten.
I sighed, telling my friend, “He doesn’t need a divorce. We never legally registered our marriage.”
“What? Three years after the wedding and still no legal registration?”
Yes, three years after our wedding ceremony, he’d canceled our registration seventeen times.
At 11 PM, unusually, Blaze came home.
19:01
