Six years had passed since Jayceon Melendez and Arabella Palmer ended their relationship, yet the past had a way of circling back. Now, unexpectedly, Jayceon’s first love had returned from overseas—and she wasn’t alone. She had come back with a little boy, no older than five.

Since that day, Jayceon had been absent from their home for a whole month. Each time Arabella asked, he brushed it off, saying he was tied up on a business trip. But today was different. It was supposed to be special—it was their third wedding anniversary.

Arabella had spent the afternoon preparing a romantic dinner, the kind that glowed softly under flickering candlelight. She’d even wrapped a gift, carefully chosen to express the feelings she still held inside. When evening fell, she sent Jayceon a message on WhatsApp, hoping he would respond, hoping he would come home.

She waited. The clock’s hands inched toward nine o’clock, but still, he hadn’t returned.

Just then, her phone rang. It was Kimberly, Jayceon’s sister. “Bella, you need to check the messages I sent you,” Kimberly urged.

Arabella’s fingers trembled as she ended the call and opened their chat. Her eyes skimmed the screenshots Kimberly had forwarded, and in an instant, the smile she’d been holding onto vanished completely.

The plate she was holding slipped from her grasp, crashing to the floor in a sharp, shattering sound. Glass shards scattered around her feet, and one cut into her ankle, drawing a thin line of blood. But Arabella barely noticed the sting. She stood frozen, as if numb, unable to process the pain.

The images Kimberly had sent were from Jayceon’s Instagram. He had rented out the entire Mondi Beach. Right now, he was there celebrating a birthday—with his first love. Fireworks lit up the night sky, showering the scene with bursts of color.

Arabella scrolled through the photos: the golden sands of the beach, a sleek yacht bobbing in the water, brilliant fireworks exploding overhead, and bouquets of roses scattered about. In one picture, Jayceon cradled a small boy in one arm, while his other hand, wearing the wedding ring Arabella knew so well, rested possessively on the waist of a woman.

The moments captured were breathtaking, filled with warmth and romance. The caption beneath read: “Homemade blueberry cake for my beloveds.”

Their love was unmistakably clear.

Arabella’s mind went blank. She tried to open Jayceon’s profile herself, but it was as if he had vanished—no posts, no pictures. She opened her mouth, desperate to speak, but no words came out. When had he hidden his life from her? When had he set his posts to be invisible to her eyes?

Those screenshots shattered the fragile hope she’d been clinging to for so long.

Burning with fury, Arabella dialed Jayceon’s number.

He didn’t answer.

She called again.

After the third time, he hung up on her.

Then, a curt text arrived: “I’m busy.”

His impatience stung more than the rejection.

A tumult of emotions crashed over her—helplessness, jealousy, anger, and deep resentment. She curled inward, clutching her head as if to hold herself together. Her heart felt like it was breaking into a thousand pieces, making each breath a struggle.

Unable to contain the pain, she let out a scream, pulling at her hair in frustration before collapsing into tears.

A soft knock interrupted her anguish.

With effort, she rose and opened the door.

Kimberly stood there, her eyes wide with concern. “Bella, what happened? Are you okay?”

Tears still glistened on Arabella’s cheeks as she shook her head, her voice barely a whisper.

Kimberly’s frustration erupted. “No way. Let’s go to Mondi Beach right now and confront Jay!”

Arabella took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. “Kim, I need to handle this on my own.”

Her mother was recovering from heart bypass surgery in the hospital, fragile and vulnerable. Arabella couldn’t afford to fall apart now.

By the time Kimberly left, the clock had passed midnight.

Arabella wandered through the quiet house like a ghost, her emotions dulled to numbness.

She and Jayceon had grown up side by side. Everyone in their circle had known about her crush on him since childhood. But they also knew Jayceon had never truly moved on from his first love—the girl he had been forced to leave behind.

Their marriage had been arranged by their families, a union of convenience rather than passion.

For three years, Arabella had hoped that her efforts might win his heart, but it never happened. Instead, she learned that Jayceon and his first love had rekindled their relationship.

After twenty-five years—years filled with childhood affection and a three-year marriage—everything she had believed in felt meaningless.

It was time to let go.

Arabella knew what she had to do next, but the ache in her chest was so deep it almost stole her breath. She was torn, caught between the logic that told her to move on and the emotions that refused to let go.

***

That night, Jayceon still didn’t come home.

For the next three days, Arabella remained at the hospital, caring for her mother. Not once did Jayceon call or send a message.

When her mother’s condition finally stabilized, her father urged her to return home and rest.

Late that night, half-awake, Arabella stirred as the bedroom door creaked open quietly.

The sound of running water soon followed from the bathroom.

Moments later, she felt the mattress dip beside her. The faint scent of a man’s shower gel filled the air, stirring her senses.

Before she fully registered what was happening, she found herself wrapped in Jayceon’s arms.

After more than a month apart, he had finally come back.

He must have been happy with his new family.

Feeling the tension in her body, Jayceon knew she was awake. He tightened his hold around her waist and gently turned her to face him.

His lips brushed hungrily along her sensitive neck. Beneath the blanket, his hand skillfully slid down the strap of her nightgown.

In all their three years of marriage, Jayceon had only ever been this tender and passionate with her in private.

Every time she witnessed this side of him, Arabella had foolishly believed it was proof of his love.

But this time, instinctively, she grasped his hand as it roamed her body and, for the first time, whispered, “Don’t.”

When Arabella’s voice came out rough and breathless, Jayceon took it as a sign of her desire, and his kiss grew more intense, pressing deeper into her lips. He knew her body intimately, every curve and reaction, and despite her inner resistance, her defenses began to crumble under his touch.

Just as she felt herself about to surrender, a sudden flood of memories crashed into her mind—the serene beach, the luxurious yacht, the dazzling fireworks lighting up the night sky, the bouquet of roses, the unmistakable sight of her husband’s ringed hand resting on another woman’s waist, and that cruel, loving caption beneath the photo.

A wave of nausea surged through her, sharp and overwhelming. She pushed him away forcefully and bent over the edge of the bed, retching violently.

Jayceon flipped on the light, and with it, the charged atmosphere between them evaporated completely. He rose from the bed and gently rubbed her back. “Are you feeling sick?” he asked, concern flickering in his eyes.

She shrugged him off and headed straight to the bathroom, her movements stiff and distant.

She wasn’t ill—just utterly fed up with him.

Jayceon frowned as he watched her retreating figure, then went downstairs to fetch some water. He didn’t notice the dark circles beneath her swollen eyes, the hoarseness in her voice, or the fresh cut on her ankle from when she’d stumbled earlier.

When he returned a few minutes later, Arabella had already stepped out of the bathroom, preparing to climb back into bed. He handed her the glass without a word. “I’ll book a restaurant tomorrow to make up for our anniversary,” he said flatly.

There was no apology in his tone, no hint of remorse—just a statement of fact.

She ignored the water and lay back down, her voice cold and dismissive. “Don’t bother.”

So, he had remembered their anniversary after all.

But he had spent the entire day renting out a beach, setting off fireworks alongside his first love and their son.

Since their wedding, she had devoted herself to him completely, tending to his every need, never asking him to lift a finger around the house.

And yet now, he offered to bake a blueberry cake for them.

He had betrayed her, fathered a child with another woman, yet acted as if none of it mattered, expecting her to be intimate with him as if nothing had changed.

His casual mention of last night, completely devoid of guilt, shattered the last illusions Arabella had clung to.

For the first time, she saw the man she had loved for so long as a hypocrite.

The room fell into a heavy silence between them, the air thick with unspoken pain.

Just then, Jayceon’s phone screen flickered to life, breaking the stillness.

He glanced at the message, then at Arabella, who remained motionless.

Without a word, he quickly typed a reply and switched off the screen, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“Let’s get some rest,” he said abruptly.

But Arabella’s eyes wouldn’t close. Even in the darkness behind her eyelids, she saw the perfect picture of Jayceon holding his son in one arm while his beloved first love smiled beside him.

Burning with anger, she felt the desperate urge to snatch his phone and confront him—finally putting an end to the charade.

Yet reason held her back. Her mother had just undergone heart surgery and was still in the hospital. Now was not the time to tear their family apart with a divorce.

At 3 a.m., Jayceon’s phone lit up once more.

Less than fifteen minutes later, the sound of a car engine starting outside stirred Arabella from a restless half-sleep.

A single text was enough to pull him away in the dead of night.

That was the power his first love still held over him.

Arabella wanted to scream, to throw a tantrum, but her body was drained of energy.

She could barely form words, let alone summon the strength to do anything beyond breathing.

Early the next morning, forcing herself to move, Arabella carried breakfast to her parents at the hospital.

Her parents were visibly shocked by how worn and exhausted she appeared.

Her mother, Kayla Kemp, lay weakly in bed, tubes attached, her voice soft and concerned. “Bella, what’s wrong?”

Arabella forced a small smile. “Don’t worry, Mom. I just didn’t sleep well last night.”

Her father, Roderick Palmer, peeled half an apple and handed it to her gently. “The doctor just finished rounds. Your mom’s healing well—no complications from the surgery. They expect she might be discharged within a week.”

Relief washed over Arabella, and she finally exhaled a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding.

After helping her mother finish breakfast, Arabella went to speak with the attending physician for an update.

On her way back, near the billing area, she unexpectedly bumped into Jayceon.

His tall, commanding presence was impossible to miss—the kind of man whose cold, noble aura drew attention wherever he went.

Their eyes met. Jayceon’s brow furrowed slightly as he approached her.

Arabella noticed the thick stack of receipts clutched in his hand but said nothing.

It was Wednesday morning, around 9 a.m.

At this hour, he should have been in a meeting with senior executives at the Melendez Building.

Instead, here he was, standing in the hospital lobby.

Arabella didn’t need to guess why.

She fought the urge to confront him, afraid she would lose control—yelling, crying, and making a scene like some desperate woman.

She worried her parents might overhear and that she would crumble before she could gather herself.

Heart aching, she stood silently, waiting for him to break the silence—or not.

Jayceon reached out to take the papers from her hand, but just then, his phone rang again.

He pulled his hand back and glanced at the screen

“I need to take this,” Jayceon said softly, turning away and heading briskly toward the elevators.

His voice was low, almost tender, as he answered the call, “Be good. Knock it off.”

That gentle, coaxing tone struck Arabella like a sudden blow to her chest.

She couldn’t hold back any longer. Slipping into the restroom, she let the tears fall freely, her heart aching with a mix of confusion and pain.

So this was the side of him she rarely saw—patient, kind, and gentle.

She had known Jayceon for twenty-five years, yet never once had he spoken to her in this way.

After a long moment, once her sobs had subsided and her breathing steadied, Arabella carefully reapplied her makeup, hoping to mask the evidence of her tears.

She returned to the hospital room, trying to appear composed.

Kayla immediately sensed something was wrong. She gently sent Roderick out of the room and beckoned Arabella closer.

When Arabella approached, Kayla’s voice was soft but concerned. “Bella, did you and Jay have a fight?”

Arabella lowered her gaze and shook her head slowly. “No, Mom. We’re fine.”

Just then, Roderick reentered the ward, accompanied by Jayceon.

Kayla’s face brightened when she saw him. “Jay, you’re so busy with work. You really didn’t have to come.”

Jayceon placed the nutrition supplements he’d brought on the bedside table. “I contacted a leading heart specialist for you, Mom. We’ll arrange a full checkup before you’re discharged.”

Roderick looked at Jayceon with admiration shining in his eyes. “You’re so thoughtful. You’ve supported us all these years. We owe you more than words can say.”

Jayceon moved closer to the bedside, his gaze lingering on Arabella’s red, swollen eyes. “We’re family. No thanks needed.”

Arabella stood, instinctively wanting to give up her seat to him, but he gently pressed her back down. “I’ll stand.”

Watching Jayceon warmly interact with her parents, Arabella felt a pang of sadness and looked away.

Three years earlier, the Palmer family had faced bankruptcy, drowning in debt.

Despite the immense pressure, Jayceon had stepped in—paying off their debts, settling her parents’ affairs, sending her brother to a private school, and marrying her as he had promised.

Back then, she had naively believed that he must harbor some feelings for her.

But after they married, Arabella once overheard Jayceon speaking with his father. It was then she grasped the truth—his marriage to her had been a calculated decision.

Jayceon had told his father that in business, reputation and integrity were everything.

Helping the Palmers in their time of need would bring him both fame and profit.

And he had been right.

His marriage to her had bolstered the Melendez Group’s reputation, bringing significant advantages.

But to him, marrying Arabella was a second choice, a strategic compromise born of necessity.

As soon as his first love returned, he rushed back to her side.

He was overjoyed to have a son with her, completely disregarding the wife he already had.

Arabella’s face paled at the painful realization.

Kayla’s heart ached for her daughter. She urged Jayceon to take Arabella home to rest.

The ride back was silent, the weight of unspoken emotions hanging heavily between them.

When they reached the elevators, Jayceon gently took Arabella’s arm. “You look awful. Didn’t sleep well last night?”

Arabella forced a bitter smile.

He had reunited with his first love and their son, missing their third wedding anniversary in the process.

Yet he assumed her bad mood was simply due to lack of sleep.

His actions revealed how differently he treated the woman he truly loved compared to her.

And she had been a fool not to see it until now.

Quietly, she pulled her arm free. “You go ahead. I want to walk a bit.”

As the elevator arrived, she turned toward another one.

But Jayceon caught her arm again, guiding her into his elevator. “I booked dinner at your favorite place tonight.”

She nodded without enthusiasm.

As others joined them in the elevator, Jayceon pulled her closer, holding her gently.

He looked down at the silent woman in his arms, his brow furrowed.

Since the day he met her, Arabella had always been lively, affectionate, eager to be near him.

Now, she was so quiet, distant.

When they stepped out, Arabella refused to let Jayceon take her home.

After parting ways, she went straight to a law firm.

Paying thirty dollars an hour, she had divorce papers drawn up.

That evening at seven, Arabella arrived at the restaurant.

Jayceon politely pulled out her chair.

She sat quietly, watching him order.

Dressed in a black business suit paired with a matching black shirt, Jayceon looked sharp and composed—not dull, but refined and poised.

The Melendez family had groomed him from childhood to be their heir, blessing him with a prestigious background, excellent education, and polished manners.

In all the twenty-five years she’d known him, Arabella had never heard him lose his temper or utter a curse.