Chapter 3

A wave of dizziness washed over her. Joana pressed a hand to her chest, trying to force air into her lungs. The pain was so intense, it felt like her heart was being physically torn apart.

Darius finally looked up as she stumbled back to the table, his expression shifting from fond indulgence to alarm. "Joana? What's wrong?" He was by her side in an instant, his hands fluttering over her shoulders, his face a mask of concern.

"Are you okay? Does your chest hurt?" he asked, his voice laced with panic.

How can you ask me that? she thought, a hysterical laugh bubbling in her throat. How can you sit there, professing your love for another woman, and then pretend to care so deeply for me?

She forced herself to take a slow, shaky breath. "It's nothing," she lied, her voice strained. "Just a cramp."

He didn't look convinced, but he helped her to her feet. "Let's go home. You need to rest."

The drive back was a blur of forced pleasantries. Darius tried to make jokes, to fill the suffocating silence in the car, but Joana just stared out the window, the vibrant city streets looking gray and lifeless.

"Did I do something wrong?" he finally asked, his voice soft and cautious.

"No," she said, her tone flat. "I was just thinking about a show I watched today."

He visibly relaxed. "Oh? What was it about?"

"It was about a man who had two loves," she said, her eyes fixed on the passing buildings. "He told his wife he loved her, but he was secretly in love with someone else. He thought he could hide it forever." She turned to look at him, her gaze piercing. "Darius, would you ever do that to me?"

"Of course not!" he interrupted, his voice sharp and defensive. He reached over and took her hand, his grip almost painfully tight. "Joana, you know I love you. Only you. I would never, ever betray you."

His words, once a source of comfort, now felt like daggers. Every syllable was a lie, a carefully crafted performance.

Just then, his other phone, the one he kept for "work," buzzed in the center console. She nodded towards it. "You should get that."

He hesitated, then picked it up. His expression tightened as he listened to the voice on the other end. "I have to go," he said, ending the call abruptly. "An emergency at the office." He pulled the car over to the curb. "I'll have a driver take you home."

Joana nodded silently and got out of the car.

The moment his car sped away, she hailed a taxi. "Follow that car," she told the driver, her voice cold and steady.

Darius's car led them to a private villa on the outskirts of the city. Joana watched from a distance as he got out. The front door of the villa opened, and Kaylee Owens appeared, dressed in a ridiculously short maid's costume.

She ran to Darius, throwing her arms around his neck, and they kissed, a long, passionate kiss that made Joana's stomach churn.

"Did you miss me?" Kaylee asked, her voice a playful purr. "I have a surprise for you."

Darius's eyes darkened with a look of pure lust that Joana had not seen in years. "I came as fast as I could," he murmured.

"Let's see the surprise in the car," Kaylee whispered, tugging him toward his vehicle.

They got into the backseat, and soon, the car began to rock gently.

Joana sat in the taxi, watching. A part of her had known, had expected this, but seeing it with her own eyes was a different kind of pain. It was a raw, visceral agony that scraped her soul clean of any lingering hope.

She clutched her chest again, gasping for breath as hot tears streamed down her face. She remembered their first time together. He had been so gentle, so reverent. He had insisted on waiting until their wedding night, telling her she was too precious, too pure. He had cried that night, holding her, whispering that he would love her for eternity.

He had made her feel cherished, unique, like no one else in the world could ever love her the way he did.

And he was the one who had shattered it all.

The female taxi driver glanced at her in the rearview mirror. "Men are all the same," she said, her voice filled with a weary sympathy. She passed a box of tissues back to Joana. "My husband's got one on the side, too. You just have to pretend you don't see it. Forgive them. It's easier that way."

Joana took a tissue, her knuckles white as she clenched her fist. "No," she whispered, her voice a raw, broken sound. "I will never forgive him."

She spoke the words again, this time to herself, a solemn, unbreakable vow. Never.

When she got home, she moved through the vast, empty penthouse like a robot. She gathered every gift Darius had ever given her-the clothes, the bags, the jewelry, including the newly acquired 'Joana' necklace.

She called the building's property manager. "I want to sell all of these items," she said, her voice devoid of emotion. "Donate the proceeds to a foundation for women."

Within an hour, everything was packed and gone. The closets were bare, the jewelry boxes empty.

She started packing a small suitcase with her own things, the few items that were truly hers.

Suddenly, the front door burst open. Darius stood there, drenched from the rain that had started to fall, his face pale and furious.

"Joana! Why did you sell the necklace?" he demanded, his voice echoing in the stark, empty room.