Dante and his crew were already bored out of their minds, chugging drinks, when Celine burst in, the ring in her hand. Her sudden appearance made their expressions glitch for a hot second.

She looked like she’d gone through the wringer and then some.

Grime-covered, bits of grass sticking to her clothes, her blouse looking like a crime scene with bloodstains...

This chick was legit unhinged.

She was hurt, yet she’d stayed in the water for ages. His dark eyes locked onto her, a complicated mess of emotions swirling within.

Just as he was about to unload, his phone blew up.

Whatever was on the other line had Dante’s face doing a 180. Without a second glance at Celine, he grabbed his keys and bolted.

“Whoa? Dante, you’re really bailing?”

The gaggle of rich kids immediately ditched their drinks and followed suit.

After they dipped, Celine finally crumpled onto the floor, weak.

So done.

So much hurt.

Dante didn’t grace their home with his presence that night.

Or the next few days, for that matter. He was a no-show.

Celine, with zero time to even nurse her wounds, hit up his usual hangouts—bars, clubs, racetracks—only to find out he hadn’t been out boozing or chasing skirts for days.

Major red flag. This was unheard of.

Then, Celine caught a news report on TV—

World-famous cellist Isabella Lopez was back in town, her concert tour about to kick off.

Isabella. She was back.

Celine’s eyes remained completely unfazed.

Only Isabella could ever tame Dante.

She watched the screen for a beat, then silently powered down the TV with the remote.

After that, she stopped her frantic search for Dante. She knew he’d be glued to Isabella’s side.

Racing, drinking, women, the company, his buddies, even… her.

No one else mattered as much as Isabella.

Tomorrow was their third wedding anniversary.

Celine sat solo in the Blue Bay estate. Dante was still MIA.

Ding.

Suddenly, a video call from an unknown number popped up on her phone.

Her lashes fluttered as she tapped to answer.

The video showed Dante and Isabella outside a club, going at it hard. Dante’s eyes were bloodshot.

"Dante, I’m done with you! You don’t get to control me!"

"Damn it, I will control you! Isabella, you ghosted me for three years! Did you ever once think of me?"

"Did you think of me when you got married?"

Their argument was fire. Finally, Isabella’s tears started to fall. She shoved him away, sobbing.

Seeing her tears, Dante’s whole demeanor shifted. The fiery tension evaporated instantly, and he folded completely.

Resigned and defeated, he pulled Isabella into a hug.

"I messed up, Bella."

"My bad, okay? Don’t cry. You trying to kill me here?"

...

The video cut out without warning, the player closing.

A text message followed the video.

«Celine, I gave you ten years, and you still couldn’t make him love you. Pathetic.»

The sender of the video and the message was painfully obvious.

Celine stared at them, silent for a long moment, then switched off her phone.

Isabella really didn’t need to go out of her way to rub it in.

Ten years ago or now, she had always been Dante’s one and only first love.

Why stoop to such petty mind games?

Celine sat quietly on the sofa, her eyes completely blank.

Yeah. It had been almost ten years, after all.

In this decade, she’d pulled off every insane stunt imaginable for Dante.

She’d bungee-jumped off the world’s highest spots just to lure him home.

She’d trekked through three cities in a blizzard, non-stop, hunting down a specific pastry that held a cherished childhood memory for him.

She’d searched for him all night after he’d run away from home…

Everyone claimed she was hopelessly in love with Dante.

But it seemed no one had noticed that despite doing all those things, she had never once said to him:

Dante, I love you.