Her birthday was coming up. It felt like ages since anyone had bothered to celebrate it.

Her parents had always seen her as nothing more than a pawn for a future marriage. Birthdays? They probably couldn't even remember the date.

As a kid, birthdays weren't even a thing for her. The first time anyone threw her a party was in college, courtesy of her roommates.

That's when she learned people actually celebrated getting older.

But after marrying Dante, the celebrations vanished again. He never once gave a damn about her birthday.

His grandpa did remember, but he was always swamped. So for three years, he just had the butler drop off a gift.

So when Dante mentioned it, she figured his grandpa had gotten her a gift, but probably wouldn't show up.

Still, a sharp pang hit her. Dante remembered too?

Dante just shook his head. "Grandpa couldn't make it, but I've got his gift for you."

"Just give me the gift. I'll skip the dinner, Mr. Williams. I wanna enjoy my birthday, my way."

Celine's eyes turned icy. The ache in her chest made her pull back from that fleeting softness.

"Celine, there's something else I need to tell you. It's about my parents. I'll tell you over dinner, okay?"

Sensing her pushback, Dante swallowed his own heartache and brought up the two people she could never say no to.

He knew it was a low blow, but if it could make her drop her guard even a smidge, if it could stop her from shutting him down completely, he'd try anything.

Celine eyed him suspiciously. What could he possibly have to say about his parents? They'd been gone for ages.

"Dante, are you sure it's about your parents?"

"Absolutely. I wouldn't lie to you about this. So, the day after tomorrow, I'll pick you up after class, alright?"

Dante met her gaze earnestly, his tone firm with sincerity. Reluctantly, Celine agreed.

On Celine's birthday.

Dante led Celine to the front of his apartment building. As they were about to head inside, Celine stopped him.

"Dinner? Is there a restaurant here? If you need to change, I can wait downstairs."

Dante offered a helpless smile. "Celine, I cooked your favorite dishes myself. It's just a meal. After we eat, I'll drive you back, okay?"

He felt both relieved by her wariness and heartbroken by it. Now, in her eyes, he was just like everyone else. Even sharing a meal required such caution.

"Let's go."

Stepping into his apartment, Celine's jaw dropped at the feast laid out on the dining table. She turned to him. "You made all this?"

"Yep. Have a seat."

Dante pulled out a chair for her. Once she was settled, he poured her a glass of red wine, then moved to his own seat and continued.

"They're all your favorites. I learned from Mrs. Wilson back home. She's already taste-tested them, so you're good to go."

Celine picked up a Cajun-spiced shrimp. It was already peeled, its golden, crispy shell coated in a buttery herb crust and flecks of pepper.

She took a bite. The savory flavor exploded in her mouth—crispy outside, firm and springy inside. It was genuinely divine.

She then took a sip of the creamy seafood chowder Dante had served her. The milky broth was sweet and savory, with a subtle herbal aroma.

It had been so long since she'd tasted these flavors. Instantly, her appetite flared, a wave of nostalgia washing over her.

Watching her devour the food, Dante finally let out a breath and started eating too.

A bittersweet ache and a flicker of warmth stirred within Celine. Dante, the sole heir to the Williams fortune, raised in opulence, doted on by everyone after losing his parents young. He was never the type to do this sort of thing.

When she was his wife, she'd handled every single detail of his life—his meals, his laundry, his outfits. Back then, he hadn't even offered a simple thank you.

Yet here was the proud, arrogant Dante Williams, willing to learn to cook just to please her. To get her to share a single meal, he hadn't hesitated to invoke his deceased parents, seeking her out, begging her again and again.

Looking at the spread before her, she could almost picture him failing, getting hurt, over and over while mastering these dishes.

It would be a lie to say she wasn't moved. The heartache was real, too.

Did she not love him? If not, how could she hate him so fiercely? How could her heart ache like this? It was all a tangled mess.

But this ache, this lingering love, wasn't nearly enough to erase the pain he had inflicted.

She was her own person, first and foremost. How could she forget the hurt just because he was being nice now?

How could she face the girl she used to be, who endured so much humiliation and torment?

She also didn't believe Dante could just forget their past and pretend everything was fine. If he truly loved her, how could he forget the pain he'd caused?

Celine's eyes began to well up, her nose prickling with emotion. Dante noticed her suddenly bow her head, frozen.

"What's wrong?" he asked.

The moment she looked up, he saw her reddened eyes. "Celine, what is it? Please don't cry. Is the food bad? If it's not good, we don't have to eat it. I'll take you out."

Celine shook her head, the unshed tears in her eyes twisting his heart.

"Dante," she whispered, her voice thick. "If you knew it would end up like this... why did you treat me that way back then..."