The center photo in the collage showed Daniel, grinning smugly, holding his car keys just high enough to show off the Ferrari logo like a lighter’s spark.
Meanwhile, Cassandra was practically hanging off him, her body pressed to his side. His other hand rested firmly on her waist.
The comments section was blown up.
[Damn, isn’t that the Ferrari SF90? That’s insane!]
]These two look perfect together. What a shame.]
[@Cassandra girl, better be careful. Don’t let Nathan see this!]
Cassandra herself chimed in.
[Nathan isn’t that petty. If he’s going to throw a fit over this, then maybe we shouldn’t get married at all.]
After reading her reply, I shut off my phone, expressionless.
She knew exactly how far she could push me. She knew I’d swallow the pain when she sold our house. She knew I’d keep quiet when she bought Daniel a car worth half a million. She knew I’d accept every excuse of ‘we’re just friends.’
But this time, the scar in my chest didn’t ache anymore.
Because I was done.
I didn’t want to endure it any longer.
The next day, I went to the hospital for a check-up alone.