Tristan blinked, caught off guard. He wasn’t used to this version of me. The one who didn’t beg or bend. But years of playing the perfect, submissive mate had dulled his instincts. He smiled, thinking I’d forgiven him.
“Make a wish,” he said, lighting the candles.
I stared at the flickering flames. Every year, I wished for the same thing: love, happiness, a future with Tristan.
This time, I closed my eyes and whispered, I want freedom. I want peace. I want to be free from him.
When I opened my eyes, Tristan was gone. The candles still burned, the cake untouched. I glanced toward the door, where the sound of it slamming shut still echoed. He hadn’t even bothered to close it properly.
I pulled the cake and threw it on the floor. All was ruined. Three hours of my effort was wasted out of anger. Just like the three years I had spent with him.
I calmed myself and picked up my phone. Numb. I should be numb. I was about to call my best friend when a notification popped up from my socmed app: [Selene highlighted a post for you.]
I curiousy checked it. Selene posted: [I’m such a clumsy girl! Bumped into the cabinet again. But my hero is here to help me.]