Tyrone Winter's first love—the woman he broke up with six years ago and never really got over—suddenly came back. And Zera Caldwell didn't come alone. She brought a five-year-old son with her. For a month, Tyrone had been hiding behind business trips, doing everything he could to stay away from home. Tonight was supposed to be special—their third wedding anniversary. Aella Reid had set the table for a candlelit dinner. Wrapped a gift. Even sent him a WhatsApp message. By nine o'clock, he still hadn't shown up. Instead, she got a call from his younger sister, Raine Winter. Her voice was tight. "Check the message I sent you." Aella hung up and opened her chat. One glance—and her smile froze. The plate in her hand slipped and shattered against the floor. Porcelain shards cut into her ankle, thin red lines forming on her skin. She didn't even flinch. Raine had sent screenshots of Tyrone's private Instagram post. He'd rented out the entire Bayline Marina. There he was—with Zera and her son—celebrating the boy's birthday under a sky full of fireworks. Aella bent down, picked up her phone, and swiped through the photos one by one—beach, yacht, fireworks, roses. And there was Tyrone, holding a little boy in one arm. His other hand, still bearing their wedding ring, was resting possessively on the waist of another woman. The perfect romantic tableau. The caption read: "A blueberry cake I baked myself, for the ones I love most." Even through the screen, the affection felt suffocating. Aella's mind went blank. She couldn't think. Couldn't breathe.Her hands trembled as she opened Tyrone's profile—nothing. Empty. She opened her mouth, but for a good minute, no words came out. At some point, he had hidden all his posts from her. That was when the last fragile piece of hope she had for him shattered. Still, she refused to give up. She called him. Once. Twice. The third time, he hung up. Then a single reply popped up: Busy. Cold. Dismissive. Final. Helplessness, anger, jealousy, heartbreak—all of it tangled together, tearing her apart from the inside. Aella sank to the floor, clutching her head, gasping for air. Her chest felt like it was splitting open. She grabbed a handful of her own hair and screamed until her throat burned—then broke down into silent sobs. A knock sounded at the door. She forced herself up and opened it. Raine froze. "Aella, are you okay?" Tears streaked Aella's face. She just shook her head. Raine's jaw tightened. "Let's go. We'll find him right now." Aella swallowed hard and steadied her voice. “No. I'll deal with Tyrone myself." Her mother had just undergone bypass surgery and was still in the hospital. She couldn't fall apart now. Raine left in the early morning. Aella drifted through the villa like a ghost, moving from room to room without really seeing anything. She and Tyrone had been childhood sweethearts. Everyone knew she'd loved him since they were kids. Everyone also knew Tyrone had never stopped loving someone else. He hadn't married her out of love—it was a family arrangement. Still, after three years, Aella had believed that maybe, if she loved hard enough, he would come around. That she could warm his heart. Instead of love, she found proof of his grand reunion with his old flame. Her childhood crush, the love she grew up with—twenty-five years of her life—had all burned out. It was over. Her mind was clear on what to do next, but her heart ached so deeply it hurt to breathe. The pain felt like being split in two. Unbearable. — That night, Tyrone still didn't come home. For the next three days, Aella stayed at the hospital, caring for her mother, Miriam Reid. During that time, Tyrone never called. Not even a text.When her mother finally stabilized, Aella's father, Warren, urged her to go home and rest. Late that night, half-asleep, she heard the bedroom door creak open. Water splashed in the bathroom. Then the mattress dipped beside her, and the faint scent of men's body wash filled the air. Before she could react, she was already in Tyrone's arms. After more than a month, he had finally decided to come back. She could only imagine how happy he'd been—with them. Feeling her body tense, Tyrone knew she was awake. His arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer. His lips brushed her neck, warm and insistent. Beneath the blanket, his hand slid down, tugging lightly at her pajama strap. In three years of marriage, this was the only time Tyrone ever seemed gentle—with her, it was always just in bed. And every time, Aella had lied to herself—telling herself his passion meant love. Instinctively, she caught his hand. For the first time, she whispered, "No." Her voice was raw from crying, but to him, it sounded like desire. His kisses deepened. He knew her body too well—every touch deliberate, every move calculated. She couldn't fight it. Just as she was about to give in, her mind flooded with flashes— fireworks, roses, a yacht, and the beach. Tyrone's wedding-band hand resting on another woman's waist. That caption: For the ones I love most. Her stomach turned. She shoved him away, rolled to the edge of the bed, and gagged. The light clicked on. The air in the room changed, sharp and cold. Tyrone got up and gently rubbed her back. "Are you sick?"Aella pushed him off and stumbled to the bathroom. She wasn't sick—just nauseous. Tyrone frowned, watching her go. Then he went downstairs to get her some water. He didn't notice her swollen eyes, her hoarse voice, or the bandaged cut on her ankle. By the time he came back, Aella was climbing back into bed. He handed her the glass. "Tomorrow I'll make a reservation," he said casually. "We'll make up for our anniversary." No apology. No guilt. Just that. Aella ignored the glass and pulled the blanket up. "Don't bother." So he had remembered their third anniversary. Yet that night, he'd still rented out an entire beach—for her and their son—and spent the evening watching fireworks with them. From the day they married, Aella had cooked every meal, kept the house perfect, never asked for anything.But for that woman and her child, Tyrone had rolled up his sleeves and baked a cake himself. He had cheated. Fathered a child. Lied. And still came home, touched her, talked to her as if none of it meant anything. He stood there now, calm and unbothered, pretending nothing had happened. For the first time, Aella saw her husband—the man she'd loved all her life—for what he really was. A hypocrite. Silence filled the room, heavy as lead. Then Tyrone's phone lit up on the nightstand.