We arrived at the family's private club as a light rain began to fall.

Sure enough, Isabella was there.

"Vivian, you're here."

Isabella's smile was bright and generous. But as soon as I sat down, she stood up abruptly, a look of apology on her face as she spoke to Lorenzo.

"The hospital just called with an emergency surgery. Lorenzo, would you mind taking me back?"

Lorenzo glanced at me. "Can't you eat first and go later?"

Of course, Isabella wouldn't agree. She loved to provoke me in these little ways.

It was such a simple trick, but Lorenzo never seemed to see through it.

"If you're busy, I can just call a cab…"

The apology on her face was perfectly measured, and she even turned to walk away.

Lorenzo immediately stood up. He turned back to me and said, "You wait here. I'll be right back."

On our wedding day, when Isabella called to say Marco was in trouble, he had abandoned me at the altar, saying the exact same thing.

That day, I became the laughingstock of Chicago's high society.

He returned three days later. His first words to me were not an apology, but, "Vivian, wait for me… I need to sort things out."

That was supposed to be our long-overdue wedding night, but he moved into the guest room instead.

Back then, I was naive enough to think he was just grieving for his friend who had died for him. I was willing to wait.

It was only after Isabella's repeated provocations that I understood what he really needed to "sort out."

Isabella was his first love. While Marco was alive, he had to give her up and marry me. But now, Marco was dead, Isabella was single again, and Marco had made him promise to care for her and her daughter for life. He needed to decide between me and her.

I nodded.

Lorenzo strode off to get the car.

"Vivian, I'm so sorry to interrupt your dinner with Lorenzo again."

Isabella's smile finally betrayed a hint of triumph and contempt. It was as if she were saying, So what if Lorenzo chose you? I will always be his number one priority.

I paid no mind to her taunts.

I finished my dinner alone.

The rain grew heavier. Many people huddled under the eaves for shelter, but I walked straight out into the downpour.

No one in this world had ever sheltered me from the storm, and I didn't need anyone to.

And in this life, I would never again wait for anyone, including Lorenzo Moretti.

When Lorenzo rushed back to the club, the table was still there, but the woman who would have always been waiting for him, no matter when he turned back, was gone.

For a moment, Lorenzo felt a strange sense of loss.

A waiter approached. "Mr. Moretti, is there anything else you need?"

"Clear it."

Lorenzo turned and left, his figure looking desolate.