Chapter 2
Atlas had never truly forgotten her.
He had merely played his part–pretending to love me, pretending to be the devoted husband–while his heart had always belonged to someone else.
I had underestimated just how deeply he loved Ivy.
The sharp *clatter* of a phone hitting the hardwood floor snapped me out of my thoughts. Atlas’s phone had slipped from his pocket, skidding to a stop at my feet.
I bent down to pick it up, and just as my fingers brushed against the sleek screen, a message popped up.
“Atlas, thank you for taking drinks for me tonight. And the necklace… I can’t accept it. It’s far too precious.”
A cold wave swept through me. The next notification was worse.
A social media post–from Ivy Monroe.
“Love is priceless.”
Attached was a photo–a breathtaking diamond necklace, radiant under the soft glow of candlelight.
I recognized it instantly. The world’s only one of its kind, recently auctioned for an astronomical price–one billion dollars. A mysterious bidder had outspent everyone to claim it.
Now, I knew who that bidder was.
And Ivy? She had posted it fo
me to see. She wanted me to know.
Just last week, Atlas had be?
so busy that he barely had time to eat. He had collapsed from stomach pain and been rushed to the ER. I had been beside myself with worry, torn between anger at his negligence and heartache that he would push himself so hard.
Yet the moment he opened his eyes, he boarded a flight to England.
I had thought it was for work. I had been furious at him for putting his job above his own health.
But now, I knew the truth. He hadn’t gone for business. He had gone to that auction.
Even in agony, doubled over from pain, Atlas had flown across the world to bid on the rarest necklace in
existence–for her.
A dull ringing filled my ears.
Before I could think better of it, my fingers moved on their own, typing in his passcode.
The lock screen flashed open.
06:50
Seven Years of Love, Seven Minutes fruth
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Chapter 1
It worked. His passie wat lassen rthday Amer
It was here leysartday
A bitter laugh laddded in my tapet, ind i d
Atlas had always refused to let me sex fashions, insating that we needed perumal spare and boundaries
Now i knew why.
The moment the home screen appeared, I was greeted with her faceday–ling bright, rediens, breeding,
No wonder his expression softened every time he undorked his phiome
My heart pounded as I tapped into his photo gallery.
Every album had the same format:
“Ivy, age 10.”
“Ivy, age 11.”
“Ivy, age 12.”
All the way up to “Ivy, age 25.”
Hundreds–thousands–of photos. Every stage of her life, carefully documented. And in all of them, she was smiling
I swiped through frantically, my breathing growing shallow.
Not a single picture of me. Not even one of him.
Only her.
Just like his heart–his entire being had revolved around her, from the very beginning
My hands trembled as I clicked into his notes. And then I saw it. His diary.
[20XX – ]
“Ivy scraped her knee today climbing a tree. It’s my fault–1 never should’ve planted them in the yard.”
[20XX – ]
“Ivy got married today. As long as she’s happy, nothing else matters. My life exists to make her smile.”
[20XX –]
“I got married today. When I saw Ivy sitting in the crowd, I wished–God, I wished–that she was the one standing beside me.”
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Chapter 2
I couldn’t breathe. My hands went numb, the phone slipping from my grip and landing on the car seat beside me.
At that moment, the vehicle turned into the long driveway of our estate.
The garden came into view. Or what used to be a garden.
I stiffened. Bare earth stretched before me, empty and lifeless.
Once, two beautiful peach trees had stood here–trees Atlas had specially transported from my father’s old estate.
My father had planted them for me when I was ten. They had been my connection to him, a reminder that he was
still with me.
Then, one day, their roots had inexplicably rotted, and they had withered away.
I had been devastated.
Atlas had held me for three days and nights as I sobbed, whispering soothing words, stroking my hair, promising he would always be there.
Now, staring at the barren ground, realization clawed at my chest.
It had also been him. The one thing my father had left me–Atlas had destroyed it.
Tears blurred my vision as a final notification appeared on the phone’s screen.
A message from his assistant.
“Mr. Whitmore, as per your instructions, your will has been finalized. All assets will be left to Miss Ivy Monroe. We just need your signature for it to be effective.”
Seven Years of Love, Seven Minutes th
