Chapter 3

My eyes must've shown real resistance this time, something genuine, not just for show, because Ethan actually hesitated for a second, his expression flickering with confusion.

But it didn't last long. Annoyance quickly took over. "Aria, stop throwing a tantrum."

I hated that tone. The condescending, dismissive one he always used with me. Honestly, even that face I'd crushed on for years was starting to lose its shine.

"I'm your wife, right? I just attempted suicide and ended up in the hospital, and you don't even bother asking if I'm okay. You just jump straight into scolding me. Ethan, who the hell gave you the right to treat me like this?"

My anger must've triggered his, because his hand suddenly clamped around my wrist, right over the bandage from where I'd cut myself. His voice dropped, ice-cold.

"You brought this on yourself."

I winced at the pressure but bit my lip to keep from making a sound. My eyes burned as tears welled up. Through the blur, I caught my own reflection in his eyes, pathetic and on the verge of crying.

Just then, Ethan released me. He turned me around and pulled me into his arms from behind, his voice colder than ever.

"I'll let it slide this time. But don't even think about using suicide to manipulate me again."

I tried to struggle, but Ethan just tightened his hold, clearly refusing to let me argue. The strength difference between us was ridiculous. After a few failed attempts, I gave up.

By the time I woke up the next morning, he was already gone.

I threw on some clothes and headed downstairs, only to find him sitting at the table having breakfast like nothing happened.

The housekeeper greeted me with a polite smile. "Good morning, Miss Aria."

I paused. Miss Aria?

Ethan didn't even look up. "Sit down. Eat."

The spread on the table was absurd. It looked like something out of a hotel brunch buffet, exotic fruits, freshly baked pastries, imported cheese, the works.

I sat across from him, still a little stunned. The housekeeper set a delicate bowl of sago pudding in front of me. The scent hit me immediately, mango.

I frowned. "Why is there mango in this?"

The housekeeper smiled. "This is Miss Olivia's special recipe. She had it sent over this morning, her favorite. The mangoes are flown in from Europe, very rare."

Just like that, my appetite disappeared.

"I'm not eating it," I said flatly.

The sharp sound of Ethan's utensils clinking against his plate broke the silence. He finally looked up, that familiar cold look in his eyes. "Aria, enough."

I forced down my irritation. "So now not eating mango offends you too?"

"You're not eating it because Olivia sent it, aren't you?"

I looked him dead in the eye. "You seriously think this is about jealousy?"

Ethan's voice sharpened. "Aria, when are you going to stop letting your jealousy control you?"

Jealousy?

That word echoed in my head like a bad joke.

Maybe the 25-year-old version of me really was petty and dramatic in front of him. Maybe she cried, begged, and clung.

But even so, we were married. And he didn't even know I was allergic to mango?

I was about to call him out on it when the housekeeper suddenly announced, "Sir, Miss Olivia is here!"

A soft, gentle voice followed. "Ethan, am I interrupting?"

A slender figure stepped into the room like she owned the place.

The housekeeper and maids all greeted her with easy familiarity. Clearly, she was a regular guest.

I didn't even need an introduction to know, it was Olivia.

The way the staff addressed us said everything. I was the legal Mrs. Sinclair, yet I got "Miss Aria." Olivia, on the other hand, was "Miss Olivia" with warm smiles and deferential tones.

No wonder the version of me from a few years ago lost it around her. Even as Ethan's wife, I was always second to this woman. Anyone would've cracked under that pressure.

Olivia turned to me with soft eyes, her voice dripping concern. "Aria, I heard what happened... Are you feeling better now?"

I let out a short, dry laugh. I wasn't in the mood to play nice.

I didn't know how the 25-year-old me handled situations like this, probably with downcast eyes and forced smiles, too scared to upset Ethan.

But I'm 18 inside.

And I don't give a damn about Ethan, or Olivia.

Olivia turned to Ethan, looking troubled. "Ethan, I'm sorry... Aria clearly doesn't want me here. Maybe I shouldn't have come."

"You knew that and still showed up?" I shot back without missing a beat. "What, came to rub it in?"

Her face paled, and Ethan instantly snapped, "Aria, don't be unreasonable."

Of course he took her side. Why was I even surprised?

The warm fuzzy feeling I had when I first woke up next to my crush was long gone.

Ethan Sinclair? Not all that.

Good looks and a fat bank account don't mean much if you treat your wife like trash.

If he's so obsessed with Olivia, why the hell did he marry me?

Before I could say more, Olivia composed herself and turned back to Ethan, her voice light. "Actually, the reason I stopped by today was to personally invite you to my celebration party..."

Then she glanced at me, clearly debating whether to bother. Eventually, she added, half-heartedly, "Aria, you're welcome to come too, of course."

I was about to decline.

But the challenge in her eyes stopped me. The subtle smirk she tried to hide? Yeah, I saw it.

So instead, I smiled sweetly and said, "Sure. I am Mrs. Sinclair, after all. It's only right I accompany my husband to public events."