Ribbons Unbound: My Fiancé's Lingering Regret novel Chapter 50

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 for me to see. She wanted me to know.

Just last week, Atlas had been 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.

It worked. His passcode wasn't his own birthday, not mine, either.

It was hers---Ivy's birthday.

A bitter laugh bubbled in my throat, but I swallowed it down.

Atlas had always refused to let me see his phone, insisting that we needed personal space and boundaries.

Now I knew why.

The moment the home screen appeared, I was greeted with her faceIvy—smiling—bright, radiant, breathtaking.

No wonder his expression softened every time he unlocked his phone.

My heart pounded as I tapped into his photo gallery.

Every album had the same format:

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."