His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 08

His Final Betrayal Was My First Move Chapter 08

The next evening, Griffin announced he had a surprise for me.

He took me to a private room in a top-floor restaurant in Boston’s Seaport District. Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the harbor lights glittered on the water. The moment the door opened, I was met with a room full of white roses and flickering candles. The air was thick with the scent of champagne and flowers.

A smile on his lips, Griffin pulled out my chair like a perfect gentleman.

“Amelia, do you like it?”

I was stunned for a few seconds, my eyes sweeping over the carefully arranged scene. I said nothing and quietly sat down.

He had ordered a table full of my favorite dishes, from chilled lobster to grilled halibut. He poured my champagne himself and placed shelled lobster meat onto my plate. All evening, he searched for topics of conversation, even bringing up memories from when we first met at Harvard.

“Remember? Our first date was in the North End. You burned your tongue on the bread at that little Italian place and complained for days.” He smiled, as if recalling a treasured memory. “I thought then that you were different from other girls.”

Faced with his sudden tenderness, I felt an intense, almost physical discomfort.

“What’s gotten into you today, Griffin?”

“I just saw that you haven’t been happy lately.” He took my hand, his gaze sincere. “So I wanted to do something to cheer you up. And there’s another surprise coming.”

As he spoke, he glanced at his watch, then stood and pulled open the massive floor-to-ceiling curtains.

I followed his gaze. A series of sharp cracks cut through the night sky.

Thousands of fireworks burst over Boston Harbor, dazzling and brilliant, finally merging into an enormous, glittering heart.

Looking at that heart blooming in the night, I froze.

“You… you arranged this?” My voice was a little dry.

Before Griffin could answer, the private room door was shoved open.

Daphne burst in with a group of glamorously dressed socialites. Some were even holding up their phones, flashes popping in our faces as if capturing a decisive moment.

“Amelia, darling, are you satisfied with tonight’s date?” Daphne’s voice was laced with barely concealed pride. She walked up to me like an artist inspecting her own work. “This surprise was all my idea. Isn’t it moving?”

Hearing that familiar, sickly-sweet tone, the complex emotions that had risen in me because of the fireworks instantly turned to ice.

I slowly turned my head to look at Griffin and asked the same question again. This time, my voice was trembling.

“You arranged this?”

Griffin seemed completely oblivious to the change in my tone. He shook his head lightly and smiled at Daphne, his eyes carrying a hint of indulgence.

“No. Daphne gave me the idea. What’s wrong?”

Daphne’s smile grew even more triumphant.

“Yes. I heard Griffin say he’d been upsetting you, so I gave him the idea.” She pointed everything out one by one. “This restaurant, the white roses, the candles, the black truffle risotto, and the heart-shaped fireworks over the harbor. I recommended all of it. I just wanted to help you make it up to your little wife and give her an unforgettable night. Oh, and did you get the perfume from St. Barts? I spent ages picking it out. Did you like it?”

So, all of this had been arranged by Daphne. Again.

No wonder he had been so proactive.

So… unlike himself.

In an instant, I remembered all the things Daphne had done in college to push us together.

She had told Griffin to buy me flowers, to take me for walks along the Charles River, to send me good-night texts at the same time every day. Like a robot following a program, he did it all. Even when he’d first told me he liked me, his tone had been stiff and unfamiliar.

The socialites around us erupted in praise.

“Daphne, you’re the best friend ever!”

“Griffin is so lucky to have a friend like you!”

“You can make someone else’s marriage this romantic. You’re a genius!”

Those compliments were poisoned knives, striking my heart with precision. A deep, suffocating helplessness rose inside me.

Daphne had arranged all of this for one reason: to prove to me, and to everyone else, that she was in control.

From the beginning of this relationship to every “romantic” moment in our marriage, even to its ultimate fate—none of it had been up to me.

From beginning to end, everything had been in Daphne’s hands.

I could only passively accept it.

And Griffin was a willing participant.