Ryan stepped forward, reaching past me to snatch the garment bag from the salesperson's hands.
"Oh, careful," he said, clutching it to his chest. "Ms. Galloway bought this for me. Not for... other men." He shot me a smug look. "You lot are blind. Stop praising the wrong person."
The air left the room.
The salespeople froze, smiles faltering. Their eyes darted from me to my bare ring finger to Mila.
Mila, usually ice-cold, looked at Ryan with a warmth I had never received. Doting. Indulgent.
"Do you like them?" she asked him, ignoring me entirely.
"I love them," Ryan replied, voice sugary. "But my apartment's so small... nowhere to keep all this."
"Leave them here, then," Mila said. "When you want to change, just come in. You don't need to ask."
Ryan beamed, shooting me a provocative look over her shoulder. He expected me to explode—wanted the jealous, impulsive husband of the past.
But that man was gone. I felt nothing but hollow resolve.
The salespeople held their breath. They'd walked into a minefield. The expensive "husband" gifts were for the assistant. The humiliation was absolute.
"Look at you," Mila chided softly. "Your collar's crooked. You're like a child."