Chapter 2

I rode the elevator in a daze.

When I came to my senses, the elevator had already stopped on the basement level.

An intern, Liam, enthusiastically walked up to me, "Are you here to see Ms. Iris Thompson's art exhibition? Please follow me."

That's when I realized I'd forgotten to press a floor.

Compelled by an unknown force, I walked into the exhibition hall.

Liam followed behind me, enthusiastically introducing: "This exhibition was funded by Mr. Hayes, and a national tour is planned next."

My gaze fell on one of the oil paintings.

It was a man's nude back, his back muscles clearly defined, with a unique, striking scar on his lower back.

I had traced the outline of that scar countless times in the dark, so I knew exactly who the man in the painting was.

Iris had painted many portraits of Julian, the dates marked in the bottom right corner clear and glaring.

June 20th: Julian standing busy in the kitchen, his back bathed in a warm glow.

— That was the third day I was confined to my room. I was on a hunger strike, my stomach aching until I fainted, but he was cooking porridge for Iris.

July 1st: A pair of distinctly jointed hands folding a silk nightgown embroidered with irises, a wedding ring on his ring finger gleaming coldly.

— That was the thirteenth day I was confined. I'd cut my finger with a blade in protest, soaking half the bedsheet in blood, while he was meticulously organizing Iris's clothes.

July 15th: He walked under a tree-lined avenue holding an umbrella, and at the edge of the frame, I could vaguely see his fingers intertwined with someone else's.

— That was the twenty-eighth day I was confined, my father had chained me to the bed, forcing me to end the relationship. I was curled up in a ball on a sweat-soaked bed, suffering from a high fever, while he walked leisurely hand-in-hand with Iris in the morning light.

Each painting before me was like a needle, fiercely piercing my heart.

So, during that month of utter darkness, he wasn't fighting for me, but rather accompanying Iris the whole time!

His smashing a teacup in front of my father, his public declaration of love, his cancellation of collaboration with the Thompson Corporation—it was all just a smokescreen.

I clenched my fists tightly, my nails digging deep into my palms, but I felt no pain.

I couldn't bear to look anymore and turned to leave the exhibition.

…

I booked an abortion procedure for a week later, then headed to the old family estate to collect my mother's keepsakes.

When I got home, my father unexpectedly threw an airplane ticket at me.

"Your stepmother and I discussed it. We want Iris to live with Julian until she leaves."

"This is a ticket for ten days from now. Go travel for a while, consider it a little getaway."

I clutched the ticket, my lips pressed tightly together.

I knew. My father was telling me to make space for Julian and Iris.

After all, only if I left could they be alone without any qualms.

"Mia, please don't misunderstand. We just want Iris to have a good final journey…" My stepmother said, her eyes red, the same old platitudes that had made my ears numb.

I calmly interrupted: "I get it. I'll leave."

Julian, I no longer want him.

This home, I no longer care for it.

My father looked a bit surprised, not expecting me to agree so quickly, thinking my spirit had finally been broken.

His tone softened slightly: "We're holding a farewell ceremony for Iris. Remember to attend in three days."

"Okay."

…

I returned home, grabbed a cardboard box, and started packing things related to Julian.

There were the matching couple's cups he gave me for his birthday.

The ticket stubs from their first movie together.

And the photo booth pictures I'd forced him to take.

Just as I was nearly finished packing, I heard a sound from the foyer.

Julian was back.

Seeing the box full of items, his heart tightened. He rushed over.

"Mia, what are you doing?"