Chapter 1

My husband and I were praised as the model arranged marriage couple in our circle—until I developed postpartum depression.

I fled the nursery, trying to escape my son's relentless crying.

Wandering aimlessly through the house, my footsteps stopped outside the study.

At some point, a password lock had been installed on the study door.

Instinctively, I raised my hand and entered my husband's birthday, then our son's. Neither worked.

My nerves tingled with a strange excitement as I prepared to enter my own birthday.

But my hand trembled, and I pressed 0817 instead of 0517—that was my sister's birthday.

I stiffly pushed open the door that had opened by chance. The next moment, I froze in place.

In the center of the study sat a portrait identical to my husband's face—a memorial portrait.

The nameplate clearly bore my husband's name: Quinn Harper.

For a moment, my mind went completely blank.

I didn't know whether to be angry that my husband used my sister's birthday as his password.

Or whether to be angry that my husband kept his own portrait and memorial tablet in his study.

A terrible thought flashed through my mind, but I immediately suppressed it.

I knew Quinn had a twin brother named Kieran, but he had died in a car accident at eighteen.

I had never met either brother before marriage because I had lived abroad with my grandparents as a child.

I only returned home after graduating from college.

Just days after returning, the Harper family came with the engagement token, and my parents readily agreed to the marriage.

No one asked what I wanted—except Quinn, who walked up to me.

"Are you willing to marry me? If you're not, you can refuse."

In that moment, I fell for this fiancé I was meeting for the first time.

Ours was a business alliance. Even though I liked him, I was willing to maintain a respectful distance.

I respected his space and never entered his study without permission.

But he had locked it. This was blatant distrust and defensiveness.

Realizing this, my already fragile rationality completely shattered.

I raised my head and surveyed this study I had never set foot in before.

The study wasn't cleaned by the housekeeper, yet it was spotlessly clean.

He, who never cared about his surroundings, had arranged flowers and plants here, kept goldfish.

A notorious workaholic, yet the study had an entire wall of collectible figures and the latest gaming console.

In this study, there was a man I had never known.

He wasn't dull and boring—he had romance and passion for life.

Footsteps sounded behind me, followed by an explosive shout.

"What are you doing? Who gave you permission to enter my study?"

I turned around. My husband's eyes burned with rage, his fury turning them bloodshot.

This was the first time he had lost his temper with me, yet I felt no fear.

I almost wanted to laugh. In three years of marriage, this was the first time I'd seen such vivid expression on his face.

The man who had always been restrained and controlled, even during intimate moments—his mask shattered when I opened his study.

Seeing I didn't answer, my husband walked over to pull me away.

His large hand clamped around my arm, using no restraint. The pain made me furrow my brow.

I used all my strength to shake off his hand, stubbornly staying in place.

My gaze fell on the photo in the center of the study, and on the tablet bearing my husband's name.

"Are you Quinn or Kieran?"

I asked calmly. The atmosphere instantly became tense.

I should have stared intently at his expression to catch any lies.

But in that moment, I didn't dare turn around.

Silence spread through the air, stretching time, tormenting me.

"I'm Quinn."

He answered in a voice that sounded like surrender. I sensed something, but I didn't want to dig deeper.

I turned back to face Quinn again, asking him to give me a reason to explain the memorial tablet.

"I was in that car accident with Kieran, but I was the one who survived."

"All these years, I've carried guilt, so I made this tablet. I wish it had been me who died instead."

His flat tone made it sound like he was discussing the weather, yet I heard the bone-deep self-torture.

My heart seized with sudden pain. I couldn't control the sympathy I felt for this man before me.

But my questions weren't finished.

"Why did you use Aria's birthday as the password?"

I hoped desperately that he would give me a reason I could accept, like he had with the tablet.

Whatever he said, I could accept it. I would choose to believe.

But he didn't. His tightly pressed lips were like the door to his heart, closed to me.

The baby's cries rang out. My tears also burst forth.