Chapter 1

###My fiancée and her co-star shared a passionate kiss on stage during their play.

The audience was moved, swept up in the romance of the characters. But I knew—there was no such scene in the script.

For a brief moment, guilt flickered across her face, but she quickly defended herself:

“It’s just acting! What, am I never supposed to take on romantic roles again?”

I didn’t respond with a dramatic argument or accusations. Instead, I handed the bouquet of hybrid roses I’d specially bred for her… to one of the extras.

Without another word, I turned and walked out of their cast party.

Once outside, I called my mentor.

“Professor, I’ve decided. I’ll take the offer to go grow roses out west.”

I was at home filling out application forms when my phone suddenly rang. Without thinking, I reached for it and answered.

On the other end, there was no greeting—just the sound of chaotic chatter, as if the phone’s owner hadn’t realized they’d accidentally dialed me.

“Dorothy, it’s your turn!” someone called out.

Hearing the familiar name, my hand froze over the hang-up button.

“If you could go back, would you still choose to date your current boyfriend?”

I already knew what her answer would be, but when I heard her say it aloud, it still felt like a knife twisting in my chest.

Laughter erupted in the background.

“Exactly! I mean, what’s so great about Brian anyway? He’s just some guy who grows flowers.”

“That whole flower thing is so lame. His taste is awful.”

“Roses? Every time? Seriously? Could he be any more basic?”

I let out a bitter laugh. So this is what they thought of the roses I carefully bred by hand.

Roses that, once upon a time, were Dorothy’s favorite flower.

Yet, not once did she speak up for me. Not a single word in my defense.

Dorothy and I had met in college. She’d been standing in front of my research project display for ages, trying and failing to get the perfect photo. I happened to walk by to check on the exhibit and offered to help her. One thing led to another, and before long, we were dating.

Because she loved roses, I even based my graduate research project around them. But back then, I didn’t know she was still holding on to an impossible love—her so-called “one that got away.”

The chaotic conversation on the other end of the line continued. No one seemed to notice that the call was still active. Someone joked, asking Mason if he’d crash the wedding if his partner ever got married.

Mason’s calm voice replied, “No, I wouldn’t.”

The room on the other end fell silent, the sudden awkwardness palpable even through the phone.

Someone quickly tried to lighten the mood. “Come on, it’s just a game! Don’t take it seriously. Let’s drink!”

I couldn’t help but wonder what Dorothy’s expression looked like in that moment. Probably drowning her feelings in alcohol, pretending everything was fine. Funny how, when you’re not loved, we all end up looking equally pathetic.

The phone call abruptly ended as someone finally noticed the accidental dial.

I put my phone down in silence. By the time I finished my work, the clock read 11 PM. Turning off the last light in the living room, I headed to bed.

I’ve always been a light sleeper—any bit of light keeps me awake. But no matter how late Dorothy comes home, she always leaves a lamp on in the living room.

Soon, I’ll be heading out west. She might as well start getting used to the dark.

Like many nights before, Dorothy didn’t come home. She stumbled through the door mid-morning, still glued to her phone, and without looking up, called out:

“I’m starving.”

I didn’t even glance at her, still focused on my work.

“Then order takeout. I’m busy.”

She frowned, putting her phone down and stepping in front of my computer. The smell of alcohol hit me immediately.

“Brian, can you not?” she said, annoyed. “We were acting. What’s the big deal about a kiss when you’re in character?”

She crossed her arms, her tone defensive.

“Do you even know how many people bought tickets just to see Mason and me perform? Our chemistry is what sells!”

I nodded lightly, my eyes drifting to the computer screen behind her.

“You’re right. You acted beautifully.”

She mistook my calmness for anger and grew more impatient.

“Brian, seriously. You can’t expect me to stop taking romantic roles just because I’m with you.”

When I didn’t respond, she turned around, intending to shut my laptop. But her hand froze when she saw the words on the screen: Wedding Plans.

It was supposed to be our wedding. Yet from start to finish, she hadn’t been involved at all—not even in picking out her dress. I’d handled everything, only to realize I was the only one looking forward to it.

For a split second, guilt flickered across her face. When she spoke again, her voice was softer.

“I’ve just been so busy with rehearsals lately. Once this is over, I’ll make it up to you, okay?”

Busy. Too busy to come home, but not too busy to stay out drinking all night with her friends.

Was she underestimating how much I noticed… or just didn’t care?

But I didn’t want to argue anymore. I simply nodded and said, “Alright.”