Chapter 1

My boyfriend was a once-in-a-century artistic genius, while I couldn't even distinguish the most basic color schemes.

For seven years, he defended me in front of everyone—until that talented female artist named Quinn Snow appeared.

When I injured my leg and needed care, he spent the entire night helping Quinn revise her drafts.

When a thug followed me and I called him for help, he had to take Quinn's dog to the hospital first because it was having birth complications.

That day, when friends once again joked that he and Quinn were the perfect match,

Adrian no longer defended me like he used to. Instead, he smiled with regret in his eyes.

That evening, he even asked me at the dinner table:

"Why don't I ask Quinn to check with her doctor relatives to see if they can cure your color vision disorder?"

My hand froze while serving soup.

On the surface, Adrian was trying to save our relationship from an impending crisis.

But in reality, he had already fallen for another woman.

That's why he was starting to notice and resent my mediocrity.

I didn't answer Adrian's question. Instead, I smiled bitterly and asked him:

"Why do you always bring up Quinn Snow in front of me?"

Adrian froze for a moment, guilt flickering across his face. He explained:

"You know, right now she's the only one who can compete with me..."

Proud as Adrian was, he never would have explained himself like that before.

He used to say:

"Cece, my world only has paintbrushes and you. I don't have energy for anyone else."

But now, Adrian hadn't even realized it.

Quinn Snow's place in his heart had actually moved ahead of mine.

When I injured my leg and needed care, he spent the whole night helping Quinn revise her drafts.

When a thug followed me and I called him for help, he had to take Quinn's dog to the hospital first.

When I confronted him, he coldly retorted.

He said he didn't care about Quinn—he cared about art and life.

But Adrian, I told you long ago.

I can't tolerate even a grain of sand in my eyes.

Adrian's bluster completely ended when I showed him photos of him and Quinn embracing.

His expression changed, as if I had deeply betrayed his trust:

"You followed me?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he realized his reaction was excessive and hastily tried to cover it up:

"Quinn was drunk that time. I was just supporting her..."

Watching Adrian's clumsy performance, I forced down the ache in my chest and decided to fight for him one last time:

"If you still want to be with me, delete all of Quinn Snow's contact information and never see her again."

After hearing my words, Adrian first stared at me darkly for a while.

Then he stood up and, without warning, overturned the dishes onto the floor:

"All you do every day is cook and clean! You have zero connection to my art and can't understand the mutual appreciation between geniuses at all!"

"I've tolerated your mediocrity and incompetence, yet you want to interfere with my life ideals and social life!"

I said nothing, quietly looking at the shattered dishes on the floor.

Just like looking at the end of my relationship with Adrian.

His crazed expression was too ugly, too unfamiliar.

In those seven years of dating,

Adrian had always been cold and indifferent.

Aside from painting and me, he didn't care about anyone or anything else.

He had never been like this—jumping up in rage, face contorted—as if I were taking away his most treasured possession.

I crouched down, touching a ceramic shard, my tone as calm as if discussing the weather:

"Adrian, let's break up."