Chapter 3

The pool water was stained mostly red.

I stared at the screen for ten long seconds, then grabbed my car keys and left.

When I arrived at the bathhouse’s private room, shrill laughter greeted me.

Cassandra lounged in a chair, wrapped in a towel, half a glass of fruit wine dangling from her hand, a smug smile curving her lips.

Her friends erupted into laughter the moment I opened the door.

“Look who it is—the great lover Lucas! So quick! Didn’t you run a red light?”

“See, Cassandra? I told you he couldn’t let you go.”

“Just pour some red wine in the pool next time; you’ll trick him even faster!”

Cassandra stood and sauntered over, her tone light, almost teasing.

“Since you’re so worried about me, I’ll forgive you this time.”

I said nothing, my gaze fixed firmly on her.

The door opened again. Derek stepped in, carrying a bag of milk tea. He walked straight to Cassandra, producing a cup. His voice was honeyed, smooth enough to drip:

“Cassandra, iced drinks aren’t good for you during your period, so I ordered it room temperature.”

She took it, her smile instantly softening, a touch of shyness coloring her cheeks.

“Thank you, Derek, you’re so thoughtful.”

The girls around them whispered and giggled, eyes wide with envy.

“Look at Derek! So considerate!”

“Exactly! Better than a serious boyfriend who’d just make Cassandra angry.”

“Cassandra, you really need to rethink—he might not be the best match!”

Derek’s gaze flickered toward me. He gave a flawless smile, but his eyes were sharp, venomous under the surface.

“Lucas, you’re here too?” His tone was familiar, casual, yet his gaze lingered pointedly on my clothes before settling on my watch.

“Such good taste in this outfit… and this watch. Cassandra always has an eye for fine things.”

Soft words, like knives cloaked in silk. Every compliment on items I once cherished—some of which Cassandra had given me during our engagement—was a subtle reminder: they had perhaps already passed through her hands, now shaded by another man.

Cassandra seemed blissfully unaware. Flattered by Derek, she took his arm and glared at me with mock severity.

“Lucas’s taste is truly awful. If it weren’t for my guidance, our wedding room would have looked ridiculous. He’s so petty and inconsiderate.”

Derek placed a hand gently on hers, his expression calm and understanding.

“Cassandra, don’t say that. Lucas’s just conservative… a little careless. He actually loves you very much.”

Each word he spoke “excused” me, yet simultaneously tightened the noose. My position felt more desperate, more exposed.

My best friends shook their heads quietly. I watched the scene unfold, detached.

Cassandra nestled against Derek, smiling genuinely, her dependence on him clear. And suddenly, I wanted to laugh—not at them, but at myself. Laugh at my gullibility. Laugh at my endless tolerance, my repeated willingness to believe the lies.

Derek’s voice broke the moment, calm, measured.

“Lucas, I understand why you argued with Cassandra.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“Because I lent you something without asking?”

He looked at me squarely, unflinching, without a hint of guilt or evasion.