"No way, Chloe—did you find out I was coming here tonight and deliberately wait for me?"

I looked up.

Simon stood in front of me with his arm wrapped around a girl in a cropped top.

They had just arrived, with a server leading the way.

The girl clung to Simon and pouted. "Who’s she?"

Chewing gum, Simon smirked, his usual careless demeanor on full display.

"Just an ex from some backwater town who likes to act all high and mighty."

The girl covered her mouth and giggled before turning to the server.

"I thought this was supposed to be the most exclusive restaurant in town, only open to elite members. Since when did they start letting just anyone walk in?"

Her gaze drifted to my table, eyeing the oysters and caviar.

She leaned into Simon and whispered, "That must’ve cost a fortune."

Simon tilted his head and lazily reminded the server, "You might want to keep an eye on this one. She’s from the countryside—first time in a place like this. Wouldn’t be surprised if she tried to dine and dash."

The young server broke into a nervous sweat, caught in an awkward situation.

But I could see right through Simon’s little game.

I set down my utensils, wiped my hands with a warm towel, and calmly said, "Simon, being obnoxious isn’t a survival skill. You don’t need to use me to feel relevant."

The girl scoffed. "Wow, you’re really trying to provoke him just to get his attention, aren’t you?"

It was almost laughable how ridiculous people could be.

The server looked like she was about to step in when Noah returned.

Without a word, he walked straight to my side.

Dressed in a perfectly tailored dark suit, the sharp lines accentuated his broad shoulders and lean waist.

Noah looked down at Simon with an air of quiet authority, his voice low and icy.

"Just because you have some money in your pocket and a bit of fame, you think that gives you the right to trample on other people’s dignity?

"Mr. Jones, do you really think acting like this makes you impressive?"

Simon swept his gaze over Noah from head to toe, his eyes filled with nothing but mockery and disdain.

"And who are you?"

I stood up from my seat, casually linking my arm through Noah’s.

With a smile, I looked straight at Simon.

"Let me formally introduce you—He’s Noah Wells, my boyfriend."

Simon’s expression instantly darkened.

His eyes locked onto our intertwined fingers, and for a moment, hesitation flickered across his face.

However, that hesitation was quickly drowned by a wave of anger that spread through him like wildfire.

"I should’ve known, Chloe. You spent all this time following me around like a lapdog, and now, all of a sudden, you’ve grown a spine?"

His gaze turned sharp as he glared at Noah. "How long have you even known this pretty boy? You’re dumping me for him?"

Noah cut him off before he could finish.

"I’m Chloe’s first love."

It was as if an invisible force had sucked the air from the room, making every breath feel heavy and slow.

Simon’s lips pressed into a tight, thin line.

Something clicked in his mind, and his entire expression shifted.

He finally understood.

The way he looked at me now—it was pure, unfiltered rage, as if he wanted to tear me apart.

Just then, a group of security guards strode in from outside.

They lined up neatly, their presence imposing.

Then, in perfect unison, they dipped their heads respectfully toward Noah.

"Mr. Wells."

The room fell silent.

Even Simon and those around him looked stunned.

And for a moment, even I was caught off guard.

Noah pulled me into his arms, his grip firm, his gaze icy as he stared Simon down.

It was a silent declaration of ownership.

"Throw these two out.”

"Yes, sir."

The security guards surged forward.

Simon had never been humiliated like this before.

He pointed a finger at them, his tone laced with fury.

"You guys dare lay a hand on me? Go ahead, try it!"

The girl clung to Simon’s back, trembling, but still managed to put on a defiant front.

"Do you even know who he is? He’s Simon Jones, a famous artist, a big name in the industry! If you touch him, I guarantee you’ll be all over the news tomorrow, getting dragged through the mud!"

However, the security guards didn’t waste time arguing.

Seeing that Simon and the girl were resisting, they didn’t bother with pleasantries.

A few guards seized them, effortlessly hoisting them off the ground before tossing them out the restaurant’s front door, their limbs flailing midair.

The girl’s relentless screaming only drew more attention, gathering a crowd of onlookers.

Dozens of phones were raised, capturing the scene, and within no time, the footage spread online.

In less than an hour, the video of Simon being thrown out of the restaurant hit the top trending spot.

…

On the way home, I sat in the passenger seat, scrolling through the comment section.

Some people did not hesitate to call Simon out:

"I’ve been fed up with him for ages. Just because he can paint a few strokes, he thinks he’s a genius. Always acting like a diva, showing up late and leaving early like it’s a privilege."

"Simon has zero respect for others. When we collaborated with his company for an art exhibition, my coworker accidentally placed one of his paintings in the wrong spot. He berated her in front of everyone. The poor girl was so shaken she fell sick for days."

Someone even posted a video of Simon losing his temper, cursing while the girl in the footage sobbed helplessly.

Public opinion turned against him in an instant.

His reputation crumbled.

But I knew better.

Simon’s PR team was airtight—nothing ever leaked unless someone made sure it did.

There was only one explanation.

Noah had orchestrated and planned it all.

I put my phone down and turned to look at him as he drove.

"Thank you, Mr. Wells, for standing up for me."

Noah’s expression darkened.

Reaching over, he pinched my nose hard. "Try calling me that again, and you’ll regret it tonight."

"Mmmph…" I let out a small, defeated whimper like a scolded pet.

It wasn’t until tonight that I realized Noah was a shareholder in the restaurant.

…

We sped home, the car slicing through the night.

The moment we stepped inside, Noah didn’t waste a second.

He pinned me against the wall, kissing me intensely.

Buttons flew from my shirt, scattering across the floor.

The motion-sensor light at the entry flickered on, then off, then on again, struggling to keep up with us.

He kissed me endlessly.

By the time he pulled away, I was weak in his arms, unable to catch my breath.

His rough fingertips brushed over my mouth, his warm breath fanning my face as his dark eyes held mine for a long, intense moment.

"Chloe, do you know what I was thinking about the whole drive here? I kept wondering… did Simon ever kiss you like this?"

He pushed my hair from my forehead, his lashes lowering, heavy with desire. "Just picturing you with him drives me insane. I swear, I could kill him for it…

"So, tell me, Chloe—why did you choose him?"

Noah’s gaze bore down on me, half-lidded, carrying an almost suffocating sense of danger.

I pressed a helpless palm against him, my voice a whisper.

"Because… his side profile looks a lot like yours.

"When I heard you were engaged, I broke down. And then you disappeared. I had no way of reaching you.

“At the same time, my grandmother was gravely ill, and the weight of everything crushed me.

“My hair started falling out in clumps, and every night, I needed sleeping pills just to get a few hours of rest.

"Noah, I wanted to go overseas and find you. But my grandmother was in the hospital. She needed me."

My shoulders trembled as tears spilled over, blurring my vision.

"And then Simon showed up. It was like I was drowning, and he was the only thing keeping me afloat. He became my anchor, my last grip on sanity. Just seeing him felt like having you close again.

"I knew it was wrong. I knew he wasn’t right for me. But I just wanted to survive. That was all—I just wanted to survive."

Before I could say another word, Noah bent down and kissed me hard.

Tears mixed between us, salty and warm, bleeding into the kiss.

He choked back a sob, murmuring over and over, "I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…"

He lifted me into his arms and gently laid me down on the bed.

Pinned beneath him, I felt his kiss traced all over my body.

His hand slid along my leg, fingertips brushing against my skin.

A shiver ran through me, completely out of my control.

That night, Noah lost himself completely.

But not once did he mention why he had disappeared for two years.

And I didn’t dare ask—afraid that if I did, this fragile moment of happiness would shatter.

…

For the next two weeks, aside from work, I was practically glued to Noah’s side.

When he worked late, I sat quietly by his desk, reading.

When he had free time, I dragged him to food stalls, making him try every kind of street food.

After dinner, we drove to the beach.

Like when we were kids, we chased each other along the shore, laughter ringing through the night.

Standing in the shallow tide, I held my canvas shoes in one hand while splashing seawater at Noah with the other.

He wasn’t quick enough to dodge, and his shirt was drenched in an instant.

Feigning annoyance, he strode toward me with purpose and threw me over his shoulder.

I kicked my legs in the air, squirming. "Okay, okay! I was wrong! Noah, put me down!"

He smacked my backside playfully. "Save your strength. You’ll need it later."

The full moon hung high, casting silver light over the waves.

Outside the car window, the tide rolled in, crashing against the shore in rhythmic waves.

But it was nothing compared to the storm inside the backseat.

Fingers intertwined, breath mingled, Noah traced his teeth over my earlobe, his voice hoarse as he whispered over and over, "Chloe, I love you."

…

On the fifth day of Noah’s business trip, I got a call from one of Simon’s buddies.

"Chloe, you need to come to the hospital. It’s Simon… he got into a fight at a bar tonight, and now he’s in the emergency room. He was unconscious, but the whole time, he kept calling your name."

I was standing at a jewelry counter in a department store, picking out a watch for Noah.

Without missing a beat, I handed the one I chose to the sales associate. "This one, please. Thank you."

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line.

"Chloe? Are you listening?"

I turned, leaning back against the counter. "If he’s still in the ER, then you guys should stay with him. I’m not a doctor. I can’t save him even if I go.

"And one more thing—don’t ever call me about Simon again. I don’t care."

With that, I ended the call.

After paying for the watch, I left the store in a good mood.

On the way home, I even stopped by the supermarket to pick up groceries.

Noah was coming back tonight.

I wanted to cook for him myself.

…

Around seven, the doorbell rang.

I rushed out of the kitchen to open the door with a smile.

But the moment I saw who was standing there, my smile froze.

It was Noah’s mother, Grace White.

…

The living room was eerily silent, the only sound was the rhythmic tick-tock of the clock on the wall.

Grace sat on the sofa, idly twisting the massive diamond ring on her middle finger as her sharp gaze swept over the room, taking in every detail.

I carefully poured a glass of warm water and set it down on the coffee table in front of her.

"Miss Sanders, have a seat. We need to talk."

Her presence was commanding, leaving little room for argument.

I lowered myself onto the sofa across from her, my hands stiff in my lap, feeling uncharacteristically uneasy.

Without a word, she reached into her orange Hermès bag and pulled out a document, sliding it toward me.

"This is Noah and Sharon’s marriage certificate."