Because of her first love's piano competition, my fiancee, Ashley Blake, postpones our wedding for the 17th time seven years into our relationship.

On the eve of the competition, she chops off my ring finger just because Marc Tyson claims I injured his hand and ruined his ability to compete.

The pain of losing my finger leaves me crying in agony, but she simply holds him in her arms and stares me down with indifferent eyes.

She says, "Stop pretending, Troy Clinton. You're a grown man. What's all this fuss over losing a finger? Besides, you merely lost one finger. Marc has lost the dream he spent his whole life chasing! This is what you owe him."

Her cruel words shatter my heart into tiny pieces.

She has forgotten that my fingers are also meant to dance across piano keys.

"The wedding next week is postponed," she says dismissively while covering Marc's reddened fingers.

She adds, "This has nothing to do with Marc. It's simply because you can't wear a wedding ring with a missing finger anyway."

Clutching my bleeding hand, I finally wake up to reality.

From this moment onwards, we owe each other nothing.

"Let's just call off the wedding..."

The pain shooting through my severed finger, combined with the blood loss, left my voice weak and hoarse.

Even so, both Ashley Blake and Marc Tyson turned toward me instantly.

The disdain in Ashley's eyes deepened.

"Are you playing hard to get again? Troy Clinton, I've seen all your little tricks before."

Winning the international piano competition was not only Marc's dream; it had been mine too. More importantly, it was my mother's dying wish.

Every second wasted here lowered the chances of reattaching my finger.

Bitterness flooded my chest. I no longer had the strength to argue with her. I staggered forward, trying to pick up the severed finger lying in the pool of blood.

Just as I was about to touch it, Marc rushed over and caught my wrist with an innocent look on his face.

The severed finger, still wearing the engagement ring, ended up directly beneath his shoe.

He looked at me guiltily, then raised the hand he had just purposely jammed in the door. "Troy, I know you never meant to injure my hand."

He lifted it slightly with a smile. "Look, it's just a tiny injury. I'm fine."

As he spoke, Marc shifted his weight casually. The hard sole of his leather shoe crushed my severed finger over and over.

"If you two turn on each other over me, then I'd really be the villain here."

By the end, he had even forced out a few fake tears.

Under any other circumstances, I might have admired his acting skills.

However, right now, I had no patience for it.

I stretched my bloody hand toward his ankle, but before I could even touch him, Marc suddenly cried out and stumbled backward dramatically.

"Marc!"

Ashley rushed over and caught him gently in her arms. Then, she turned to glare at me with a fiery look.

"Troy, don't be so vicious! Marc was only worried about you, and you actually pushed him?"

The air froze around us.

I stared at her in disbelief.

At that moment, the agony in my hand was nowhere near the pain tearing through my chest.

"Ash, Troy didn't push me. I just lost my balance. Don't blame him."

Marc's considerate tone softened Ashley's expression at once, filling her with sympathy.

"You're still defending him at a time like this? If I weren't here, who knows how badly he would bully you?"

Marc pursed his lips and looked at her gently. "Then, let me stay by your side forever, okay?"

Ashley smiled fondly and rubbed his hair before pulling his head against her chest.

"Okay."

My vision gradually blurred, but I still caught the smug provocation hidden deep in Marc's eyes.

Using the last of my strength, I trembled as I reached toward my severed finger again.

Ashley snapped back to attention and stepped hard onto the back of my hand.

"Apologize to Marc now," she said coldly, looking down at me from above.

Her tone left no room for argument.

When I remained silent, she pressed down harder. Agony shot up my arm and pierced straight into my heart.

"I told you to apologize!"

"Ash, forget it," Marc said, tugging gently at her sleeve. "I don't care about this. We should get Troy to the hospital first. He's lost so much blood. What if it affects his ability to play the piano in the future?"

Ashley let out a dismissive laugh.

"He's a grown man. It's just a little blood loss. What could possibly happen?"

My head sank into a fog of pain until I could no longer think.

Just before the darkness claimed me, I saw the woman who once promised to love me forever holding another man intimately in her arms as she said, "The world only needs one pianist. Marc is that one."

In my hazy state, I dreamed of the distant past.

Before the black and white keys, Ashley and I sat side by side, playing a four-hand piece together.

When the song ended, she took my hand gently and examined it with care. Admiration and love overflowed from her eyes.

"Troy, your hands are so beautiful. Promise you'll play the piano for me forever, okay?"

The music came to a sudden halt before I could even respond.

Her expression warped into something horrifying. Ignoring my desperate pleas, she raised a blade and chopped off my ring finger in one clean motion.

I jolted awake in terror, sitting upright with wide eyes.

A familiar scent lingered in the air.

It was my room. Beside the bed sat a framed photo of Ashley and me wrapped in each other's arms intimately.

As my mind gradually cleared, I immediately looked down at my right hand.

Aside from the thick layers of bandages, the place where my ring finger should have been was empty.

My heart sank. The very last shred of hope I had been clinging to shattered completely.

"Troy, you're awake?"

Ashley's voice came from beside me.

She sat at the edge of the bed, skillfully peeling an apple. The strip of peel remained perfectly unbroken as it slipped from her fingers.

Her eyes were filled with tenderness.

"I already had the doctor treat your wound. It's nothing serious."

She held the peeled apple out to me as if nothing had happened.

I stared at her without blinking.

A warm haze blurred my vision.

"What's wrong? Aren't apples your favorite?"

I looked down at the apple. The emotions raging inside me finally broke loose. I slapped it out of her hand.

The sudden movement stunned Ashley for a moment.

Then, she shot to her feet and screamed at me, "Troy, what the hell is wrong with you now?"

My chest tightened painfully. I raised my injured right hand and demanded in anger and despair, "You call this nothing serious? You knew I needed these hands to play the piano!"

Ashley rubbed her temples impatiently.

"So, now you remember that you need to play the piano? When you deliberately injured Marc's hand, did you ever consider that he was a pianist as well?

"Back then, he gave up everything he had built overseas just to help me search for a matching heart donor. He was looking forward to this competition more than anyone, yet you still..."

Ashley's lips flapped like a silent movie. The words were there, somewhere, but they died before they could reach me.

The heart beating inside her chest had been donated by my mother. What did that have to do with Marc?

"I never injured his hand. The heart inside your body was my..."

"Enough!" Ashley barked, cutting me off.

She frowned impatiently.

"Even now, you still won't admit it? I told you that Marc and I ended things a long time ago. The person marrying me next month is you, and only you. Why do you keep targeting him over and over again?"

Every explanation I wanted to give was crushed beneath her furious accusations.

The grievance inside me teetered on the verge of collapse. I clenched my pale fingers tightly and stared at her. My eyes burned, but I refused to let a single tear fall.

Ashley seemed to notice my emotions, and a flicker of guilt crossed her face.

She raised a hand, wanting to touch me, but I turned my head away.

"Where's my finger?"

Her hand paused mid-air beside my cheek.

"The doctor said it was detached for too long, so..."

She pulled me into her arms and gently said, "After we get married, you can just stay home. You won't need to play the piano anymore."

"Get out," I said flatly.

She didn't seem to hear me at all.

Only when I used every ounce of strength left in me to repeat it did she finally react.

"Get out!"

She shoved me hard.

"You're unbelievable! Marc would never behave like this," she snapped, then threw the apple peel right at my face.

"You are like your mother through and through—forever playing the victim."

Before I could say a single word in response, she slammed the door and stormed out.

The impact rattled our framed photo from the wall. It hit the floor with a crash, and fine cracks spiderwebbed across the glass.

After that fight, Ashley didn't come home for seven full days.

Not a single message from her ever lit up my phone. She never asked how I was doing.

Still, I knew exactly where she was.

Marc constantly updated me on everything the two of them did together.

Ashley accompanied him to see the cherry blossoms. She even organized a private concert for him beneath the blooming trees.

The two of them played the piano side by side in perfect harmony, looking every bit like a couple made for each other.

In the live clips, voices could often be heard praising them as a match made in heaven.

Ashley never denied it.

Marc simply looked proudly into the camera with a satisfied smile.

By the concert's finale, the two of them were locked in a passionate kiss onstage.

Marc's attached message read, "Troy, this is just standard etiquette abroad. Please don't read too much into it. I only wanted to let you know that Ash and I are doing great, so you don't need to worry."

Not long after, Ashley and Marc posted the same image on their social media feeds.

It showed a plaster hand mold of their fingers intertwined, with the caption, "For all my days, I ask only to walk hand in hand with the one my heart has chosen."

Marc's ring finger bore the pale indent of a ring.

However, the post was deleted almost immediately.

If this had happened before, I would have lost my mind calling Ashley. I would have demanded answers and vented every ounce of my hurt and anger.

However, now, I no longer cared.

The faint vibration of my phone pulled me back to reality.

"Mr. Clinton, this is the 18th time you and Ms. Blake have postponed the wedding. We've already rearranged the venue again. Would you still like to come personally to confirm the setup?"

Every time our wedding was postponed in the past, I felt a flicker of disappointment, yet I always managed to pull myself together soon after.

I used to dull the pain by telling myself that at least I was the man she would someday marry.

I threw myself into designing 17 weddings, believing each one might finally be the real one.

This time, I was done.

Just as I was about to reply, Ashley pushed the door open and walked in.

When she saw me sitting in the living room, she froze for a moment. Then, she took off her coat and hugged me from behind.

A faint scent of tobacco drifted toward me.

I never smoked because Ashley once told me she hated men who smoked.

"Sorry. Work's been really busy these past few days. How's your hand feeling?"

I casually shook my head.

Guilt flickered across her face as she gently took my injured right hand and blew softly against it.

"I'm sorry. I was too angry that day. Don't take it to heart, okay?"

I almost laughed bitterly at that.

"I brought you a gift," she said, then pulled out a gift box decorated with cherry blossom patterns.

Inside was a limited-edition watch.

If I remembered correctly, Marc had been wearing this exact watch yesterday.

Before I could refuse, Ashley had already fastened it around my wrist.

"Troy..."

She paused for a moment before saying, "Since your hand still hasn't recovered, maybe Marc could perform that new composition for you instead."

I watched her in silence.

Today, her eyes carried a softness that seemed almost too good to be true.

She looked just like the girl I had first met at the music exhibition all those years ago—the one who had looked at me with such genuine admiration.

Only now, that same tenderness existed for the man she had never truly let go of.

A self-mocking smile crossed my lips as I took the watch off and threw it back into the box.

"He can't play my composition."

As soon as those words left my lips, every trace of softness drained from Ashley's face.

"Can't play it? Don't act so high and mighty, Troy," she snapped. "If Marc can't play it, what makes you think a cripple like you can? I've already handed the composition to Marc. Whether you like it or not, he's going to play it."

I froze. My heart, which had already shattered beyond repair, felt completely crushed into dust.

The wound on my right hand split open from her rough shove, and fresh blood began to slowly seep through the bandages.

"If he wants to play it, then let him have it…" I murmured.

The second I said that, Ashley's mood brightened instantly.

"Troy, I swear—this is the last time. Marc gave up an international music award that was practically within his reach just to help me search for a matching heart donor. I owe him for that. You get it, right?"

A sharp pain pierced my heart. I didn't want to argue with her anymore.

I softly said, "Come with me to see Mom tomorrow."

She still owed Mom a thank you.

Ashley looked confused, but she eventually nodded in agreement.

Since I hadn't replied for a long time, the wedding planner called me directly.

I lowered my voice, steadying it as best I could. "I'm sorry, but the wedding is canceled. There's no need to prepare anything going forward."

Ashley walked out of the bathroom just then and asked casually, "No need to prepare what?"