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?"

"Nothing important. I was just telling them to cancel the release prep for my new composition," I said.

She smiled faintly, then leaned down and pressed a kiss on my earlobe.

"On Marc's behalf, I thank you."

I woke in the dead of night to the shrill sound of Ashley's phone. After ending the call, she left in a hurry.

I stopped her. "Where are you going this late?"

"There's an emergency at the company," she said.

What emergency could the company possibly have?

Marc probably just couldn't sleep.

She grabbed her car keys and headed for the door. I didn't expose her pathetic lie. Instead, I reminded her calmly, "Don't forget. We're visiting Mom tomorrow."

"What's the rush? It's not like a dead person's going anywhere," she replied irritably.

However, the moment she noticed the umbrella I was holding out to her, the anger on her face faded instantly.

"I... I'll be back soon. Wait for me by the roadside later. I'll come pick you up."

After Ashley left, I lay awake tossing and turning until dawn.

Then, I waited by the roadside until noon.

She never came.

As I listened to the automated recording saying the call couldn't be connected, a deep exhaustion washed over me completely.

Just as I was preparing to head to the suburbs alone, my phone buzzed with a message from the bridal boutique.

"Mr. Clinton, the suit and wedding gown have been altered according to your requests. Do you have time to stop by and take a look?"

At first, I wanted them to handle it themselves.

However, after thinking about how much effort I had personally poured into the designs, I still wanted to see the final result at least once.

What I never expected was to run into Ashley and Marc there. Worse, Marc was wearing the suit I had designed myself.

Dressed in a wedding gown, Ashley held his hand while the staff guided them through photo after photo.

They looked exactly like a happy couple who were about to walk down the aisle together.

In front of the camera, they exchanged rings.

As I watched Ashley slip the wedding ring onto Marc's finger, the empty spot on my own right hand—where my finger once was—began to ache faintly.

Yet, my heart, long since numbed by pain, no longer stirred.

After staring blankly at them for a while, I turned to leave.

"Stop right there."

He stood with his arms crossed, looking at me with open, undisguised smugness.

"You really are a copycat, aren't you? You copy the way I play the piano and the way I dress. You're only copying me to steal my girlfriend. Even that suit design mirrors my style."

He proudly showed off the custom suit he was wearing.

"What a shame. Nobody genuinely falls for a replacement. See? All I had to do was crook a finger, and everything you had became mine."

My gaze swept over the oversized suit pinned awkwardly in place with clips, and I let out a faint smile.

"As long as you're happy."

I turned to leave again, but he grabbed my arm.

"Hey, don't get so worked up. It was just a joke," he said, flashing a lazy grin. "Besides, I've never been the type to take what belongs to someone else. See? I even prepared a wedding gift for you and Ash."

He handed me a square box.

I looked at him suspiciously.

Suddenly, he laughed as if he had just remembered something.

"Ah, right. My bad. I forgot you're disabled now."

He smiled brightly. "It's okay. I'll open it for you."

He personally opened the gift box, revealing the plaster hand mold of him and Ashley with their fingers intertwined.

"What do you think? It's quite lovely, isn't it?"

His smile widened. "Ash even said she wishes to walk hand in hand with me into old age. Oh, right. Don't you think this ring looks familiar?"

Following his gaze, I looked at the sculpture.

The ring engraved on it was the exact design I had personally created for Ashley and me.

My chest tightened violently.

Marc smiled smugly before pulling a necklace out from beneath his shirt.

It was carved from bone.

To be more precise, it was made from my finger bone.

My eyes widened. My hand trembled as I reached toward it, while Marc deliberately turned his hand, letting the engagement ring glint before my eyes.

"Here's the thing—your finger didn't have to end up like this. It could've been reattached."

He smiled, savoring every word. "But Ash had other ideas. She insisted on making it into a keepsake for me. She said it would bring me luck.

"Oh, and she also said if your mother hadn't treated her so well before she died, she would've kicked you to the curb a long time ago. Even in death, that dead old hag of a mother of yours still has to…"

With a dull thud, my fist came down squarely on his face.

Marc stared at me in disbelief.

"Are you insane? How dare you hit me?"

Without paying him any attention, I tore the necklace right off his neck.

Just then, footsteps echoed from behind us.

Marc's eyes flickered instantly. In the next second, he dramatically fell backward onto the floor, smashing the sculpture along with him.

"Troy, what are you doing?"

Ashley quickly stepped forward and helped Marc up, then glared at me with fury.

Marc wiped the blood from the corner of his mouth. "Ash, I only wanted to give Troy a gift. I didn't expect him to get angry."

Ashley's eyes landed on the shattered fragments. She hesitated for just a second, then her face turned cold again as she fixed her gaze on me.

"You will apologize to Marc before I lose my patience."

I looked at her coldly.

The displeasure on her face deepened.

"What? You don't plan to apologize? Do you intend to postpone our wedding yet again?"

The threat in her voice made me laugh out of nowhere.

I looked at her with utter disappointment, then I raised my left hand and slapped her hard across the face.

"My bad. I was so busy hitting him that I forgot to hit you."

As she looked at me in shock, I continued calmly, "And for the record, the wedding isn't postponed. It's canceled."