My childhood friend, who promised to marry me right after graduation, proposed to Jenna Dean—the pretentious heiress—on the very day of my graduation ceremony. Meanwhile, Axton Griffin, regarded by everyone in high society as the epitome of wisdom, confessed his love for me with grandiose flair right after the proposal went through.

For five years of marriage, he treated me with utmost care and affection, his tenderness seemingly genuine. That is, until I inadvertently overheard a conversation between him and his friend.

"Axton, now that Jenna's become famous, do you still need to keep up the charade with Sylvia?"

"Since I can't have Jenna, it doesn't matter anymore. Plus, as long as I'm here, she won't disrupt Jenna's happiness."

Every sacred text he cherished was inscribed with Jenna's name:

"May Jenna be freed from obsession; may her soul be at peace."

"May Jenna attain all she desires, and may her love be unwavering."

...

"Jenna, though fate hasn't united us in this life, may I hold your hand in the next."

Five years of illusion shattered in that instant. I devised a false identity and planned a drowning accident. From now on, we wouldn't have to meet again for an eternity.

Once the final arrangements were set for the faked death, I hung up the phone. In two more days, I would vanish forever as they wished. At that moment, a faint scent of coffee wafted in from outside. I instinctively looked up to find Axton Griffin.

He embraced me gently, his voice soft, "Who were you just talking to?"

"Nothing important, just something about the gallery," I replied, trying to sound casual.

He kissed the top of my head and murmured, "Why so busy lately? Tonight, I'll whip up something light for you, easy on the stomach."

Five years of marriage, and he treated me with unwavering tenderness. People say when he truly loves, it lasts a lifetime. I once thought this was my happiness. But now, I've realized this marriage wasn't my happiness—it was his way of shielding Jenna Dean.

Gently stroking my shoulder, Axton suddenly mentioned, "By the way, the Deans are hosting a Thanksgiving celebration tomorrow. Jenna's pregnant, and they're celebrating her entry into the international art exhibition. You don't need to go. I'll send a gift and come back to keep you company."

"But the art exhibition, I—"

He cut me off, his tone kind yet firm, "You shouldn't participate in the exhibition. Haven't you always said you wanted a child? It's a good time to rest at home."

I lowered my gaze, trying to hide the turmoil inside.

We've been married all these years without kids. I once thought it just wasn't the right time, but now I fear he never truly wanted them. Not letting me compete might just be his way of ensuring Jenna’s path remains clear.

He pressed a tender kiss to my forehead, seemingly unaware that my heart was sinking into the abyss.

"The day after tomorrow is your birthday. I've planned a surprise for you—a wish for eternal happiness."

Eternal happiness. I repeated the words under my breath, suddenly finding them unbearably hollow.

For years, every blessing from his lips contained the word "eternal," yet now I understood its true meaning. Those blessings were never meant for me.

"Alright, I've planned a few things myself for my birthday. Make sure you keep your schedule open for me."

He nodded, "Of course, whatever our dear Sylvia wants."

I looked up and smiled at him.

Axton Griffin, you really outdid yourself.

That night, unable to sleep, I gently moved the arm he'd draped over me. As I did so, I accidentally knocked his set of prayer beads to the floor.

Picking up the beads, I felt a strange texture on their surface. In the dim light, I examined them closely, only to discover each bead was inscribed with a word.

Jenna.

At that moment, my heart completely gave up.

The next morning, I said to Axton, "Let's go pay a visit to the Griffin family together."

He hesitated briefly before recovering his cool demeanor. "Alright, we'll drop off our gift and head back."

I knew he had reservations about me going, fearing I might upset Jenna. But I simply wanted to see my family one last time before leaving. After all, I'd be preparing to leave tomorrow.

When we arrived at the Griffin estate, the place was buzzing with guests celebrating Jenna’s pregnancy and her participation in an upcoming international art exhibition—two reasons to rejoice. Jenna was the center of admiration, showered with praise. Everyone seemed confident that the painting she submitted to the competition would win a major award. Someone even mentioned the painting had been paired with a beautiful poem by the poet Roberto Price, creating an unmatched piece of art.

As I walked in, Jenna’s expression shifted momentarily before she composed herself. Her smile was polite but dripping with sarcasm. "Oh, my sister is here? You seem to have plenty of spare time lately."

I ignored her jibe, focusing instead on the painting on display. It was a piece painfully familiar to me, a work I had completed years ago, tucked away in my private gallery, never shown to the public. How was my painting here? How did it become her "competition entry"?

Jenna watched me with a smirk, slowly approaching, her voice soft yet taunting. "Do you like this painting, sister?"

I shot her a cold glance, prepared to respond, when she suddenly let out a startled cry: "No—"

I barely had time to react before she staggered backward, clutching her belly, her face contorted in pain. The guests around her erupted into panic.

"What happened?!"

"Jenna’s pregnant; how could anyone bump into her!"

"Call a doctor, quick!"

Amid the chaos, I heard a voice filled with tension: "Jenna!"

Others might not recognize it, but I did instantly. It was Axton’s voice. The concern in his eyes was unmistakable, shattering my last hopes. When he noticed my gaze, Axton quickly composed himself, turning to me with gentle reproach in his tone. "Regardless, Jenna’s now lost the baby; you shouldn’t have pushed her."

Just then, news broke that the painting had advanced to the finals, with a high likelihood of winning the gold medal. Axton’s face radiated joy, a look I hadn't seen in the five years we were together.

I asked him quietly, "Why does Jenna’s painting look exactly like mine?"

He hesitated briefly but quickly regained his calm, feigning ignorance. "Maybe it's just a coincidence, perhaps her style mirrors yours..."

I let out a cold laugh, saying no more. That painting had been locked away in my private gallery, with the key held only by a select few. And the poem accompanying it—even using a pseudonym—the handwriting matched the script Axton had penned on countless occasions. The painting’s presence here left no doubt about who was responsible.

I had intended to give this painting to him as an anniversary gift for our fifth year. Reflecting on that now, it’s clear even our marriage was a façade, rendering the painting meaningless.

I smiled faintly, my tone so flat it betrayed no emotion. Axton seemed to sense something was off, hesitating before suggesting, "Why don’t we leave now? Go somewhere more relaxing."

I looked him in the eye, a small smile playing at my lips. "Let's take a yacht ride, sail through the night, and catch tomorrow's sunrise."

Once inside the car, he started talking about tomorrow's plans, "I've arranged a surprise for your birthday. Once we have some downtime, maybe we should think about starting a family."

I listened quietly, my eyes fixed on the passing scenery outside the window, saying nothing in return.

As the car began to move, his phone rang.

He answered, his forehead wrinkling slightly, his voice carrying a note of apprehension.

I looked at him, maintaining a calm tone, "If you need to take care of something, you should go."

He paused briefly, "Sylvia, I..."

"It's fine, I'll wait for you on the yacht," I said.

I didn't see the caller ID, but I knew only one person could provoke such a reaction from him.

Once on the yacht alone, I pulled out my phone and scrolled through Jenna Dean's Instagram.

A newly uploaded photo popped up, captioned: "Success is sweeter with someone by your side, sharing late-night cookies and having conversations just for you. Thanks for always looking out for me."

The comments overflowed with admiration: "Your hubby treats you so well!" "That's what it means to truly pamper your wife!"

Yet, my eyes were drawn to the hand in the photo.

The wrist was adorned with a familiar silver bracelet—Axton's.

I dialed his number, only for Jenna to pick up.

"So late, what does my dear sister want by calling me? Trying to reach Axton, perhaps?" Jenna's voice was thick with sarcasm.

"Give it up; he's not coming home tonight. Looks like my lovely sister can't keep a man. I've handed him over, and still, you can't manage."

I hung up without a word and told the yacht staff, "Let's set sail."

"Aren't we waiting for anyone else?"

Softly, I answered, "No need to wait. It's just me."

The yacht glided forward, cutting through the midnight sea towards the open water.

Standing alone at the bow, I stared at the stars above, the chilly wind biting at my skin as starlight danced across the waves.

He never returned that night.

I leaned against the deck, lost in thought, memories of the past five years flooding back.

His kindness, his presence, his promises... every memory felt like a shard cutting through my heart, coming together to form only a broken image.

All the pretense, all the lies, seemed absurdly laughable now.

Before dawn, I dialed his number one last time.

The phone was off.

Staring at the screen, I set the phone to upload the video evidence of my painting at a scheduled time.

Once that was done, I moved to the stern, glancing one final time at the breaking light of dawn.

Then, I jumped, plunging into the icy depths of the sea.

Meanwhile, Axton hurriedly left Jenna’s place, saying, "I have to go. Tomorrow's her birthday, and I promised her we'd watch the sunrise together."

Jenna blocked him, frustrated, "Axton, I need you now..."

Axton shook his head, "No, not today."

Just then, his assistant rushed to him.

"Mr. Griffin, your wife jumped off the yacht!"