For some reason, be it guilt or something else, Isabelle actually stayed home for the entire day. She even cooked a full spread herself.

While we were eating, my advisor, Professor Patrick White, sent me a message. I meant to convert it to text, but I accidentally hit play instead.

"Your application has been approved, Nathan. You can depart on the 11th."

Isabelle keenly caught the keywords. "What application? Are you transferring somewhere else?"

I calmly explained, "No. My colleague asked for my help with submitting an application for him. My advisor probably mistook it for mine."

I casually typed "Okay" and sent the message before putting my phone down.

Isabelle scooped up some food and placed it on my plate. She sounded somewhat regretful as she said, "Then your colleague wouldn't be able to attend our wedding. You should hand him the wedding favor in advance when you see him."

I smiled bitterly to myself.

It wasn't just my colleague who wouldn't be attending the wedding. I wouldn't be attending it either.

…

The next morning, Isabelle woke up early to get ready and dragged me out of bed. I looked at the calendar in confusion, unable to recall what was special about today.

She tapped my head lightly with a makeup brush. "Silly. Did you forget that we'll be taking our wedding photos today?"

I would've almost forgotten about the wedding photos myself if Isabelle hadn't mentioned it.

I had originally planned to surprise her and book this extremely popular photo studio half a year in advance. When she found out, she scolded me for making my decisions on my own, saying that taking photos like that was pointless and a waste of money.

For a while, I even blamed myself for not understanding her feelings.

But later, I found a stack of photos of Isabelle and Shawn in various styles behind her trophy.

So it wasn't that she refused to take photos like that. She just didn't want to take them with me.

But this studio didn't allow cancellations, so the matter was left unresolved to the point that it completely slipped my mind.

…

On our way there, Isabelle hesitated before saying, "Shawn wants to be the best man at our wedding."

A mocking smile appeared on my face. So the reason she'd agreed to take wedding photos with me was just to get my approval for Shawn to be the best man.

But I didn't care anymore. He could be the groom for all I cared.

"Sure. I'll leave it up to you," I said.

Isabelle's face lit up instantly. She continued, "Since he's my stage partner, his best man's suit can't be the same as the others. And it can't be cheap either. It should be about the same quality as your suit."

She might as well have just told me to give Shawn the groom's suit instead.

I nodded. "Alright. I'll custom order one for him later."

When we arrived at the pre-booked venue, Isabelle received a phone call. Her expression turned serious, and her eyes stayed fixed on her phone.

I asked her what was wrong, but she quickly hid her phone behind her back and pushed me away irritably.

She snapped, "Can you stop being so possessive? Am I not even allowed to talk to my friends normally? Go get your makeup done first. I'll come in a bit."

But Isabelle didn't show up once everything was ready, and her phone went unanswered.

The staff looked at each other helplessly, unsure what to do. It was also the photographer's first time encountering such a situation.

He glanced at me cautiously, worried that I might lose my temper. "Are we still continuing with the shoot?"

But I remained calm, having expected this outcome. Earlier, Isabelle's phone screen had shown her chat with Shawn.

"Let's continue. It would be a shame not to take photos in such a beautiful place," I replied.

After all, I would be leaving this city soon. These photos would be my last memories.

Since Isabelle had taken the car, I had to ride back in the equipment truck afterward. I looked completely disheveled, squeezed between piles of shooting gear.

Still, I was grateful they gave me a ride. Otherwise, I had no idea how long it would've taken me to get down the mountain in such a remote place.

After I got home, I contacted the editor for the wedding video. "Sorry, but the groom for the wedding has changed. I'll have to trouble you to re-edit the video."

Then I sent over more than 10 gigabytes of videos and photo materials.

To my surprise, the editor replied quickly. "These two are the real couple, right? The previous pair looked like they had a grudge against each other. There's so much distance between them in every photo—no chemistry whatsoever. It was a nightmare to edit!"

Even a stranger could tell who Isabelle was truly close to. Did she really not realize it herself?

It wasn't until the afternoon that Isabelle finally messaged me to explain. "Shawn's sick. We have performances coming up the next few days, so I can't just leave him alone."

It was a clumsy lie. Just a few hours earlier, I had come across Shawn's social media post with the caption, "Helping a friend escape her controlling boyfriend." The photo showed two hands making peace signs.

Isabelle said, "You should make another appointment with the studio. We can just retake the wedding photos another time."

There was no need to make another appointment for a retake. We weren't getting married.

But I still replied to Isabelle. "Got it. Just focus on your rehearsals."

I watched as the "typing…" indicator appeared and lingered for a long time. She probably hadn't been expecting this kind of response from me.

In the end, Isabelle only replied, "You too."

…

Isabelle didn't contact me again over the next few days, but she kept updating her social media.

Most of her posts were about daily rehearsals, the low-fat meals she ate to stay in shape, and little snippets of her daily life.

It was as if she were deliberately posting them for me to see. So I did exactly what she wanted and liked all her posts.

At the same time, I kept myself busy. I organized the materials I had accumulated over the years and donated the extra things in the house.

The roses I had cultivated in the greenhouse were in full bloom. I cut every single one of them, arranged them into two bouquets, and knocked on Professor White's office door.

"Thank you for your guidance all these years, Professor White. These flowers are for you," I said.

Professor White looked surprised. "I remember when you first planted them, you said you were saving them for someone important when they finally bloomed."

A faint ache spread through my chest. I joked, "You're someone important to me."

We both knew it was a lie, but neither of us said anything more.

Professor White looked down and admired the fully bloomed roses. "They've blossomed beautifully. My wife will definitely like them."

After bidding him goodbye, I went to the orphanage I had grown up in and gave the other bouquet to Ms. Portia Leannard, the director. I arrived just as the children were playing in the courtyard.

My phone buzzed with a reminder notification. I dismissed it without even looking, switching my phone to silent.

I sat down in the courtyard and told Ms. Leannard that I was going to the northwest to grow roses.

Before she could respond, the children had already crowded around her, drawn to the flowers in her hands.

"So pretty!"

"They're beautiful!"

Ms. Leannard unwrapped the bouquet and handed the roses out to each of the children. One particularly bold child asked me, "Can you even grow roses in the northwest when it's all desert?"

I grinned mischievously and said, "Of course you can. Just wait and see."

"Wow, that's so cool!"

…

After leaving the orphanage, I took out my phone and saw that I had been bombarded with calls.

I answered the one that was still coming through and was met with a furious tirade the moment it connected.

"Nathan Justice, aren't you Isabelle's fiance? It's her 100th stage play and you didn't even show up. Not only that, you're not even sending her those lousy roses of yours anymore? She's truly unlucky to be marrying someone like you!"

Isabelle's friends were the ones who mocked me for giving Isabelle roses, and now they were angry that I hadn't brought any.

I held the phone slightly away from my ear and waited for the person on the other end to finish yelling. Then, I said, "I got busy and forgot. I'll transfer you some money. Just buy whatever you want yourself."

As I spoke, I opened her contact and sent her some money. After that, I didn't bother waiting for her reaction and simply hung up.

Even though the next day was supposed to be our wedding, Isabelle and her friends would most likely celebrate together tonight anyway.

By the time I finished checking my belongings and was about to leave, Isabelle pushed the door open. Her expression was cold as she shoved past me and headed straight to the bedroom.

I knew she was trying to start another cold war.

In the past, I had always been the one to give in whenever this happened. I had cared too much, so I tried everything just to coax Isabelle back.

And she would take advantage of that to make things even harder for me. After all, it was easy to push someone too far when you knew they wouldn't leave.

But now, I was tired.

The cab was already waiting for me downstairs. I picked up my suitcase and headed down.

At a glance, I saw Shawn leaning casually against his car, smiling at me. "I'm stealing your bride tonight. I'll return her tomorrow."

The provocation in his tone was obvious, but I no longer cared. I merely glanced at him indifferently before getting into the cab and leaving.

After getting into the car, I sent Isabelle one last message. "Congratulations on your wedding."

I wished Isabelle happiness with Shawn.