The next morning, Orson prepared breakfast.

His eyes remained fixed on Maude, trying to read her expression. "Honey, last night was unbearable without you. Just 13 more days, and then I can finally marry you."

"You're right. 13 more days," Maude echoed, her gaze cold and unreadable.

"Orson, can you pass me some ravioli?" Imogen asked.

As Orson picked one up with his fork, Imogen leaned in and ate it straight from his hand.

He shot a glance at Maude. "Don't mind her. She's just playful like that."

Orson had always kept strict boundaries with other women, careful to avoid hurting Maude.

However, with Imogen, those boundaries seemed to vanish entirely.

"It's fine," Maude said, keeping her eyes down.

Orson was caught off guard.

"Honey, you—"

"Maude, do you even know what Orson used to be like?" Imogen cut in, her voice laced with defiance.

"He was a tough, stubborn guy, but he always listened to me. Whatever I wanted to eat, he learned to make it. He even remembered my menstrual cycle and planned surprises for me…"

Maude listened in silence, her throat tightening.

Suddenly, everything made sense.

The very things she had once admired in Orson were proof of how deeply he had loved Imogen.

"Immy, cut it out."

Orson's protest sounded half-hearted, his tone more yielding than commanding.

Maude's appetite vanished completely.

She stood up and went to her room to grab some documents.

When she returned, Orson was holding her phone.

"Someone from HR called," he said. "They want to know when you'll bring the handover documents. Didn't you already take time off for the wedding? What's left to hand over?"

Maude had used all her annual leave to secure a month-long break for the wedding.

"There were a few things I missed. I need to go in for a bit."

Orson didn't think much of it. "It's raining out. I'll come with you."

Maude held the folder close to her chest, her visa papers tucked safely inside.

It didn't matter whether he found out now or later. She never intended to hide it from him anyway.

The car ride passed in silence.

When they arrived at the office building, Orson opened an umbrella and walked Maude to the entrance.

His eyes stayed fixed on his phone as he replied to messages, his attention far away.

Still, he held the umbrella mostly over her, protecting her from the rain like he always had.

It turned out some acts of kindness were nothing more than mere performance.

Maude's gaze hardened as she watched him.

"Just hold on a little longer, Orson. This charade will end soon," she thought.

From the front doors, someone from HR stepped out to meet her.

"Maude, your visa documents for the overseas assignment…"

"Immy slipped and fell at home…"

Orson stopped walking abruptly, his heart pounding so hard that the HR officer's words barely registered.

"I need to go back—"

Before he could say more, Maude was already running through the rain toward the building's shelter.

She looked back at him calmly and said, "Go ahead."

Orson hadn't expected her to let him go so easily. He gazed at her, a flicker of unease stirring in his chest.

Just as he stepped forward, Imogen's call came through.

"It hurts," she whimpered.

Suddenly, every ounce of hesitation drained from Orson.

"I'll check on Immy first. Stay here. I'll come back for you later."

In the past, Maude would have believed those words without a second thought.

Now, she couldn't bring herself to trust them at all.

After handing over her documents to the HR officer, she signed the contract for the overseas assignment.

By the time she got home, two hours had already passed.

Orson finally called.

"Honey, something urgent came up at work, so I won't be able to pick you up. Could you take a cab home instead?"

At that moment, her phone lit up with a new photo.

It showed Orson and the supposedly "injured" Imogen walking arm in arm through a furniture store, looking like a newlywed couple.

Maude wasn't surprised by the broken promise. She replied calmly, "That's fine. Work comes first."

In the background, she caught the faint sound of a woman's laughter.

Orson shifted the phone away for a moment. After a pause, he said, "Call me when you get home, okay? Otherwise, I'll worry—"

Before he could finish, Maude hung up.

She carefully saved each photo one by one.

After putting her phone down, she began packing her bags.

Over the course of five years, Orson's gifts had piled up, occupying every corner of her room.

Maude photographed each item and listed them for sale online.

When it was all done, only a single ring remained.

It was handmade by Orson for their first anniversary.

She held the worn band up to the light. Two faintly engraved letters shone inside.

I F…

Imogen Fenwick.

After four years, the truth struck Maude like a thunderbolt, catching her completely off guard.

How laughable.

Even these gifts had never truly been meant for her.

Without hesitation, she threw the ring straight into the trash.

In the days that followed, Orson spent all his time with Imogen, steadily filling the house with new things.

Meanwhile, Maude's presence in the home faded as her belongings slowly disappeared.

Only eight days remained until the wedding.

When Maude returned from finalizing her visa, she found the two of them picking out wedding invitations together.

Imogen called her over, effortlessly slipping into the role of lady of the house. "Why don't you come take a look and pick one too?"

The invitations spread across the couch were the product of days of careful research by Maude, each one thoughtfully chosen.

She had once dreamed of making every detail of her wedding perfect.

"I'll pass," Maude said, brushing past them and heading to her room.

After all, those invitations weren't meant for her wedding anymore.

That evening, Imogen knocked on Maude's door.

"This is the invitation Orson chose. Do you know why he picked it?"

Maude took it from her and opened it.

The handwriting inside was unmistakably Orson's.

The groom's name was his.

However, the bride's name… was Imogen.

"He stood by me while I picked out the wedding dress. He was also the one who personally selected the hotel and took care of these invitations," Imogen said, a smug smile curling at the corners of her lips.

"You could say he planned every detail of this wedding for me.

"Even after all this, you still want to marry him? Is it worth it?"

Maude laughed. "So tell me… Why isn't he marrying you?"

Imogen went still. "Don't fool yourself, Maude. Even if he marries you, his heart will always belong to me."

She shook the cup in her hand deliberately.

Maude's eyes narrowed. It was one of the matching mugs she had painstakingly crafted for their wedding.

Even if the wedding was called off, it was still hers.

"Give it back."

As Maude reached out, Imogen crumpled to the floor.

The cup broke, scattering shards everywhere.

"What do you think you're doing?" Orson's voice echoed as he entered. Seeing what had happened, he shoved Maude to the ground.

Shards of ceramic dug into her palm, unleashing a sharp, burning pain.

"She broke my cup, I—"

"It's just a stupid cup, Maude. What does it matter if it's broken? You're being completely unreasonable."

Maude's words faltered as blood oozed from her wounded palm, dripping onto the floor.

"It hurts…" Imogen murmured, her voice trembling as Orson held her close.

Without hesitation, Orson scooped her up and rushed out the door.

"Don't worry, I'm here. I'll get you to the hospital."

Maude winced as pain radiated through her hand. Tears blurred her vision as she stared at the broken ceramic beneath her.

For five years, she had given all her love to Orson.

However, no matter who was at fault, Maude was always the one expected to give way to Imogen.

And just like that, the storm within her finally settled.

It wasn't that she wasn't enough.

It was that Orson was never worth it.

She threw the broken remnants of the cup into the trash, never once looking back.

That night, Maude slept peacefully.

The next morning, Orson sent her a message.

"I'm sorry, honey. Immy's mom and my mom are best friends. I promised I'd look after her. I was afraid something might happen. My mom already doesn't think well of you.

"Immy kept crying, and I couldn't just leave her alone at the hospital. That's why I didn't come home last night. Please don't read too much into it."

It was obvious he was still trying to play the victim.

Maude threw her phone aside, not wanting to respond.

That afternoon, Orson returned with Imogen.

After making sure Imogen was settled, he finally knocked on Maude's door.

"I didn't realize how badly you were hurt. I promise there won't be a next time."

Orson cradled her hand gently, mindful not to apply too much pressure.

Though the cut was shallow, the bloodstains scattered across her skin made it appear far worse.

Maude replied without much thought, her gaze fixed on the calendar as she marked off another day.

She had once filled that calendar with hope and excitement for their wedding day.

Now, the only thing she looked forward to was getting away.

"Maude, what happened to the cup?" Orson asked suddenly, his eyes locked on the trash bin.

Maude followed his gaze, saying nothing.

The silence between them thickened. Orson's concern edged into panic.

"You're not supposed to keep only one," he said. "That's bad luck. Next time, I'll come along and help you pick out a proper set."

"There won't be a next time."

"What?"

Though Orson didn't catch everything she said, a growing unease stirred within him.

"If you're feeling tired, let me take over. And if you don't like Immy, that's fine. After the wedding, I promise you won't have to see her again.

"Honey?"

Maude looked up as he took her hand.

"Why is your hand so cold? Are you feeling alright?"

His face was full of concern, worry etched deep in his eyes.

"I'll get you a blanket."

Orson hurried to the closet and opened it.

Half of it was empty. All of Maude's belongings were gone.

He spun around, his eyes sweeping the room.

It was only then that he realized the bedroom was nearly empty. Everything that had once filled it was gone.

His voice wavered, cracking with disbelief.

"Where are the gifts I gave you?

"Maude… Where are your clothes?"