I am Bella Beaumont, the top-ranked beauty professor at the Academy of Fine Arts. Tobias Dorne often boasts about having me as his wife.

The year I accompanied him on an artistic fieldwork, I slipped and fell off a cliff, leaving a two-inch scar on my right cheek. I was depressed over my disfigurement, but he claimed to love my soul more than my appearance. Isn't this what people call true love?

If I hadn't seen that scene in the studio, I would have continued to believe:

The delicate and beautiful model, Clara Chandler, straddling him, her moans like the rippling spring water, waves rising and falling. Tobias's voice was hoarse, his eyes infatuated, "Honey, you’re so beautiful."

He was facing away from the door, unaware that I witnessed the entire affair with tears in my eyes. He didn't know that the scar beneath my bandages had completely healed, and I came today to let him see for himself. But now, suddenly, I don't want to tell him.

The lustful sounds in the studio took long to cease. Tobias coldly said something to Clara, dressed, and left first. I’ve seen that girl before. Back when she interviewed as a model, Tobias repeatedly sought my opinion.

Now that I think about it, he wasn't seeking approval. He merely wanted his "disfigured" wife to admit verbally that the girl he found was beautiful.

After the artistic fieldwork incident, he threw away all the mirrors at home, claiming it was to protect me from sadness. He said doing things with the lights off created a better atmosphere, hugging from behind felt closer, and wearing masks during our walks was best due to air pollution.

I’ve struggled with this internal torment for two years. Now, looking at Clara’s flawless face, I suddenly realize that it wasn’t love torturing me but lies.

My heart ached, choking me. I curled up in the dark corner of the corridor, tears flooding. Through the chaos in my mind, I sensed the door to the studio open. Instinctively, I wanted to hide, but there was Clara, wrapped only in a blanket, stepping out.

The woman who had just pulled at Tobias’s shirt begging him to stay a little longer now stared at me with eyes like poison daggers. She approached and without a word slapped me across the face.

Meeting my furious gaze, she smirked and turned away. The blanket slipped, revealing her smooth back, marred by a myriad of red marks and an image Tobias meticulously drew with lipstick – my portrait!

Clara’s voice dripped with venom and self-mockery, “How does it look, Bella? Beautiful, right?”

She crouched down slowly, her gaze chilling, “Are you proud? Tobias despises me for being a bar girl. Even while he’s making love to me, he can’t forget about you!”

“I’ve been Tobias’s model for so long – to undress, to use, at his beck and call.”

“He says it’s been a long time since he touched you. So, I should be called Mrs. Dorne!”

“Why should I be a stand-in for you, the ugly monster?”

Her teeth ground loudly, her words deliberate, “He’s been waiting for your face to heal so he can kick me out! But you can forget about that; I will ruin you completely.”

I stared at her twisted face, speechless. I should have guessed long ago.

Tobias is an extreme perfectionist, seeking the union of spirit and flesh. Because my body was damaged, he found her; because her soul didn’t match, he couldn’t let me go.

Pain turns to clarity; rather than continuing this endless entanglement among the three of us, maybe it's best to let them have each other.

Eight years ago when I was attending the School of Fine Arts, Tobias and I were the perfect couple in everyone's eyes.

I was radiant and my painting had a unique charm and spirit; He was an untouchable diva, but only had passionate and ardent feelings for me.

After graduation, we both stayed on as faculty, and it was natural for us to get married.

For his proposal, he arranged roses of various shades to form my portrait, moving many of our junior classmates to tears.

Throughout the years, we have been the “legendary couple” everyone admired and envied.

But who could've predicted we would end up like this...

The cold touch of the paint brought me back to reality.

I sat at home, staring at the grotesque scar I had to repaint in the mirror, finding it deeply ironic.

If I hadn't pushed him away when the rocks started sliding, would I have fallen off the cliff? Would my life be any less bitter?

I had just finished cleaning the art supplies when Tobias returned.

His glance shifted to the right side of my face, and as expected, a flash of disgust crossed his eyes.

“Is your scar getting worse? Haven’t you been getting treatments?” he asked, his voice filled with concern, but he averted his gaze while pretending to change his shoes.

I gave a bitter smile, “The scar tissue is growing back. The doctor said it's incurable.”

“What? How can that be!” He walked closer, now showing some urgency.

Placing the dinner plate opposite me, he moved to sit on my left, where he couldn’t see the scar. Only then did he relax.

Plop.

A tear fell into my food, startling Tobias.

“It’s okay, honey. Don’t be sad, it can definitely be treated,” he said tenderly, holding my hand, but his words sounded more like he was trying to convince himself, “You will still be beautiful.”

He pulled me into his embrace, and the faint scent of Clara's perfume filled the air.

I heartlessly decided to test him, gripping his shoulders and staring straight at him.

The scar on my right cheek was suddenly brought sharply into focus, right up close.

Tobias jerked back, as if fed a rat.

His tenderness vanished.

He realized his mistake and awkwardly handed me a tissue.

“We’ll ask the doctor about the scar the day after tomorrow. Let’s rest early tonight, I’m a bit tired. I want you to accompany me to an art exhibition tomorrow afternoon.”

With that, he walked briskly to the bathroom, locking the door behind him.

If he had just looked closely earlier, he would have noticed the scar was fake.

...Fine.

Tobias Dorne, you’ve made your choice clear once again.

The next morning, I feigned despair, wandering around in a daze.

Tobias appeared outwardly tender and caring, but the frustration in his eyes betrayed him.

At the gallery entrance, he was about to help me put on a mask as usual, but I pretended to forget and went ahead to open the door and get out of the car.

The twisted, centipede-like scar on my face frightened a female patron entering the gallery, eliciting a few gasps.

The usher hurried forward to stop me, "Ma'am, may I ask who you are?"

“Sorry, we are here for the exhibition,” Tobias’s anxious, irritated voice came from beside me, and he hastily slapped a mask over my face.

In his rough manner, he nearly knocked me over.

I could clearly feel his grip on my hand tighten as he pulled me inside, his face tense, eyes cast downward.

Perhaps he resented me for embarrassing him, as Tobias did not speak to me for the rest of the time.

“Prof. Dorne, your new work seems more abstract than before. Is there a deeper meaning?”

A few reporters surrounded him.

Tobias wore an indifferent expression, calm and serene, only smiling silently.

Many in the art world are not good at socializing; I used to force myself to be his spokesperson, handling all the social interactions for him.

So today, he waited for me to step in as usual.

But unexpectedly, I was lost in my own world, staring blankly.

The atmosphere gradually became awkward, and Tobias couldn't hold it in any longer, frowning as he glanced at me.

Puzzled, I looked up. "Hmm?"

The reporters exchanged glances, hesitating to withdraw their microphones. The new publicity opportunity seemed to be slipping away...

"Recently, Prof. Dorne has made significant breakthroughs in the collision of color palettes and the improvisation of brushstrokes..."

A clear, bright voice suddenly interrupted.

I looked up to see Clara, dressed in a sleek moon-white dress, walking gracefully and confidently towards us. In just a few sentences, she had perfectly responded on Tobias's behalf.

The originally displeased expression on the man’s face lit up.

He was looking at her in a completely different way.

Clara’s stunning poise contrasted sharply with my awkwardness.

Reporters flocked to her, and Tobias's gaze followed her like a shadow. As he moved on to review his other new works, he didn't even notice I hadn't kept up.

This bargirl was indeed clever; she had memorized the information I anonymously sent her in the morning thoroughly. She seemed overly eager to become Mrs. Dorne; it was almost comical how she had followed my lead so blatantly.

I didn’t see Tobias again until the night ended.

I only received a text saying he had something to attend to and that I should take a cab home by myself.

This was the first time in eight years.

With a cold smile, I was about to leave but caught a glimpse of him at the stairway corner.

Curious, I followed, only to see him kissing Clara passionately, pinning her against the wall in the stairwell.

Tobias's voice was breathless. "Clara, you're really different today."

"Do you like it?" Clara's face blushed, her voice delicate and tender. "Ah... Wait, yesterday... I accidentally washed off Bella's portrait from my back..."

Tobias was deeply infatuated. "It doesn't matter."

"But didn't you say..."

"I'm saying it now, it doesn't matter."

"Prof. Dorne, this is the first time you haven't..."

Excitement overwhelmed Clara, but Tobias stifled her words with a more fervent kiss.

Silently, I paused the recording, saving it with a blank expression.

My heart ached dully, a bit nauseous, yet there was a subtle anticipation of complete separation.

It wasn’t until 2 AM that Tobias quietly entered the house.

He lay down on the bed without even showering and quickly fell asleep, evidently exhausted.

The next morning, he had completely forgotten his promise to take me to see the doctor again.

During breakfast, he stared at his WhatsApp chat, a smile in his eyes.

Buzz.

A message appeared on the anonymous account I used yesterday. "You were right! You must be a die-hard fan of Tobias's work!"

I responded coldly, "Yes."

$1000 transferred.

Clara's excited and audacious message followed. "I'm hiring you as my consultant. Whenever Tobias has new works, you must send the interpretations to me immediately!"

I clicked to accept.

At the same time, I accidentally heard Clara’s voice from Tobias's phone:

"Tobias~ It's all your fault. I'm still lying in bed, unable to get up. You left too early last night; otherwise, I would’ve wanted more..."

"Crash" the sound of utensils clashing.

Tobias hurriedly turned off his screen.

He looked up at me in a panic, finding me mechanically spooning porridge into my mouth, my expression vacant. Relieved, he sighed.