"Miss Hudson, we have prepared a corpse identical to you, just as you requested. It will be delivered to your wedding with Mr. Warhol in ten days."

Hearing the voice on the other end of the line, Violet Hudson felt a small knot of tension unwind inside her.

"Alright. Thank you."

"You're welcome. This is our job. Please rest assured—no one will ever suspect a thing."

With that guarantee, she exhaled, the weight on her chest easing just a little.

After confirming the final details once more, she ended the call and pushed open the door to the private room.

The noise inside had been a constant hum, a mix of voices overlapping, but the moment she stepped in, silence fell like a curtain.

"Miss Hudson, we have prepared a corpse identical to you, just as you requested. It will be delivered to your wedding with Mr. Warhol in ten days."

Hearing the voice on the other end of the line, Violet Hudson felt a small knot of tension unwind inside her.

"Alright. Thank you."

"You're welcome. This is our job. Please rest assured—no one will ever suspect a thing."

With that guarantee, she exhaled, the weight on her chest easing just a little.

After confirming the final details once more, she ended the call and pushed open the door to the private room.

The noise inside had been a constant hum, a mix of voices overlapping, but the moment she stepped in, silence fell like a curtain.

Grayson Warhol, seated at the center, stood up at once. Taking her hand, he looked at her with deep concern and signed, "Violet, you were in the restroom for so long. Are you feeling unwell? Let's go home now."

He moved to lead her away.

Looking at the way his eyes held nothing but her, Violet suppressed the bitterness rising in her chest and shook her head.

"I'm fine. Just continue."

Only after she reassured him several times did Grayson sit back down, still holding her hand.

The lively chatter returned, filling the space again. Then, a voice cut through the noise.

"Grayson, you're getting married soon. What do you plan to do about that little assistant of yours?"

At those words, Violet's nails dug into her palm. Her face turned a shade paler.

Someone beside the speaker nudged him with an elbow.

"Hey, mind what you say. Violet is right here."

The man shrugged, unconcerned.

"What does it matter? She can't hear us anyway. I was just curious how Grayson plans to handle his little lover."

All eyes turned to Grayson.

He picked up a shrimp, peeled it with deliberate care, and placed it into Violet's bowl before speaking.

"I'll keep her. She's just a pet to pass the time. The only one I love is Violet. But Violet would leave me if she ever found out, so I hide it well. Even after marriage, she'll never know."

His gaze swept the room, sharp and commanding.

"And you all should mind your own business. If anyone dares to spill this to Violet, don't blame me for what happens next."

A few people chuckled. They were used to the ways of the wealthy. A wife at home, a mistress outside—it was nothing new.

"Man, Grayson, that's tough. My wife has known about my affairs for ages."

"You think Grayson is like you? This is real love, okay?"

Laughter rippled through the group.

Then, someone's eyes lit up with curiosity.

"Grayson, since Violet can't hear, have you and your assistant ever... done it at home?"

The sentence left room for endless imagination.

Grayson smiled, rolling the engagement ring on his finger, then answered lazily, "Of course. It's… thrilling."

The room erupted in cheers. Applause, laughter, whistles.

"Jesus, Grayson, you're the real deal!"

"I bet you've done it all over the house. I'm jealous!"

"Guess marriage won't stop you and your assistant from having fun."

The compliments kept coming. No one noticed how tightly Violet was clenching her fists, how her knuckles had turned white.

No one knew that she had regained her hearing long ago.

No one knew that she had already decided to leave, that she would never marry Grayson.

On the wedding day, all that would be left for him was a lifeless body, identical to hers.

From the corner of his eye, Grayson noticed she hadn't touched the shrimp in her bowl. He quickly signed, "Violet, why aren't you eating?"

Violet looked at the man whose eyes were filled with concern and forced a smile.

"What were you all talking about just now?"

Grayson chuckled, pressing a soft kiss onto the back of her hand.

"They were praising our love, saying we'll be the happiest couple in the world."

As he finished, he signed "I love you."

Around them, the others exchanged glances, amusement flickering in their eyes.

Violet saw it all.

Her heart felt like it had been plunged into ice water.

They had just been discussing his mistress, yet he twisted it into a tale of love.

'Grayson… I never knew you were such a perfect liar.'

Violet set her fork down and rose from her seat. She didn't want to hear any more of these empty, well-practiced lies.

Seeing her about to leave, Grayson immediately stood as well, his hands forming quick, fluid gestures. "What's wrong?"

She shook her head. "I'm tired. I want to go home and rest."

Without waiting for his response, she turned and walked straight out of the private room.

Out on the street, she lifted her head and saw the massive electronic screen on the office building across from her. A video played on a loop. A familiar set of words glowed against the backdrop: Violet Hudson, Marry Me!

Pedestrians passing by stopped to look, their voices filled with admiration.

"My goodness, I heard Grayson Warhol's girlfriend is deaf, so when he proposed, he booked the tallest office building in the city and had 'Marry Me' displayed on the screen, just so she could see it clearly. And after she said yes, he kept the proposal video playing for an entire month so that the whole city could celebrate their love."

"He must love her so much. He'll definitely be a good husband."

Violet let out a breathless chuckle. It was the kind of laugh that never quite reached the eyes.

A week ago, she might have reacted just like those passersby. She had believed in Grayson's love without question, convinced he would be a devoted husband.

She had grown up in an orphanage. At nine years old, a high fever, left untreated for too long, had stolen her hearing. After that, she became an easy target—bullied, mocked, always set apart. The days blurred into years, and she built a wall around herself, shutting out everything beyond its reach.

And then Grayson appeared. He fell in love with her at first sight and started chasing after her with reckless determination. But she had seen these kinds of games before. She avoided him at every turn.

He confessed his love ninety-nine times. She rejected him ninety-nine times.

Then came the earthquake. Without hesitation, he shielded her with his own body, holding her close as debris rained down. A steel rod pierced through his shoulder blade, yet even in that moment, he never let go of her.

When he woke up in the hospital, still weak and pale, the first thing he did was lift his hands and sign, "As long as you're safe."

That was when she found out—he had spent three months learning sign language, just so he could communicate with her properly.

The wall around her heart cracked, just a little.

The scar from that injury never fully faded. A small, circular mark, dark brown against his skin, a permanent reminder of that day. Whenever she looked at it, her heart would tremble.

For five years, he had been unwavering in his love. He had made her believe in it. Even when his family opposed their relationship, even when the pressure mounted, he stood by her side and proposed.

She wanted to hear his voice say, "I do," at the wedding. She didn't want to put him in a difficult position, caught between his family and her. So she took a gamble, risked everything, and left for surgery overseas, knowing there was a chance she might never wake up.

Fate, it seemed, had been kind. The surgery was a success.

She had planned to surprise him at the wedding, keeping her restored hearing a secret until that moment. She had imagined it over and over—his astonishment, his joy when he discovered she could hear again.

But fate had a strange sense of humor.

The very day she returned, she overheard a phone call. Grayson was speaking in a low, intimate voice to his assistant. Flirting, laughing, weaving words meant for a lover.

That was when she learned the truth. He had been with his assistant for a year. An entire year. And she had known nothing.

The pain in her chest was unbearable. She crouched down on the pavement, arms wrapped tightly around herself, as if she could hold herself together.

Inside the private room, Grayson had said that even on the brink of marriage, he had no intention of ending that affair.

Was it because he thought she would never hear him? That he could keep lying to her forever?

The winter night's wind cut through her like a knife, clearing her thoughts. Her fingers curled into fists.

She would prove to Grayson that lies never lasted forever.

And she would never tolerate deception.

Violet took a deep breath, pressing down the dull ache in her chest. Just as she was about to leave, a pair of strong hands held her in place.

"Violet, why didn't you wait for me? Are you feeling down today?" He signed. "How about I take you to try on the wedding dress? The custom-made one has arrived. Let's see if you like it. If not, I'll have them alter it."

He wrapped her in his arms, his fingers ruffling her hair with indulgent affection.

"I don't want to go," she signed. "You can decide on the dress."

She would be gone by the wedding day. She wouldn't be there to wear the gown, so what did it matter what it looked like?

Perhaps Grayson sensed her indifference. He hesitated before signing cautiously, "Violet, why do I feel like you're not excited about our wedding at all? Do you... not want to marry me?"

His eyes held a flicker of panic. Violet met his gaze and, for a moment, wanted to tell him the truth.

'Yes, I don't want to marry you.

'It was you who betrayed me first. You trampled our love into the dirt. You are the one who made me lose all hope in this marriage.

'So what right do you have to ask me now?'

But she had no intention of revealing everything just yet.

At the bridal boutique, the moment they stepped inside, the staff pulled back a curtain, revealing the wedding dress that had been prepared in advance.

"Miss Hudson, the custom gown Mr. Warhol ordered for you from France has arrived. Please let us know if any adjustments are needed."

Before the words had even fully landed, a translator stepped forward and swiftly signed them in Violet's direction.

The employees exchanged glances, their voices lowered in admiration.

"Mr. Warhol is incredibly attentive. He even hired a sign language interpreter just for her.

"And not just that. Look at this dress—the main diamond was personally acquired by Mr. Warhol at a Sotheby's auction. He specifically instructed the designer to set it in the gown.

"He even paid an exorbitant price to secure the designer's exclusive service for the entire year, ensuring they worked on nothing but this one dress."

Their awe-filled murmurs made Grayson smile. He pulled Violet close, his arm around her waist.

"Take a look at it. Do you like it?"

At the center of the dress was a pink diamond, large as a dove's egg. The train stretched a full five meters, shimmering under the lights with countless embedded diamonds, dazzling as a galaxy scattered at her feet.

Violet reached out, tracing the fabric lightly.

She couldn't deny it. This gown was exactly to her taste.

When they were in love, she had often mentioned her fondness for pink, her love for trailing wedding dresses. He had remembered every word, committing them to heart, turning them into reality.

But no matter how exquisite the dress, no matter how brilliant the diamonds, none of it could mend the fracture in her heart.

"Violet, look closely at the center of the diamond," Grayson signed. "It's engraved with 'V&G Forever.' A diamond lasts forever. And so will my love for you. I had our initials carved into it to symbolize my eternal devotion."

Instinctively, Violet looked down. In the very heart of the stone, there it was—tiny yet unmistakable, those delicate letters.

She turned to face Grayson, his eyes brimming with love. Her heart trembled as she asked, "Will your love for me truly last forever?"

Fearful she might misunderstand him, he rushed to respond, hands moving in hurried gestures. "I will love you forever, Violet. In this life, and in every life to come. If I break this vow, may the heavens strike me down."

Such deep, earnest words. And yet, they could not warm a heart already turned to ice.

He had already broken that vow. And now he stood before her, putting on a show. Wasn't he exhausted?

Violet turned away, unwilling to look at his false sincerity.

He looked as if he wanted to say more, but just then, his phone rang.

His expression flickered. Without hesitation, he strode to the side, away from prying eyes, and picked up the call.

When he returned, there was a trace of apology in his gaze.

"Violet, something urgent came up at the company. I need to go back. You try on the dress, and let the staff know if any alterations are needed. I'll have the driver take you home after."

He signed the words quickly, then turned and left in a rush. Unlike before, he didn't even have time to give her a hug.

The moment he was gone, the staff broke into excited whispers.

"Oh my god, that was the most romantic confession I've ever heard. I almost cried.

"Even when he's in a hurry, he still takes care to make sure Miss Hudson is comfortable. What a perfect man."

Violet found it laughable.

Grayson had never left her behind because of work. Not once.

And after that call, there had been something else in his eyes—desire.

How could this possibly be about work?

Most likely, he was rushing off to see his little mistress, Ruby Lockwood.

The corner of her lips curled slightly in irony as she turned to leave.

A staff member hurriedly stepped forward to stop her. "Miss Hudson, you haven't tried on the dress yet."

Violet shook her head calmly. "No need."

After all, on the wedding day, the bride would be nothing more than a corpse.

There would be no use for a wedding dress.