The next half month passed in a blur. I buried myself in work, taking on the full project for the “Fragments” series. Day and night blurred together as I worked nonstop, trying to numb everything with exhaustion.

Until one day, Peter Sullivan tossed an invitation onto my desk. Peter was my childhood friend. After Ethan disappeared, he had been the one staying by my side all along.

“Go get some air,” he said, looking at me with quiet concern. “It’s a charity gala. Plenty of collectors will be there. It could help with your designs.”

I rubbed my aching temples. “No. I’m not in the mood.”

“I heard one of Ethan’s paintings will be auctioned tonight,” Peter added casually, like he was dropping bait. “It’s called ‘Years in the Mountains.’ Starting bid is five hundred thousand dollars.”

My hand paused mid-motion.

“Five hundred thousand dollars?” I sneered. “Back then, his paintings couldn’t even sell for five thousand dollars.”

“That was before. Now he’s the genius painter who came back from the dead, with that whole tragic mountain love story attached. Of course, his value’s gone up.”

I stared at the invitation, lost in thought for a long moment. In the end, I decided to go.

The night of the charity gala, I wore a black backless gown and walked in on Peter’s arm. Not far away, Ethan and Jane stood surrounded by a crowd. Ethan was dressed in a perfectly tailored suit, while Jane clung to his arm, timid and innocent.

I froze. The dress Jane was wearing was mine. It was a custom-made gown I had commissioned three years ago for my engagement party. Because it was bespoke, there was a small, hidden lily embroidered along the neckline. Now, that same lily rested against Jane’s collarbone, slightly warped under the weight of her necklace. To think Ethan had given it to her to wear!

I turned sharply toward Timothy. He avoided my gaze, guilt written all over his face. Back then, he had taken the dress from my house, saying he was afraid I’d only hurt myself more by keeping it.

When Ethan noticed Peter and me, his eyes lingered for a few seconds on our linked arms. Something dark flickered in his gaze.

“Who is that?” he asked Timothy.

Timothy glanced at me, then replied awkwardly in a low voice, “That’s Peter. He’s the son of the Sullivan family… and Lexie’s childhood friend.”

Ethan pressed his lips together but said nothing.

At that moment, Jane spotted me. Her eyes lit up, and she immediately pulled Ethan over.

“Ms. William!”

Her bright voice drew attention from everyone nearby.

“You’re here too? Timothy said this was an old dress you didn’t want anymore, so Ethan let me wear it. He said it looks really good on me. Don’t you think so, too?”

I looked at Ethan, who looked away. Instinctively, he tried to pull Jane behind him, but she shook him off.

Then, she stepped closer to me and whispered right into my ear, “The fabric’s nice. It’s a shame it used to belong to you—bad luck, you know? But Ethan insisted I wear it. He said I look great in it.”

There was a sweet smile on her face, but every word she spoke was vicious. Gone was the innocent, timid girl she usually pretended to be.

Jane blinked, her expression turning harmless again, and said loudly, “Ms. William, honestly, after seeing you at the gallery that day, I think I understand your past with Ethan. But you were both young back then. It’s easy to confuse gratitude with love. Now I’m the person Etham. Ms. William, could you just let us be?”

Whispers spread through the crowd.

“What kind of complicated love triangle is this?”

“They weren’t even married. Trying to break them up now would be pretty shameless, wouldn’t it?”

Ethan’s expression darkened as he grabbed Jane’s arm. “Jane, that’s enough.”

“Why can’t I say it?” Jane pouted, looking wronged. “Ethan, are you afraid it’ll upset Ms. William? But if you don’t love her anymore, shouldn’t you make it clear?”

Then, she turned to me, her gaze openly provocative.

“Ms. William, did you know Ethan has this really cute little habit? Every time we’re in an elevator or taking a walk at night, he taps the back of my hand three times for no reason. He says it’s his secret way of telling me he loves me. Ms. William, did he ever do that with you, too?”

In that instant, the blood in my body turned ice-cold.

In our junior year of college, Ethan and I were trapped in a broken elevator for five full hours. As someone with severe claustrophobia, I could barely breathe in the dark. So, he held my hand tightly and tapped three times into my palm, over and over again.

He said, “Lexie, whenever you’re scared, I’ll tap three times. It means I’m here. Don’t be scared.”

From that moment on, it became our private signal for help. However, Ethan had now lost his memory, and as someone who had lost his memory, how could he possibly remember something like that?

My thoughts blurred, and just then, the auction segment began. Ethan’s painting, ‘Years in the Mountains,’ was brought out as the final piece. The canvas showed a quiet wooden cabin. In front of it, a girl sat feeding chickens, sunlight spilling over her. Everything about it felt peaceful. That was the three years he spent with Jane.

“Mr. Ethan,” a collector seated in the front row asked curiously, “the lighting in this piece is incredibly gentle. What was your state of mind when you painted it?”

Ethan held the microphone, his gaze soft as it landed on Jane.

“At that time, I had just woken up. I didn’t remember anything, and the world felt empty. It was Jane who gave me a second life. When she stood in the yard feeding the chickens, sunlight falling on her, I thought to myself that this was the kind of peaceful life I wanted to keep for the rest of my days. This painting is of the woman I love and my salvation.”

Thunderous applause filled the room. Jane’s eyes brimmed with tears. Right there, in front of everyone, she threw herself into his arms.

“Ethan, I love you too. We’ll be together forever.”

Under the spotlight, they held each other tightly. Meanwhile, I stood in the shadows, my heart shattering into a thousand pieces.

Salvation? The woman he loved? Then what was I?

“Lexie, look away.” Peter reached out and covered my eyes, his palm warm. “Let’s go.”

I took a deep breath, about to turn away, when suddenly, every light in the hall went out. The crowd erupted into chaos. I froze where I stood. My claustrophobia hit instantly, almost like a physical reaction, and my throat tightened as if something was choking me. I couldn’t breathe. Just like that, I was dragged back to that broken elevator in my junior year.

Back then, someone had held my hand tightly and said, “Lexie, don’t be afraid. As long as I’m here, nothing will happen to you. If you’re scared, I’ll tap three times.”

The tapping wasn’t just against my palm, but against my heart.

The next second, a warm hand pushed through the panicked crowd and grabbed my wrist. That hand carried the familiar roughness I had known for seven years. Then, his fingertips tapped gently against my trembling palm three times.

“Lexie, don’t be afraid. I’m here.”

Reality and memory overlapped in that instant. In the darkness, I heard Ethan’s uneven breathing, just a few inches away. That wasn’t a stranger who had lost his memory; that was my Ethan, the man who once valued my life more than his own.

“Ethan? Ethan, where are you? I’m scared!”

Not far away, Jane’s panicked cries rang out, and Ethan’s body stiffened immediately. Suddenly, with a buzz, the backup power kicked in. A harsh white light flooded the entire hall.

When I finally saw what was in front of me, I froze. Everyone was staring at the way Ethan and I were holding hands. Like he had just woken from a dream. Ethan yanked his hand away as if it burned, stumbling back a step.

I stared at my empty palm, as if the warmth of his touch still lingered there. It burned so much my chest hurt, and it hurt so much I almost wanted to laugh. I lifted my head and looked at the shaken man in front of me, and tears slid silently down my face.

“Ethan, did you ever lose your memory at all?”