Jameson didn’t return until 5 AM the next morning.

As soon as he got close, I could smell the overpowering scent of his cologne.

Maybe feeling guilty for whatever he’d been up to, Jameson reached out to hug me, but I found him repulsive and subtly avoided his embrace.

Unexpectedly, his voice came from behind me a moment later.

“Bella... you’re awake?”

I couldn’t be bothered to pretend to still be asleep, so I answered his question with a sigh. “Mm, just woke up.”

A hint of panic slipped into his voice. “When... when did you wake up? I just went out for my morning jog, that’s why I’m just getting back.”

Jameson couldn’t even lie convincingly.

People in his line of work always sleep during the day and stay up all night. When would he have the habit of morning jogs? I had never heard of it before.

But I didn’t bother to call him out on it, merely giving a half-hearted “Mm” in response.

He seemed to relax a bit when I didn’t press him further.

“You’re acting different today. You used to ask so many questions every time I went out,” he said, his voice growing sleepier. He probably didn’t think much of it, just saying it without any real concern for the shift in my attitude.

“I’m just so tired. I need to catch up on some sleep. We can talk later,” I said, offering a convenient excuse.

Of course, I was different. Before, I was focused on marrying him, becoming his wife, which made me obsess over his every move, his needs, his routines.

But I never imagined that he’d come to see me as a chain, binding him, restricting his freedom.

Now, I didn’t love him anymore. If he dropped dead somewhere, what would it matter to me?

The next day, Jameson didn’t wake up until the afternoon.

While he was still sleeping, I took the opportunity to pack up his belongings. In five days, I’d be tossing them all out.

So when he finally opened the door, he found me in the middle of my task.

“Bella, why are you packing my things?”

He seemed a bit confused, probably still groggy from just waking up.

It was the perfect moment to make up an excuse. “Oh, it’s the change of season. I’m just putting away the summer clothes to make some space.”

He wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Don’t you have a maid for that? You shouldn’t be doing all this yourself. I’ll feel bad for you.”

I swear, Jameson should give up being a lead singer and become an actor.

If I were still the naive girl I was before, I might’ve fallen for his fake tenderness.

Maybe he did care about me in some way, but whether it was love or just dependence, I couldn’t tell anymore.

Like he wrote in his lyrics: marriage has nothing to do with love.

At that moment, a strange number appeared on my phone.

I saw it as my chance to escape his embrace.

“Hello, is this Miss Colton? You had previously booked a wedding photoshoot with us. When would you like to schedule it?”

I had it on speakerphone, so Jameson could hear everything.

A brief flash of discomfort crossed his face, and he quickly grabbed the phone from my hand, answering for me. “We’ll think about it.”

After hanging up, I quietly stared at him.

Before I could speak, he rushed to explain himself. “Don’t overthink it. I just thought a wedding photoshoot is a big deal and should be considered carefully. I didn’t mean anything else.”

I couldn’t help but laugh inside.

Wasn’t Jameson already planning to postpone the wedding? What was there to “carefully consider”?

Well, since we had come this far, there were a few things I wanted to get straight.

So I said flatly, “Jameson, if you don’t want to marry me, we don’t have to. You don’t need to keep using…”

But before I could finish, Jameson cut me off, his voice sharp. “Can you stop overthinking everything? I’m just trying to be cautious, and you’re making accusations. Bella, you’re suffocating me.”

The words I had been about to say got stuck in my throat.

I only felt a dull pain in my chest.

So, because I suffocated him, he had gone running to Alice for a breath of fresh air?

Seeing that I was silent, Jameson grabbed his guitar and stormed out without a word, slamming the door behind him with a bang, as if it had struck my heart.

Watching his retreating figure, tears spilled uncontrollably down my face.

Go ahead, Jameson. Walk out. And don’t you dare come back.

In truth, I wasn't blind to Jameson's real feelings.

I had once overheard a conversation between him and a friend: "Bella is great in every way, but she's just so boring. Even in bed, it's always the same position. What I want is passion, that spark of love. Otherwise, how can I write good music?"

His friend teased him, "Then why not break up with her? I see you get along pretty well with your assistant Alice, don't you?"

Jameson chuckled lightly. "But Bella, she's marriage material."

So, in Jameson’s mind, marrying me was like walking into the grave of love.

Yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to let go of me as his perfect candidate for marriage, so he secretly plotted to chase after freedom while keeping it all hidden from me.

Or maybe he just believed that I loved him so much I would never leave him.

Lost in thought, I suddenly received a WhatsApp message.

It was a photo from Alice.

In the photo, the guitar Jameson had just taken was lying on the ground, its strings snapped and carelessly discarded.

A second later, Alice's provocative message appeared.

[It got a little too intense earlier, and I accidentally broke Jameson's guitar strings. He couldn't even get mad at me, just kept asking if my hand was okay. If I remember right, you wouldn't even dare to touch this guitar, would you?]

She wasn’t wrong.

I had given Jameson this guitar a few years ago for his birthday, spending a hefty 200,000 on it. He treated it like it was precious—he wouldn’t even let me touch it.

At first, I had felt proud, thinking it was because he cared so much about the gift I gave him. But now I realized—it was because, in his eyes, I wasn’t worthy of touching that guitar.

I didn’t reply to Alice's message; I just set my phone to "Do Not Disturb."

Later that evening, when Jameson came home, he didn’t have the guitar with him.

He noticed my probing gaze, and for a fleeting moment, guilt flashed across his face. But he quickly suppressed it.

"Bella, while I was practicing today, I missed you so much that I accidentally snapped a string. Can you buy me a new one?" he said, his tone too smooth to be believable.

His so-called flawless lie only made me want to laugh.

I looked at him coldly and said, "A 200,000-dollar guitar? I can't afford a second one."

His face turned pale with panic. "What are you talking about? You could buy me a guitar with the cost of just one of your bags! And don’t forget how much I’ve earned for you over the years!"

A bag? Those bags had long been sold to buy him equipment when the band first started. There were no bags to speak of.

I pointed at the shopping bag hanging by the door and sneered. "You mean this? Worth 200,000? Take it and exchange it for a guitar. Oh, and by the way, the band's earnings—I publicly disclose them every quarter. I make sure the payments to you are made in full. If you have a problem with that, feel free to take me to court."

Jameson hadn’t expected me to take things this far. His tone softened instantly as he tried to smooth things over. "I was just joking! Why are you taking it so seriously? Oh, by the way, the band is having a dinner tonight. Do you want to come?"