Three days before the wedding, my fiancé sold the home we'd spent three years preparing for our marriage.

His gang was furious.

"Are you crazy? Just because Jolene wanted that limited-edition bag, you sold the house? Does Cynthia even know about this? Where is she supposed to live after the wedding?"

"Exactly! Cynthia oversaw every detail of that place—it's her heart and soul!"

Still, Willard Gray chugged down some wine with an indifferent look.

"She loves me so much. She even nearly lost her life shielding me from a knife back then. Why would she care about a house?"

"Besides, didn't she always say that wherever I am, that's her home? This is the perfect chance to see if she's sincere."

He didn't know that I stood outside the room door while holding hangover pills. After that, I silently turned to leave.

On the wedding day, Willard's calls came like a relentless curse. "Cynthia, where the hell are you? The whole family's waiting!"

I stared out the window at the familiar streetscape. "I already got married and came home a while ago."

——

That house took me three whole years of hard work, starting from drawing the first soft furnishing blueprint. But with just a single utterance of "I want it so badly" from Jolene, Willard sold it off for cash and bought her a bag instead.

I stood outside the door, my hands trembling so badly that even breathing felt painful.

Willard's friend, Jason Ward, couldn't help but ask, "Bro, you should've at least told Cynthia about this! Selling a house isn't easy. When she comes back and finds the home gone, won't she fight you to the death?"

My fiancé just waved his hand impatiently. "Enough already. It's always Cynthia this, Cynthia that. Do you think I'd treat her badly? Worst case, we'll just rent another place."

"But this was your wedding home, it's different. Doing this … really hurts her."

Willard grew more irritable after hearing that. "If she finds out, she'll just cry and pester me with questions. Who's got time for that?"

"She loves me to her core anyway. How could she break up with me over something like that? Don't forget that scar on her body was earned because of me. Selling a house is nothing."

Someone nearby started making faces and teasing. "I understand Willard's thoughts. Isn't this all for Jolene? Well, who wouldn't be tempted by such a beauty?"

"Haha, we even bet back then that Willard would end up marrying her. They were a perfect match, a match made in heaven."

Willard's expression darkened. "Shut up, all of you. Don't let Cynthia hear this. If she makes a fuss, I won't let you off."

Sadly, the crowd laughed even harder.

"Alright, alright, we won't say anything. You're awesome, Willard. You've got Cynthia wrapped around your finger."

As soon as he finished speaking, Willard's phone rang and Jolene's name appeared on the screen.

The surrounding crowd instantly fell silent, their eyes filled with knowing glances. "The real owner is here," whispered one of them.

Willard didn't object. His lips curled up, his voice instantly softening an octave.

On the other end of the line, Jolene's voice was sweet and coy. "Willard, did you really buy the 'Starry Sky' for me? I heard that bag was auctioned for three million!"

"Yes, it's already paid for. It'll be delivered to you next week."

"But ... isn't that too extravagant?"

"Just three million. As long as it makes you happy, it's worth every penny."

A satisfied sigh came from Jolene's end. "You're too good to me. Once I get the bag, I'll show it off to you first!"

Willard smiled so hard, his eyes squinted. "Alright, I'll be waiting."

The moment he hung up, his friends swarmed around him.

"Three million for a bag? Willard, are you trying to have Jolene move into the new house with just a bag in hand? Does Cynthia know about this?"

Willard casually picked up a bottle of wine. "Cynthia and I have been together for years. She doesn't care about these things, but Jolene is different. She's so delicate and fragile, I have to make her feel secure."

I still stood outside the door, but my heart turned completely cold.

I hunted down every piece of furniture in our future home at discount stores across the entire city. When I was in love with the $20,000 couch at the time, Willard's face instantly darkened.

"Twenty thousand for a couch? Do you think money grows on trees? Isn't sitting on the floor just the same?"

He then chose another couch, but he was still unhappy when he paid for it, although it only cost 1888 dollars.

It turned out he wasn't stingy; it's just that his generosity had never been meant for me.

On the way home, I rolled the car window all the way down. The wind rushed in violently, stinging my face.

Three years. I'd been a fool for three whole years.

When I first said I wanted to personally design our home, he hugged me and spun me around, saying, "Okay."

At that moment, I truly believed he cherished me above all else.

He remembered, he had to remember.

He must remember that day, when a thug's knife came at him and I unhesitatingly blocked it for him, the wound only a centimeter away from my heart. It made me lie unconscious in the hospital for three days and nights while he wept at my bedside, swearing he'd love me forever.

Sadly, he never truly cared. Or, maybe in his mind, that scar was just a reason for him to be more reckless.

The doctor had warned me that extreme emotional swings could aggravate the nerves around the old wound.

So, I tilted my head back with all my might, trying to suppress the bitterness. Still, my chest felt suffocated.

Later, Willard's call came through with the blaring rock music roaring in the background. "Cynthia, tonight the brothers are throwing me a bachelor party. Go to bed early, don't wait up."

I was silent for two seconds, then answered. "Okay."

At one a.m., I found myself unable to sleep, so I decided to check my social media.

Jasper Zorn had posted a set of photos with the caption: [Celebrating my best bro's last night of freedom!]

In the center photo of the grid, Jolene Star was laughing joyously while holding a glittering bag. She's leaning almost entirely against Willard, whose hand rests firmly around her waist.

The comments section below exploded.

[OMG, isn't that the 'Starry Sky' bag? Willard, you are so generous!]

[These two look so perfect together. What a shame.]

[@Willard, you should be careful. Don't let Cynthia see this!]

I saw Willard personally reply. [Cynthia isn't petty. If she'd make a fuss over something like this, we might as well call off the wedding.]

I shut my phone off expressionlessly.

Willard knew I wouldn't dare, just as he knew I could endure him selling our house, endure him buying Jolene a million-dollar bag and endure every ambiguous excuse of "we're just friends."

But this time, the place in my heart where the knife had pierced seemed numb and I didn't want to endure it anymore.

In the end, I went to the hospital alone for a follow-up check-up.

"How many times have I told you that the wound will hurt on rainy days and that someone must accompany you to apply the medicine on time?"

Listening to the attending doctor's helpless scolding, I forced a smile. "I can manage by myself."

Shortly after leaving the hospital, a torrential downpour suddenly began.

I ducked into a dessert shop on the corner and as I turned, I saw Willard holding a spoon with a beaming smile while Jolene leaned in and took a bite of the cake he was offering.

That limited-edition platinum bag was slung across her arm, still gleaming. And the watch on her wrist was the gift Willard had claimed last week was "for an important client."

I pulled out a mocking smile and ran home through the pouring rain.

When Willard came back, I had just finished my shower and my hair was still dripping wet. He froze when he saw me. "What happened? You look like a drowned rat."

"I went to the hospital," I said.

His expression instantly froze. "Why did you go to the hospital today?"

I chuckled, "I've told you this so many times."

Willard ran his fingers through his hair in irritation. "I've been so busy lately, I forgot. Anyway, your injury's healed, skipping one visit won't kill you."

I watched him in silence. "The doctor said if I don't take proper care of it, it might flare up again."

That man fell silent, his eyes flashing with irritation when he looked up again. "Are you trying to bring up that scar again?"

So, my reminder had become a bargaining chip for him to take credit.

Willard became furious when I remained silent. "Why are you giving me that expression again? I just didn't go with you to the hospital. Do you have to be so dramatic?"

I glanced at his shirt collar and murmured, "You forgot to wipe the cream off your collar."

Willard instinctively reached for his collar, but then his hand froze midair. "You … "

I slowly added, "The watch on Jolene's wrist suits her well."

His face instantly turned a deep shade of red. He pointed at me, shaking with anger. "You followed me, huh? Cynthia Serrano, are you sick? She just got back to the country and isn't used to things yet. What's wrong with me taking her out to clear her head?"

"She's been alone since she was a child, with no one to depend on. She's so pitiful! All she has is me!"

"Why do you have to be so nitpicky? Is that funny?"

I couldn't help but laugh. "Yes, that's funny. I was alone when I went to the hospital, too and you didn't seem to feel sorry for me."

Willard's face flushed red as he tried to justify himself. "How can you compare yourself to her? Besides, when have I ever not cared about you? Do you really need me to tag along every time?"

Before he could finish, his phone rang again. It was Jolene.

Willard hurriedly answered and then Jolene's tearful voice came through the phone. "Willard, I think I caught a fever from the rain. I feel so dizzy."

"Wait for me at home, I'll be there right away!"

He hung up, not even bothering to look at me before heading for the door. When he reached the doorway, he turned back and threw out a final line. "You stay at home and think about what you did. Tomorrow, you'll come with me to order the flowers for the wedding banquet."

"And stop doing cheap things like spying on me. It really makes you look bad."

Willard had left, but his words kept buzzing in my ears. Look bad?

He was so right. Only now did I realize that my heart must've gone blind a long time ago.

On the way to the florist, the air in the car felt suffocating. So, I put on my headphones and turned my head toward the window.

Willard tapped his fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. "Actually, the houses down in the south of the city aren't bad either. Convenient location, good neighborhood."

He glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. Seeing that I was ignoring him, he cleared his throat and raised his voice. "I heard they're new buildings with a better environment. A lot of young people like to rent there. How about we go take a look?"

I responded with a snort while my eyes were still closed.

Willard's brows furrowed, his voice filled with frustration. "Cynthia, I'm talking to you!"

I slowly opened my eyes. "I'm listening. What then?"

He instantly looked like a deflated balloon. "Uh, nothing, I was just saying."

At that moment, the wind that blew in through the car window cleared my head a bit.