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.

"Willard, about the house. Do you have something to tell me?"

I stared at his profile, giving him one last chance. Unfortunately, he avoided my gaze and replied flatly, "No, isn't it all up to you?"

I lowered my eyes, my heart sinking completely.

He was still pretending and unwilling to tell me even a single truth. Even at this point, if he were willing to tell the truth, I might still ... no, it's impossible now.

I clenched my fists. So, this was the ruthless trampling I had fought so desperately to earn.

Willard seemed to notice something, rubbing his nose guiltily. He must be thinking that I must have found out and was giving him the cold shoulder on purpose. Then, he would coax me a bit after we got married.

Right next to the flower shop was a furniture store. I walked straight inside and saw that the walnut dining table I had ordered was ready.

Just as I was about to pay, a sweet, high-pitched voice sounded from behind me. "Willard? Didn't you say you'd come with me today to pick out a crystal chandelier?"

Why was she again?

Jolene saw me and exaggeratedly covered her mouth. "Oh, Cynthia? I'm so sorry, I have bad eyesight, I didn't see you."

"Wait, are you here for furniture, too? By the way, this store's crystal chandeliers are gorgeous, perfect for a big flat! Willard even mentioned wanting to install one in my new place last time!"

My fingers curled inward one by one. Willard had already found Jolene a new place, while I, foolishly clinging to an empty shell he had long sold off, was still waiting for an explanation.

Jolene picked up a brochure. "Cynthia, look at this one. It's imported from Italy. It would look amazing in the entryway!"

I took a step back, avoiding the brochure she was offering me. "No, thanks. I've already made my choice. You two take your time."

That girl froze for a second, her eyes instantly welling up with tears as if she had been deeply wronged. "Do you ... not want me here? Then I'll just leave."

Willard grabbed Jolene's hand as he said, "Why are you leaving? This has nothing to do with her."

He turned and glared at me. "Cynthia, Jolene will be our family from now on. Can you please be more polite to her? Don't bring your outside attitude home!"

I was stunned. Family? What kind of family? How did I, the lady of the house, not know about this?

Then I thought about it. If Willard could sell our shared home without a second thought, why would he need my permission for anything else?

"She's only good at playing those little mind games with you. If you want to leave, just leave. Why make such a big scene out of it?"

They both froze, clearly not expecting my bluntness. Jolene looked so hurt that she was on the verge of tears. "Fine, I'll leave now. I won't bother you anymore."

But Willard held her even tighter. "Cynthia, we're about to get married. Can't you act a little more mature?"

"From the engagement till now, have you ever given me a single day of warmth? And now you're dragging Jolene into this, too?"

Jolene tugged at him softly from the side, yet pressed closer against him. "Willard, don't say anymore."

Alas, Willard's emotions completely exploded.

"I'm going to say it! I've had enough! Cynthia, keep acting up! Don't let this petty nonsense tear open your old wounds again. Don't blame me for not warning you when it happens!"

The store fell silent instantly. Those sales assistants awkwardly lowered their heads to tidy merchandise.

My heart felt like it had been tossed into an ice cave. Hence, in Willard's eyes, my scar was just a tool for attention-seeking tantrums.

How could I foolishly hope he'd kept his old promises close to his heart? Just as the scar remained etched on my skin.