Chapter 1

Five years ago, I stormed off in a huff, leaving Asher.

Later, he won the Best Actor award, but at the Starfall Awards Gala, he held up my photo, searching for me. "My beloved has been missing for a month. Please, help me find her."

Yet, news of my gruesome death had exploded countless times back in 2018. But Asher, traumatized, had developed amnesia, blocking out everything after my death.

The day his manager announced Asher was stepping away from the spotlight indefinitely, the news of Asher's suicide sent shockwaves.

Asher's name and mine were trending again.

It all started when Asher, then 32, won the coveted Best Actor award at the Starfall Awards Gala for his film "Daylight Revelry." After a heartfelt speech about his arduous journey, Asher, in front of the entire world, pulled out a faded, yellowed photograph.

In the video, Asher looked directly at the camera, his flawless face etched with a hint of helplessness. "Folks, my beloved stormed off in a huff about a month ago. Please, help me find her. Her name is Chloe Nelson."

Asher’s voice was steady, almost as if he was indulging a playful child.

Or, in another sense, it was a ridiculously enviable display of affection.

But the guests at the awards ceremony were dumbfounded.

Because everyone knew that in 2018, a brutal stabbing incident occurred at the city's main airport. The killer was a sociopath, and I, protecting a child separated from their family, was killed instantly.

Afterward, my name was on the trending topics for a month.

Naturally, so was Asher’s.

They unearthed that Asher and I had been together for 25 years. Our families were neighbors since we were kids, making us childhood sweethearts. They even found adorable clips of our romance in Asher’s Ins vlogs. After my death, everyone remembered Chloe Nelson.

Time always quietly washes things away, making them blurry.

Five years had passed, and everyone thought Asher was fine. Though he'd lost a staggering thirty pounds a month after my death, and developed severe depression six months after, and David had found him after six suicide attempts—

Still, he seemed to recover.

In the second year, when spring bloomed, Asher finally logged back onto Ins after a year. He posted a selfie and typed out sixteen words in half an hour.

[I’m Asher, David tells me healing means facing the light again.]

Asher’s fans flooded the comments.

[Brother, you’re finally back.]

[So brother, you’ll eat well and gain some weight today, right?]

[Texas BBQ is seriously delicious!]

Among them, there were rival fan accounts trying to rain on his parade.

[Is the big movie star broke?]

[What about Chloe Nelson? Mr. Deeply Devoted, do you still remember her?]

In a blink, that comment was buried under angry comments, countless people fiercely condemning it. But to everyone’s shock, Asher saw it.

He replied: [Why wouldn't I remember Chloe?]

Sometimes, text can seem devoid of emotion, unable to truly convey a person’s thoughts or actions. At first glance, his reply seemed powerful.

But in reality, on the other side of the screen, Asher’s gaze was as lost as a child's.

He asked David the same question.

David's throat tightened. As always, he found a way to lie: “Just some crazy haters, no bottom line, they’ll make up anything.”

His therapist had told him that Asher’s depression hadn’t truly healed. He had symptoms like a form of trauma-induced amnesia, subconsciously forgetting things he wanted to forget. Over the past year, through depression and self-harm, he had, by a cruel twist of fate, developed a self-defense mechanism when he was unhappy.

This meant Asher would sometimes be normal, and other times he would forget.

Right now, he was in a state of extreme sorrow.

David had worked with Asher for years. He genuinely sympathized with this man who had grown up through such hardship but loved so fiercely. So, he had sincerely asked the therapist, “Then how can I make him happier?”

The answer he got was to let him do what he was good at—

Acting.

David had initially worried about this, but later found his worries were unnecessary. The moment Asher stepped onto a new set and received his script, he would automatically immerse himself in the role, professional and dedicated.

Only two accidents had occurred in these past few years.

One was three years ago when Asher played a professional assassin. Facing a diligently trembling young actor, he suddenly burst into tears.

Everyone on set panicked.

Sweat poured down his face, and he looked anxious, just like the day I had died. Asher's face was pale, and he bit his lips until they bled.

David couldn't alleviate his pain, only stay with him.

About three hours passed. In the dimly lit room, Asher suddenly reached out to touch the faint rays of light. David thought he would forget again and then asked him about me.

But Asher asked a different question:

“David, is the child Chloe saved that day doing okay?”

David had met the child. The child’s parents had also wanted to see Asher.

He didn't intend to hide it:

“He’s doing great. The kid’s in middle school now.”

Asher lowered his gaze and nodded, his voice hoarse: “That’s good.”

David could only sigh and pat his shoulder.

The next moment, the man, who had been feigning strength, suddenly let down all his guard, becoming as fragile as grass. Tears blurred his vision and slid down his face, looking utterly broken.

“But what about my Chloe?”

“My,” Asher’s throat bobbed, “my Chloe?”

But I could only watch, even more helpless than him.