Chapter 3

It was from Julian.

I tapped it open, and there it was: a picture of him and Chloe with their marriage certificate.

My fingers clenched. I stared at the photo, frozen, until the screen went dark.

All these years Chloe and I had been together, for various reasons, we’d unspokenly avoided any talk of marriage. We’d fallen in love at first sight, our feelings growing rapidly. In our social circles, we were considered the “perfect couple.” We hiked together, camped together, even traveled together. We did everything a typical couple would do. I thought I’d live happily ever after.

I just never imagined those days would end so soon.

I started noticing her demands becoming stranger, but I indulged her, letting her have her way, not thinking too much of it. At first, she just wanted to control my outfits. I figured she thought my style was bad, so I just let her. Later, she escalated to controlling my preferences, dictating my manners, and even specifically hiring a private coach for me.

That’s when I started to suspect something. After a little digging, I learned about Julian. Only then did I understand that everything she’d done for me before was actually for Julian. From that point on, I often felt that when she looked at me, she was looking *through* my eyes, at someone else.

For eight long years, we never acknowledged the unspoken truth.

Until Julian returned to the country. Once he knew I existed, he pulled out all the stops to impress Chloe. He repeatedly mocked me, saying I was nothing more than his stand-in. Photos like the one I just received? I’d lost count of how many I’d gotten.

Chloe pushed the door open, wrinkling her nose as she stepped in, a thermal container in her hand. Her voice was dismissive.

“I thought you were dead. Didn’t expect you to have so many lives.”

She saw my gaze land on the container in her hand and said coldly, “I spent all afternoon making this chicken soup for Julian. It’s not for you. Besides, you’re awake now, so you don’t need it anyway.”

She paused, her eyes darkening, then forced a sweet smile. “Since you’re fine, then the cake for Julian’s birthday tomorrow is on you. Don’t disappoint me again.”

Before I could answer, she walked out, carrying the thermal container. She’d always been like that with me. I’d grown used to it over the years.

She’d once hired a private pastry chef to teach me, wanting me to be more like Julian. I’d picked up the basics. But of all the elaborate desserts I’d made for her, not once was she satisfied. She even took a cake I’d spent an entire day on and fed it to a dog. She’d coldly glanced at the mess on the floor and declared without shame, “Liam, you’re truly useless. You can’t even handle such a small thing. You really can’t even hold a candle to Julian.”

Thinking of this, I called out to her, “Don’t you dislike the cakes I make?”

She turned to face me, her voice impatient. “If Julian hadn’t specifically asked you to make it, do you think you’d even have the chance?”

She was right. If it weren’t for Julian, she’d probably make it herself, or at the very least, order a custom one. There’s no way it would fall to me.

Before I could open my mouth again, all that was left was the sound of the door slamming shut.

Smelling the lingering scent of chicken soup that didn’t belong in my hospital room, I suddenly remembered Julian’s room was just one floor above mine. One floor away, he was in a luxurious VIP suite with full amenities and gourmet recovery meals. He certainly didn’t need Chloe’s measly bowl of chicken soup.

And me, her placeholder? The moment I was pushed out of the operating room, Chloe had intended to leave me to recover on a gurney in the hallway. It was only after my surgeon strongly insisted, and she got annoyed, that she grudgingly got me the cheapest, cramped room, barely a yard from the bathroom, where the constant stench assaulted my senses.

Just then, a nurse pushed the door open and said coldly, “Liam, bed 12? Someone’s handled your discharge papers. Please pack up and leave quickly. Someone will be here to sanitize the room in half an hour.”

I froze, looking up at my unfinished IV drip. I hadn’t expected Chloe to act so fast, unable to wait even an afternoon.

I ripped out my IV line, enduring the discomfort in my body, quickly packed my meager belongings, and prepared to leave the hospital.

The moment I stepped out of the hospital, I received a demanding message from Chloe:

“Go to the bakery immediately. I’ve already arranged for the cake ingredients to be prepared. Text me when it’s done.”

I stopped, read the message, then tapped my screen and calmly deleted it. This cake? Consider it my wedding gift to them.

I’d just hung up the phone with the artisan bakery when a SnapChat message popped up. I assumed it was Julian again, flaunting something Chloe had done for him, and I was about to block him.

The next second, my top SnapChat conversation vibrated with a new message:

“I land tonight. Can you pick me up?”

Seeing the familiar tone of voice, I was a little stunned. I pinched myself hard, thinking I was seeing things. I only had two pinned conversations on SnapChat: Chloe’s, and that of the girl I’d always loved since my youth.

In the eight years I’d been with Chloe, she never spoke to me with such patience. In my memory, only she spoke to me like that.

But didn’t she say she was moving abroad permanently and would never come back? If she hadn’t made that decision back then, things wouldn’t be like this between us now. After all, I’d confessed my feelings to her.

I stared at the message for a long time, composing myself before quietly replying with a single word: “Okay.”