Chapter 2

The doting smile on Lachlan's face crumbled inch by inch.

He stared at me blankly. After a few seconds, he finally found his voice, tinged with disbelief.

"Harper, what are you talking about? Where did you hear that name?"

Within just one second, that familiar face had taken on an expression of hurt and helplessness.

He reached out to touch my face, his voice low and aggrieved:

"Harper, Tara Quinn is a new intern in my department. There was a problem with a project today, and I just helped her out."

The wounded look of being falsely accused was perfectly calibrated.

If I hadn't seen those photos with my own eyes, I would have thought I was being unreasonable.

He tried to pull me into his arms, his voice softening even more, as if coaxing a child throwing a tantrum.

"Is the wedding stress getting to you?"

"Don't overthink it. After fifteen years together, don't you trust me?"

I looked at his face, so close to mine, yet instinctively pushed him away.

This action made the hurt in his eyes deepen. His voice carried a barely perceptible tremor:

"Harper, what's wrong with you? Did someone say something to you?"

Just as I was about to pull out that laptop and throw all the sordid evidence in his face, his phone—still face-down on the table—vibrated again.

This time it wasn't a call, but a message.

He instinctively reached for it, but I was faster, catching a glimpse of the calendar reminder that popped up on the screen.

[Today at 5 PM: Pick up Devotion.]

My heart clenched suddenly.

Devotion was the name of the first painting I'd ever sold.

That year, when I had just started college, my work was hung in the school gallery with no buyers.

Finally, a mysterious buyer purchased it.

Much later, I learned that buyer was Lachlan.

He hung the painting in our future marital home, pointing at my messy signature on it and saying:

"For the rest of my life, I'll marry no one but you."

That painting was the beginning of our love, the unique, devoted love he promised me.

Seeing that I'd noticed the reminder, a flash of annoyance crossed Lachlan's face, which then softened into helpless tenderness.

He handed me his phone and opened the note for that reminder.

It read: Harper's wedding ring—inspired by the painting, named with love.

He sighed and gently hugged me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder.

"I wanted to surprise you the day before the wedding, but you discovered it early."

"I found a designer in France and had the compositional elements of Devotion made into a ring. Harper, our rings are one-of-a-kind in the whole world."

His voice carried a smile, warm breath falling on my ear.

"Don't be angry anymore, okay? I admit, that Tara Quinn pestered me with some talk, but I rejected her."

"In my world, besides you, there's no room for anyone else."

He paused and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

"I'm going out to pick up the ring. It's too cold outside—stay home and wait for me. I'll be back soon to keep you company."

I pulled my hand back, my voice eerily calm: "Go ahead."

As soon as Lachlan left, I grabbed my phone to check the transaction records on the secondhand platform.

The seller's name was Tara Quinn, and the address was a high-end apartment complex in the western part of the city.

Once, Lachlan had pointed at a billboard for that place and said to me:

"Harper, I bought you a small place there. You can paint there in peace from now on!"

I had been so happy then, thinking it was another testament to our love.

Now, it had become the cruelest irony.

I opened a rideshare app and entered the address.

Half an hour later, the car stopped at the entrance to the complex.

I immediately spotted Lachlan's familiar black Range Rover.

I didn't go in, just stood in the shadows across the street.

Before long, the building door opened.

Lachlan walked out with a petite figure.

I recognized her immediately as the girl from the photos—Tara Quinn.

Tara clung intimately to his arm, practically hanging on him.

She stood on tiptoe and kissed his cheek.

And Lachlan looked down at her with a hint of indulgent affection at the corner of his mouth—the same way he'd looked at me for the past fifteen years.

My hands and feet went ice cold, yet I instinctively raised my phone's camera and pointed it at them.