Chapter 3
I once wanted to record our daily life after marriage, to keep as a memory for when we grew old.
But Serena had said that true memories only needed to be kept in the heart, there was no need to waste time on meaningless things like that.
Yet she had recorded so many videos of Brandon’s daily life and work.
There were over a thousand videos in the playlist, more than the number of days we’d been married, each one accompanied by her heartfelt confessions.
In the secret room, there were also a dozen small wooden shelves, holding hundreds of bottles of men's hand essential oil.
When I was a doctor, I’d seen the same kind on Brandon’s hands.
Curiously, I’d asked him where he bought them. Brandon had laughed scornfully:
“Chase, don’t bother. You can’t buy them, and you can’t afford them. Someone who loves me had an international master specifically blend this for me. The ingredients are expensive and rare, the best for nourishing skin. Each bottle costs hundreds of thousands.”
That person, it turned out, was Serena.
Three years of marriage, and I had never received such favoritism.
And what hurt me the most was a comic poster titled ‘Brandon’s Dream.’
A cartoon Brandon fought his way through challenges, winning the ‘Golden Scalpel Competition’ and becoming a protégé of the world-renowned medical icon.
Beside it, in Serena’s handwriting:
“Brandon, I will definitely put you on top.”
And on this path to the top, I saw an image of myself, covered in blood, fingers crushed to pulp, lying in a pool of my own blood.
My face was marked with a vivid red ‘X’, and a note: ‘Brandon’s Obstacle, solved.’
Tears streamed down my face uncontrollably. I booked a plane ticket for three days later.
Serena, since I’m such an eyesore to you, I’ll leave for good.
As for your Brandon, he’s enjoyed himself on my pain and blood for long enough. It’s time for it to end.
I returned to the villa and drafted a divorce agreement on my phone, leaving with nothing. There were plenty of templates online.
Sitting on the couch, I stared blankly at my mutilated hands, sleepless through the night.
The next morning, Serena thought I had simply woken up early and suspected nothing.
She took out a thumb-sized tube of hand cream and carefully massaged it onto my hands.
“Chase, this is a new product developed by some international master. It can moisturize skin and promote healing. It’s incredibly hard to buy, I only managed to get one tube, and it's perfect for you.”
Looking at the hand cream, I gave a sardonic smile.
This was a free sample from those hand essential oils she bought for Brandon, whole boxes of which were piled in the corner of the secret room, covered in dust.
Before I could bring up divorce, Serena quickly dressed and left.
“Chase, things are a bit chaotic outside lately, so stay home and don’t wander off.”
As soon as she walked out the front door, I opened my phone.
The recording device I’d secretly placed in her car played Serena’s and Mark’s voices.
“Serena, the deceased patient’s family seems to have contacted the media. They want justice for their loved one. I've already told the hospital to keep quiet, but public opinion is growing, and it might trace back to Brandon.”
“Then what are you waiting for? Leak Chase’s photos and home address to the media. Tell them he did it.”
“But Chase…”
“Don’t talk nonsense. He’ll just stay quietly at home. Send two bodyguards to guard the outside. What could happen? The main thing is that Brandon absolutely cannot be affected.”
For Brandon, she calmly pushed me into the eye of the storm. Truly, her devotion ran deep.
Not long after Serena left, the media and influencers, having received the tip-off, swarmed our house. The two bodyguards, of course, were nowhere to be seen.
They violently smashed the door, shouting:
“Chase, you murderer, you heartless doctor! You killed someone and you dare to hide at home, enjoying yourself? We’re here to deliver justice! Come out!”
The window glass shattered from thrown rocks, and rotten eggs splattered on my head, emitting a foul stench.