Chapter 1

While waiting for Blake to order, I scrolled through a post.

The poster asked: "My boyfriend loves me in stockings, but his girlfriend isn't a fan. How can I subtly get my stockings into his place?"

She also posted a picture of her long, slender, pale legs, which had netizens drooling.

I secretly scoffed, *Poor girl, what a scumbag she's dealing with.*

But then I saw the tattoo on the poster's right leg, and I froze.

It was identical to my boyfriend's.

And I, well, I definitely don't like wearing stockings.

I zoomed in on the picture, and my breath hitched.

That tattoo... how could I not recognize it?

Blake has an identical one on his right ankle.

He told me it was his lucky charm, with the letter 'B' for 'Blake'.

I was with him last year on his birthday when he got it.

He was grimacing in pain, squeezing my hand tight.

*How could it be... such a coincidence?*

I abruptly looked up at Blake, who was sitting across from me.

He had just finished ordering and flashed me a tender smile: "Babe, I ordered your favorite cod. Make sure you eat up later."

His smile was as warm and gentle as ever.

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice steady, and turned my phone screen towards him: "Blake, check out this post. Pretty funny, right? This person's tattoo looks just like yours."

His smile instantly froze.

It was only for a split second, but I clearly caught the flicker of panic in his eyes.

He quickly averted his gaze, barely even looking at the screen, his voice stiff: "Huh? What tattoo? There are tons of similar ones online. Must be a coincidence."

He reached out to push my phone away, his movement carrying a hint of barely perceptible urgency.

My heart sank.

Normally, if he saw a similar tattoo, he'd be excited to discuss it, maybe even brag about the special meaning his tattoo held.

Not avoid it like the plague.

"Really?"

I pulled my phone back. "But it really looks so similar, even the little 'B' is in almost the same spot. Do you think it's from the same parlor? Or... maybe it's the exact same person?"

I added, half-joking, half-testing him.

"Chloe…"

Blake's voice suddenly rose, making a nearby table of customers glance over.

He seemed to realize his outburst, lowering his voice, his brows furrowed, "What are you implying? You're accusing me? A random post, some random picture from the internet, and you're suddenly so suspicious?"

His tone was full of accusation: "I knew something was off with you today. So this is what you've been obsessing over? Can't you stop being so sensitive? Just trust me for once, okay?"

Sensitive? Suspicious?

If it weren't for that tattoo, I might actually have doubted myself, wondered if I was overthinking things.

But now, his reaction, his gaslighting, only solidified my suspicions.

I didn't say anything, just quietly watched him.

My silence seemed to provoke him, or rather, made him even guiltier.

"Forget it. Looks like dinner's ruined. You can just sit here and stew in your suspicions."

His face was flushed with anger and embarrassment, his eyes darting, unwilling to meet my gaze. "I can't stand you like this. Every single day, I have no idea what goes on in that head of yours."

With that, he turned and walked out.

Blake, what are you so guilty about?