Chapter 2

She posted a selfie.

The caption read: "My man is amazing, my legs are shaking."

In the photo, she was wearing Ethan's shirt, the collar wide open, her collarbone bearing ambiguous hickeys.

I bit down hard on my lip.

A sharp pain and nausea twisted in my stomach. I rushed to the toilet, vomiting until I saw stars.

Ethan and I both grew up in the foster care system.

I've always had a weak constitution, especially with this unusual condition of mine.

When I get emotional or feverish, cherry blossom-like red marks appear on my skin.

The other kids used to call me a freak.

Only Ethan would carefully cup my face and say, "Mia, you're not a monster. This is a gift from God. It's so beautiful."

To help me with my condition, he worked his fingers to the bone to earn money.

In the early days of his startup, he once drank himself to a perforated stomach for a project.

Lying in the hospital bed, he still held my hand and said, "Mia, when we have money, we'll buy a big house with the best glass, so you can see the most beautiful scenery every day."

Now, those vows felt like the most cynical joke.

I hugged the toilet, laughing and crying like a lunatic.

After I'd vented, I wiped my tears and lay on the bed, scrolling through Chloe's account.

She hadn't created the account long ago, and most of her posts were about luxury goods.

Only a few posts were related to Ethan.

One was from six months ago.

She showed off her job offer from Ethan's company, with the caption: "Now I can see my crush every day!"

Another was from a month ago.

That day was my birthday. Ethan said he had to work late and ordered takeout for me.

But I saw in Chloe's post that he had taken her to the mountaintop restaurant I'd always dreamed of, for a candlelit dinner.

The screen went dark, reflecting my bloodless face.

Ethan came home very late.

"Why aren't you asleep yet? You look terrible."

His hand had just brushed my forehead when I flinched away.

He paused, then frowned, a hint of impatience in his voice.

"I've had a long day. I'm not in the mood to guess what's on your mind. Let's talk about it tomorrow."

After he fell asleep, I picked up his phone.

Instinctively, I typed in my birthday.

Incorrect password.

I didn't give up, trying our anniversary next. Still wrong.

Finally, on a strange impulse, I typed in the date Chloe started her internship.

It unlocked.

The pinned chat was with Chloe.

I opened it, revealing sickening messages.

"Playing flight attendant tonight, Master. When are you coming?"

"On my way. Make sure you put on your toys like a good girl."

"Got it, Master."

I scrolled through every one of their messages.

My jaw clenched tight, but tears still flowed uncontrollably.

Ethan, sleeping beside me, seemed to sense it. He instinctively pulled me into his arms, gently stroking my back.

"Mia, don't be scared, your husband's here."

His embrace was still warm, his voice as gentle as ever.

In a daze, my mind drifted back to when I was eighteen.

I had a high fever, and the cherry blossom marks on my body erupted in a large area for the first time. I was completely delirious.

The staff at the children's home were at a loss.

It was teenage Ethan who carried me on his back for several miles, taking me to the hospital.

The road was bumpy, and he fell several times, bruising and bleeding his knees and elbows.

But he didn't say a word, just kept whispering in my ear, "Mia, don't fall asleep, please don't fall asleep. We're almost there."

"If you dare to fall asleep, I'll never buy you your favorite chocolate again."

Back then, he truly loved me with his whole being.

I lay stiffly in his arms, wide awake until dawn.

The next day, after Ethan left for work, I contacted a private investigator.

The detective was efficient. Three days later, I received the first batch of information.

Among them was an audio recording.