Chapter 2

I knew that Ethan, who had promised at noon to come home, wouldn't be returning.

This kind of situation had happened far too many times during our six months of marriage.

After I finished eating, I didn't leave any food out for him like I used to. Instead, I opened my laptop and logged into my email.

In my inbox lay offers from law firms across more than a dozen countries.

Moving the cursor, I hovered over the email from a firm in France and clicked accept without a single second thought.

Then, I booked a flight to Paris for two days later.

The next morning, I began packing my bags.

In the master bedroom closet, my clothes occupied the left side, and Ethan's filled the right.

Lately, his side was crowded with bright, colorful shirts—the kind he would have never touched in the past. But ever since Chelsea arrived, she had insisted that dressing casually made him seem approachable and popular with clients. Because of that, the high-end tailored suits I had once carefully picked out for him were now gathering dust at the bottom of the wardrobe.

I smiled faintly, placing my clothes into the suitcase one by one.

When I was only halfway through, Ethan suddenly walked through the front door.

His pink shirt carried the distinct scent of the perfume Chelsea liked to wear.

Catching sight of me, he froze, instinctively explaining himself. "Chelsea insisted on going shopping last night. It got too late, so I just checked into a hotel nearby."

I nodded, offering no response.

In our six months of marriage, this was the very first time he had ever volunteered an explanation.

He took two steps closer, his gaze dropping to the suitcase. "Are you going on a business trip?"

"Yes."

For some reason, he looked visibly relieved. "I have something to take care of today. I just came back to grab a few things and then I have to run."

"Okay."

I kept my head down, continuing to fold my clothes.

I had initially planned to tell him about my resignation over lunch, but looking at him now, it seemed completely unnecessary.

He gave a brief murmur of acknowledgment, fished out a red gift bag, grabbed his coat by the door, and left in a hurry.

The moment the door slammed shut, the picture frame hanging on the wall for the past six months suddenly slipped, crashing to the ground and shattering the glass everywhere.

It was our wedding portrait.

In the photo, he wore the suit I had chosen, and I wore a white bridal gown. He had told me then that he would love me, cherish me, and protect me forever. Back then, my eyes had been red from crying tears of joy, smiling like a fool.

But the moment Chelsea appeared, all of those promises were tossed to the back of his mind.

I stared at the photograph for a long time before finally clearing away the broken shards.

Then, I threw that picture of pure happiness—along with the very last ounce of my lingering regret—straight into the trash can.

In the evening, just as I lay down in bed, my best friend called me.

"Have you checked social media? What on earth is going on between Ethan and Chelsea!"

I unlocked my phone.

Chelsea had just posted a new update. It was a grid of nine photos, with the center image highlighting a brand-new necklace around her neck.

The caption read: "Happy twenty-second birthday to me! Thank you for the gift, Mentor."

In the bottom right photo, half of a familiar red gift bag was visible.

So, that was why Ethan had rushed home at noon—just to grab a birthday present for Chelsea.

My friend was still cursing over the line. "You guys have only been married for six months, and she already dares to flaunt it like this? Is Ethan completely out of his mind?"

I said quietly, "We never actually registered our marriage."

The other end of the line went completely dead.

It took a long while before her voice returned, filled with utter disbelief. "What?"

"We had the wedding, but we never got the certificate," I repeated, my tone entirely flat.

Another heavy silence followed. Finally, my friend's voice softened, laced with deep heartache. "Then... what are you going to do?"

I glanced at the packed suitcase resting in the corner and smiled. "I'm flying to Paris tomorrow. A law firm over there extended an invitation to me a while ago."

"Is he not stopping you?"

"He doesn't know."

And he wouldn't care anyway.

After hanging up the phone, I took one last look at Chelsea's post. After a moment's thought, I tapped the like button.

I considered it a parting blessing for the two of them before my departure.

At ten o'clock that evening, Ethan finally returned home.

Stepping through the door, he instinctively reached out to hang up his coat, but his hand froze midway.

"Where is the photo that was behind the door?"

Without even putting his coat down, he strode into the bedroom, his tone carrying a sudden wave of panic. "Honey, where did our wedding picture go?"

I leaned against the headboard, answering casually, "It fell and shattered."

Hearing this, he glanced at the broken glass sitting in the trash can, and his tense expression relaxed.

He then pulled a Louis Vuitton bag out of his briefcase and handed it over to me.