4

Looking at Chloe Bishop's red-rimmed eyes, Liam Martin withdrew his probing gaze. He dropped his eyelids and said nothing, his fine lashes hiding every trace of emotion.

Chloe Bishop had always loved Liam Martin's handsome face. Even now, standing there, he looked like a perfect painting—every line in balance.

But at this moment, she hated him. She hated his eyes, his brows, his pristine white shirt without a single wrinkle. She hated his eternal gentleness, his perpetual calm.

It took her a long moment to find her voice. "I came here to ask you one question. Why did you leave me at the altar?"

Why did he do this to her?

"I'm sorry."

Liam Martin was silent for a moment, then said those three words.

Three simple words—like salt rubbed into the bleeding wound of her heart. The pain was suffocating.

More than ten minutes later, Chloe Bishop left the Martin residence, dazed and hollow.

Liam Martin watched her lonely, broken figure disappear. He wasn't ruthless enough to let her go without a second thought—he pulled out his phone and called Justin Taylor. "Take good care of her."

Justin Taylor's reply was cold. "Remember this day well. Since you chose to abandon her, whatever happens to her from now on has nothing to do with you, Liam Martin."

On the way back, Chloe Bishop wept bitterly—heart-wrenching, soul-crushing sobs.

Justin Taylor didn't dare say a word or ask a single question. He simply sat with her in silence.

At the seaside.

Justin Taylor rolled down the window. The sea breeze rushed in, carrying the salty tang of seawater. Waves crashed against the rocks, and the night felt especially cold and lonely.

Chloe Bishop didn't know how long she had cried. Only when she had no tears left did she hear Justin Taylor speak.

He said, "That girl's name is Sara Jay. She's Brandon Jay's younger sister. She and Liam Martin grew up together—childhood sweethearts. In the car accident seven years ago, Sara Jay saved Liam Martin's life."

Chloe Bishop already knew all of this.

"Later, Sara Jay was imprisoned abroad by Marcus Martin, used as leverage against Brandon Jay and Liam Martin. Liam Martin had been searching for her all these years. He thought she was dead—never expected her to still be alive."

This—Chloe Bishop had never known.

Childhood sweethearts.

Sara Jay. Sara Jay. Brandon Jay's sister...

So all these years, Liam Martin had been lying to her.

"He thought Sara Jay was dead, so he agreed to marry me. That's what it was."

Chloe Bishop laughed bitterly, tears streaming down like pear blossoms in the rain—falling in pure white sadness, pitiful and aching.

"So I was the only one left in the dark. Like a fool, I was deceived for six years—and I actually thought I was happy."

Just now, when Liam Martin apologized, his eyes held guilt and pity—but no love.

It was only in that moment that she finally understood.

All these six years, she had been the only one fully invested in this relationship. He had always kept his heart clear and untouched.

Just this morning, she had sworn to her parents that she believed Liam Martin would never betray her, that he would make her happy for the rest of her life.

Now, Liam Martin's slap had landed—and it stung.

She remembered his words just now: "Chloe, I'm sorry. I've let you down. But the truth is—I've always loved Sara Jay."

Six years by his side. Through madness and triumph, through countless nights of darkness and light. And in the end, all she got was a hollow "sorry."

Those moments she once treasured as the happiest of her life—now they seemed like nothing but elaborate schemes.

"Justin, he said he's always loved Sara Jay. He said love is about who came first. And with one sentence, he made me the most pitiful woman in New York City."

"He spent all these years putting on a show for me—using the Bishop family. I took his performance of devotion at face value, gave him my whole heart, loved him, protected him, and even threw myself at him shamelessly."

At eighteen, Chloe Bishop had been ready to give herself to Liam Martin completely. She had even crawled into his bed once.

But Liam Martin had acted like a proper gentleman, insisting on saving their first time for the wedding night—even when desire stirred, he never crossed the line.

"Only today did I realize—he didn't refuse me because he treasured me. He refused me because I never meant anything to him at all."

When the pain reached its limit, tears no longer came.

Chloe Bishop smiled desolately, her delicate lips drained of color.

"Chloe."

Justin Taylor opened his arms to her, a deep emotion spilling from his eyes. "You've lost him, but you still have friends like me. Whenever you need a shoulder to lean on, mine is here."

Chloe Bishop rested her head on Justin Taylor's arm and closed her eyes in exhaustion. "Thank you, Justin."

She was so tired. So incredibly tired.

Justin Taylor looked down at the woman in his arms. Only when he heard her even breathing did he dare to lift his hand and gently trace her face—reverent, lingering, memorizing every curve.

Chloe Bishop had a long dream. In it, her memories with Liam Martin played out like a movie—scene by scene, replaying in her mind.

At sixteen, her parents threw her a lavish birthday banquet. Many outstanding young men attended.

Though she was accomplished in music, chess, calligraphy, and painting, she had no talent for business. The Bishop family had been passed down through three generations of only sons, and Charles Bishop had only her.

Fearing she couldn't handle the vast Bishop enterprise alone, her parents wanted to find an heir early on—someone to groom.

The young men who came that day were all between sixteen and twenty, each one exceptional.

Charles Bishop and his wife stood on the second-floor balcony, scanning the boys below, carefully evaluating each one.

After surveying the crowd, Mrs. Bishop pointed to a strikingly handsome young man. "What about him? Out of all the children here, I think he's the best."

Charles Bishop followed her gaze, then considered for a moment. "That's the Grayson family's child. The Grayson family situation is complicated. That kind of background wouldn't be right for Chloe."

His name was Xavier Grayson. He stood coolly behind his aunt, face expressionless as he watched the crowd—carrying a composure far beyond his years.

At nineteen, he was tall and exceptionally good-looking, with an innate nobility that made him stand out among the others like a crane among chickens.

But the Grayson family was tangled in complexities. Xavier Grayson had known the sting of others' scorn from a young age, aloof and quiet—not a good choice.

Hearing her husband's words, Mrs. Bishop looked away with regret. Soon enough, she spotted another promising candidate. "What about that one? He's from the Martin family, I hear. Good student, looks clean and gentle."

Charles Bishop frowned. "The Martin family? Which one?"

"The one standing under the magnolia tree."

Mrs. Bishop pointed again. "I think his name is Liam Martin."

Charles Bishop finally spotted the boy beneath the white magnolia.

Eighteen years old, pristine and warm as polished jade. White blossoms above him, pink lips, bright eyes like stars—like a painting untouched by the dust of the world.

"Him?"

Charles Bishop's frown deepened.

Mrs. Bishop looked at him expectantly. "What do you think? I've heard he's excellent in studies, good character, top in everything."

But Charles Bishop shook his head again. "No. The Martin family situation is even more complicated than the Grayson’s'. And he lost a leg in a car accident last year."