5

Looking into Chloe’s bloodshot eyes, Liam withdrew his probing gaze. He lowered his eyelids, remaining silent and detached, his long lashes veiling whatever emotions stirred beneath.

Chloe had always adored Liam’s physical perfection. Even now, standing there in the dim light, he looked like a flawless masterpiece—composed, balanced, and untouchable.

But in this moment, she loathed every inch of him. She hated his eyes, his brow, and his pristine, wrinkle-free white shirt. Most of all, she hated that eternal, "gentlemanly" warmth that felt as thin and cold as a sheet of ice.

It took a long time for her to find her voice. "I came for one thing. Tell me why. Why did you leave me at the altar?"

Why did you do this to me?

"I'm sorry."

Liam was silent for a beat before uttering those three words.

Those three simple words felt like a handful of salt rubbed into Chloe’s bleeding heart. The pain was so sharp it felt like her lungs had collapsed.

Fifteen minutes later, Chloe walked out of the Martin estate, looking like a hollow shell of herself. Liam watched her lonely, retreating figure. Despite the ice in his veins, he couldn't be entirely ruthless. He pulled out his phone and called Justin.

"Take care of her," Liam commanded.

Justin’s response was biting and cold. "Remember today, Liam. Since you chose to throw her away, her life is no longer any of your business."

On the drive back, Chloe broke. she sobbed until her chest felt like it was tearing apart, a raw, gut-wrenching sound that filled the car. Justin said nothing and asked nothing; he simply stayed by her side, a silent witness to her devastation.

The Waterfront

Justin rolled down the windows. The salt-heavy sea breeze rushed in, mixing with the rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the jagged rocks. The night felt impossibly lonely.

Chloe didn't know how long she had been crying. Only when her tears finally ran dry did she hear Justin’s voice break the silence.

"That girl... her name is Sara Jay," Justin began slowly. "She’s Brandon Jay’s younger sister. She and Liam grew up together. Seven years ago, during that car accident, Sara was the one who saved Liam’s life."

Chloe knew that part.

"Later, Sara was kidnapped and held abroad by Marcus Martin," Justin continued. "She was the leverage used to keep Brandon and Liam in line. Liam spent years searching for her. He truly believed she was dead... he had no idea she was still alive until now."

Chloe hadn't known any of that.

Childhood sweethearts.

Sara... Sara Jay. Brandon’s sister...

It hit her then. For all these years, Liam had lived a lie, and she had been his primary audience.

"He thought she was dead, so he settled for me. That's why he agreed to the wedding," Chloe said, letting out a self-deprecating laugh. Her tears fell like rain on white petals—a sight that would break anyone's heart. "I was the only one kept in the dark. I spent six years being played for a fool, thinking I was the happiest woman in the world."

When Liam apologized just now, she saw guilt in his eyes. She saw debt. She even saw pity. But she saw absolutely no love.

At that moment, the harsh truth finally settled in: For six years, she was the only one playing for keeps. He had been sober and detached the entire time.

Only this morning, she had stood before her parents, swearing her life on Liam’s loyalty. She had told them he would make her happy forever. Liam’s "slap" to her face today was deafening.

Chloe remembered his words from earlier: "Chloe, I'm sorry. I've failed you. But the truth is... the only person I've ever loved is Sara."

She had given him six years of her life. She had stayed by his side through the madness, the darkness, and the climb to the top. In the end, all it was worth was a meaningless "I'm sorry."

The moments she had cherished as her happiest memories were now revealed to be nothing more than scenes from a cold, calculated play.

"Justin, he said he always loved Sara. He said love is about who gets there first." Chloe’s voice was a ghost of itself. "With one sentence, he turned me into the most pathetic woman in this city."

"All these years, he was just acting. He used the Bishop family to climb. I fell for his 'devotion' hook, line, and sinker. I loved him with everything I had. I even... I even tried so hard to get into his bed like a fool."

When she was eighteen, Chloe had been ready to give herself to Liam. She had even tried to seduce him, but Liam had played the part of the perfect, honorable gentleman. He insisted on waiting until their wedding night, claiming she was too precious to rush. Even when he was clearly tempted, he never crossed the line.

"I finally get it today," she whispered, her lips pale and trembling. "He didn't refuse to touch me because I was 'precious.' He didn't touch me because he didn't want me."

The pain reached a limit where tears were no longer enough. Chloe let out a hollow, tragic laugh.

"Chloe." Justin reached out, his eyes brimming with a suppressed emotion that was beginning to leak through. "You lost him, but you still have us. You have your friends. If you need it... my shoulder is always here for you to lean on."

Chloe leaned her head against Justin’s shoulder and closed her eyes, exhausted to her very soul. "Thank you, Justin."

She was so tired. Truly, deeply tired.

Justin looked down at her. Only when her breathing turned slow and steady did he dare to lift a finger, gently tracing the lines of her face with a look of deep, aching longing.

A Memory of Sixteen

Chloe fell into a deep, heavy sleep. In her dreams, her past with Liam played back like a movie.

It started when she was sixteen. Her parents had thrown her a massive, glittering birthday gala. Half the eligible young men in the city were there.

Chloe was a master of the arts—piano, chess, calligraphy—but she had no head for business. Since the Bishops were a one-child family, her father, Charles, was worried she wouldn't be able to carry the weight of their empire alone. He wanted to find a partner for her early—someone he could groom to take over.

Charles and his wife stood on the second-floor balcony that night, scanning the crowd of boys aged sixteen to twenty, looking for the perfect "seed."

Mrs. Bishop pointed toward a particularly striking teenager. "What about him? Out of all these kids, he seems the most impressive."

Charles looked where she pointed and hummed thoughtfully. "That’s a boy from the Grayson family. But the Graysons are... complicated. That family is too messy for Chloe."

The boy’s name was Xavier Grayson. He stood coolly behind his aunt, watching the crowd with an expressionless face. Even at nineteen, he possessed a maturity far beyond his years. He was tall, handsome, and carried an innate nobility that made him stand out like a hawk among crows.

But the Grayson family politics were a nightmare. Xavier had grown up under cold glares and hushed whispers. He was too dark, too quiet. He wasn't the right choice.

Mrs. Bishop sighed and moved her gaze, soon finding another candidate. "What about him? They say he’s a Martin. Brilliant student, looks very clean and gentle."

Charles frowned. "A Martin? Which one?"

"The one standing under the magnolia tree."

Charles finally spotted the boy.

He was eighteen, dressed in a crisp white shirt, looking as refined as a piece of jade. With the white magnolia blossoms above him, he looked like a painting brought to life—eyes like stars, skin like porcelain, radiating a calm, gentle energy.

"Him?" Charles’s frown deepened.

"What's wrong?" Mrs. Bishop asked hopefully. "I heard he’s top of his class. His character is supposedly flawless."

Charles shook his head. "No. The Martin family situation is even worse than the Graysons. Besides... he lost a leg in a car accident last year."