Counterfeit Affection

Claire's Point-of-View

I closed the diary in a daze, and my hands were trembling slightly. I finally realized then that Henry Stone's years of tender devotion had been nothing more than a constant surveillance, a tactic to ensure I never acted against Renee Schmidt, the woman he truly loved.

It made perfect sense why his immense affection and indulgence of me had never moved the mission progress; the entirety of his interaction with me was nothing more than a calculated performance.

I accidentally brushed against Henry's phone on the table, and after a brief hesitation, I picked it up and checked it, immediately finding a second social media profile.

I noticed a conversation history between Henry and the novel's protagonist, William Johnson, who, judging by their messages, had also realized that the world they were living in was part of a novel.

William said, "I recall that in the plot of the novel, Claire's infatuation with me led her to constant rivalry with Renee, so much so that she even had people torment her, driving Renee into depression.

"You married such a spiteful woman and still had to feign affection before her. It must have been so exhausting for you, Henry.

"I can see that Claire has changed and is much better now; she seems to be falling deeper in love with you as well. If she later learned the actual circumstances behind your marriage, she would undoubtedly be devastated. Are you sure you won't regret it, Henry?"

Henry replied firmly, "I won't regret it. I'm willing to sacrifice everything as long as Renee is happy."

I instantly felt a buzzing in my head as I read the messages, and a deep, paralyzing cold instantly permeated my body, settling in my bones.

I put down the phone, spun on my heel, and bolted out the front door. It was snowing heavily outside as I walked aimlessly through the streets, and it was only when sheer fatigue overwhelmed me that I found a bench nearby and sank onto it.

I was suddenly tormented by uncontrolled flashbacks of my time with Henry; with each recollection, the pain in my heart intensified.

I had no idea how much time had passed until an umbrella was abruptly held over my head, followed by a familiar, deep voice. "I finally found you. Why are you sitting here in the snow like this? You should have worn more layers, or you'll catch a cold, Claire."

I looked up and saw Henry, looking immaculate in his straight-cut trench coat, while his eyes were brimming with distress. I was utterly incapable of discerning if his actions were purely theatrical or if they contained some degree of sincere emotion since his performance was so flawless.

Upon seeing my lack of response, Henry's frown intensified. He quickly reached out to feel my face and forehead before saying, "You're burning up, Claire. Do you feel unwell? Come on. Let's go home."

He wasted no time, shoving the umbrella firmly into my grasp. He then swept me into his arms, lifting me effortlessly, and began moving quickly, making his way straight back home.

He immediately helped me strip off my wet clothes and change into my pajamas once we reached home. He then stated firmly, "I'll call for a doctor right away."

I instinctively grabbed his hand and said, "I'm fine. It's just a slight cold, so I'll definitely get better after drinking some chicken noodle soup."

It was only after hearing my words that the tension in Henry's brow eased marginally. "I'll head to the kitchen to prepare some chicken noodle soup for you, then."

I grabbed the hem of his trench coat just as he started to turn away. I then stared fixedly at him and asked, "Are you happy being with me, Henry?"

In the novel, Henry's love for Renee was utterly unrequited, which manifested as acute heartbreak whenever he witnessed her and William together. He was so devoted to protecting Renee that he chose to remain a bachelor for the rest of his life.

I was aware that Henry knew that he was just a character in the novel, yet that didn't change the fact that he took me as his wife solely for Renee's safety.

I was still consumed by the urge to find out if, over the past four years, Henry had felt any genuine happiness with me, even for a single, brief instant.

Henry froze for a beat. He then deliberately looked away from my burning gaze before he offered a slight, dismissive chuckle. "It was my dearest wish to marry you, so I'm absolutely happy, Claire. What brought this question on so abruptly?"

I noticed the flicker of avoidance in his gaze and felt a sharp, sudden pang in my heart. I knew, without a doubt, that he was lying.

I realized that it made sense, though. Henry, the profoundly devoted deuteragonist, who sacrificed his life's happiness to protect the protagonist, could never genuinely develop feelings for me.

I released the hem of his trench coat before I tugged my mouth into a semblance of a smile, replying, "I just got curious. I just want you to know that regardless of everything, I genuinely hope you're happy, Henry."