Chapter 3

The car pulled up outside an upscale restaurant.

Libby took Louie's arm as they walked inside. She wore a sweet smile, as if nothing had happened at the apartment.

I floated behind them, watching as Louie thoughtfully pulled out her chair and watching her blush at his attentiveness.

"Libby, thank you for everything. I really don't know what I'd do without you."

Libby took his hand tenderly. "Don't say that. I'd do anything for you."

The scene was a dagger to my heart, yet painfully familiar.

Years ago, I had courted her just like this.

Back then, Libby still wore her hair in a ponytail, working tirelessly alone in a startup hub.

I had reached out to catch her when she nearly slipped, spilling coffee all over her outfit and ruining the business proposal she'd spent two weeks preparing.

On an impulse, I handed her my own proposal. "Here, take this. I wasn't planning on pitching today anyway."

She stared at me in disbelief. Raindrops clung to her eyelashes.

In that single moment, I knew I was a goner.

Just for that look, I spent eight long months winning her over.

I knew she was still hung up on Louie, her first love from college, whom she'd been forced to leave.

I heard his family looked down on Libby and sent him abroad to break them up.

However, I believed that had nothing to do with my feelings for her.

So, I had thrown myself into courting her. I brought her breakfast every morning, stayed up until dawn to keep her company at work, and tracked every one of her cycles.

Yet every time she got drunk, she would cry and ask me over and over, "Louie will come back, right?"

Then came that torrential stormy night, when her fever spiked past 103 degrees. I had carried her into the hospital while she drifted in and out of consciousness.

When she woke up, she stared at my stubble-covered face and suddenly said, "Kieran, let's give us a shot."

Everything after that felt like a dream come true.

The first year of our marriage was the happiest time of my life.

Our small company began to thrive, and Libby got pregnant.

Gently resting her hand on her baby bump, she whispered, "Kieran, we're going to be Mom and Dad."

I scooped her up and spun her around. When a nurse caught us, she gave me a thorough scolding, and I just grinned through it all.

We were so happy back then. Once Trista was born, I truly believed we would stay together forever.

However, that dream was shattered into pieces the day Louie returned to Castovelle.

It was a Wednesday. I would never forget that day.

Libby had knocked over her milk glass when the phone rang. Her lips trembled as she said, "Louie's back."

After that, life felt fast-forwarded.

She started "working late" constantly and coming home smelling of men's cologne. It certainly wasn't mine.

Louie forced his way between us, systematically tearing down whatever place I had left in her heart.

Libby was seven months pregnant at the time.

Yet her attention was entirely on Louie. After giving birth, she didn't even glance at Trista before wanting to send her to an orphanage.

She didn't want our daughter, but she also didn't want the shame of abandoning her, so she started telling everyone our daughter had died.

Over time, she even brainwashed herself into believing the lie.

I secretly tracked down the person she paid to handle the drop-off and brought Trista back. I even hired a private nanny to raise her in secret.

I kept hoping that maybe, just maybe, she would turn back into the woman who once loved me.

When that day came, I was going to tell her that our daughter was still alive and well.

It was too bad that I never got her love. Worse still, innocent Trista was forced to bear the shame of being called a bastard.

One day, I came home early and found Louie and Libby sitting side by side on the couch.

A stack of photos lay scattered across the coffee table.

"Well done, Kieran. So, this is the business engagement you told me about? Is this your work? Cheating on me behind my back is one thing, but you went and had a child with someone else? Do you have no shame at all?"

In a rage, Libby threw those photos at my face.

Every single one was an edited photo crafted by Louie.

A completely normal business dinner with a female client had been edited to look scandalous.

Even when my cousin came to the office to see me, she was painted as my "secret lover".

Some pictures showed me taking Trista to the amusement park. This caused rumors claiming that she was my love child—a child I'd had with another woman.

No matter how many times I tried to explain, Libby refused to listen to a word I said.

In her eyes, only Louie's words were the absolute truth.

"Daddy, are you crying…"

Trista's sweet voice pulled me out of the memory.

I shook my head.

How could a soul shed tears?

Yet this slow, agonizing torment felt far worse than death itself. It was so painful that I was already numb.