Chapter 1

On my birthday, I spent hours decorating a restaurant, ready to propose to Dolly Porter… until I happened to open a social feed.

There, in a freshly posted video, my girlfriend was on stage in a nearly transparent skirt, wrapped around Steven Chase as they danced provocatively. A matching pair of couple rings gleamed on their fingers.

I stared at the screen for a long time, my chest tightening with a cocktail of emotions.

Just a week ago, I had collapsed from exhaustion while caring for her through a fever. The moment she recovered, she rushed to attend Steven's concert. When I tried to stop her, she abandoned me—burning with fever, left alone in the pouring rain—while she drove off into the night and never came back.

When I confronted her, she scoffed that I didn't even have a "real job," only ever tinkered with "worthless antiques," and shamelessly claimed she was doing it all to introduce me to something "respectable." Since then, we had been locked in a cold war.

She had no idea who I truly was—the only craftsman alive still mastering the ancient art of mortise-and-tenon joinery. Collectors from all over the world offered me fortunes to come out of seclusion. I was never the freeloader she branded me to be.

That day was my birthday, the first time she had ever reached out to reconcile. I had even decided to seize the chance—not just to propose, but to finally reveal my true identity.

But after waiting five long hours, all I received was her sultry dance video.

I stared at the dozens of missed calls flashing on my phone, and suddenly, the weight lifted. Quietly, I packed up the untouched cake, took it home, showered, and sank into sleep.

The next morning, Dolly returned. Tossing her coat onto the sofa, she spoke with barely concealed excitement.

"Good news! Remember the job I asked Steven to find for you? He finally came through. Aren't you happy?"

The same as always. Not a single word of explanation.

The last trace of hope in me crumbled. I forced a faint smile. "Mm. Yeah."

I walked past her toward the dining table, intending to put away the antique ring I had once chosen for her. But she snatched it first, turned it in her fingers, and sneered.

"Where'd you dig up this piece of junk? Can't you stop wasting time on garbage and learn to be ambitious, like Steven?"

Deliberately, she raised her hand, showing off the dazzling diamond ring on her finger, her face twisted with disdain.

I ignored her. Taking the copper turquoise-inlaid ring from her hand, I carefully placed it back into its box. She had no idea that what she mocked as "trash" was a rare ancient dynasty piece I had bought from a renowned collector—for a price worth more than two hundred times her diamond ring.

Maybe we had never belonged to the same world. And if so, what reason did I have to keep clinging to a love drained of all expectation?

Under her barrage of mockery, I finally said the words.

"Let's break up."

Dolly blinked in surprise, then shrieked, "You? Break up with me? Who do you think you are? Even your job came from me! I've had enough. If you want to break up, fine—take your pile of junk and get out of my life!"

With a furious sweep of her arm, she sent everything on the table crashing to the floor before storming out, slamming the door behind her.

The next day, my assistant, Alex Volton, called.

"Mr. Mercer, the International Cultural Relics Restoration Conference is about to begin. They've contacted me repeatedly, hoping you'll attend and offer your expertise."

Last time, I had skipped the conference for Dolly's birthday. This time, I wasn't going to miss it.

After agreeing, I began sorting my collection and prepared to send my late mother's necklace to the exhibition as well—only to remember that Dolly had borrowed it under the pretense of "trying it on" and had never returned it.

I opened her contact to send a message, but before I could type, a new one popped up from her.

It was a plea for help, followed by a location pin.

Mallo Winery? My sister's winery?

I rushed there immediately and rang the bell. After a long wait, the door finally swung open.

Steven stood there, smiling.

"Twenty-three minutes. Dolly, you were right. Not even half an hour, and he came running!"

Laughter erupted inside.

Dolly sat comfortably on the sofa, red nails covering her smirk. Her laughter dripped with contempt.

"Talk big about breaking up, yet here you are, rushing over like a dog wagging its tail. Some things never change."

She turned to the others.

"You lost the bet. Pay up."

And in that instant, I realized—her cry for help was nothing but another trap set solely to humiliate me.