Chapter 3

The studio smelled faintly of dust and old chemicals.

The photographer smiled awkwardly. “Passport photo? ID?”

“Final portrait,” I said evenly.

His hand shook. The camera almost slipped.

While I waited for the prints, laughter drifted in from the doorway.

Susan, hand hooked possessively through Henry Colombo’s arm, stepped inside. She froze when she saw me.

“What photo are you taking, Olivia?” Her voice was sugar with an edge.

“ID,” I said, slipping the photo envelope into my bag. “What about you?”

Susan leaned into his shoulder. “Couple portraits, of course. We already did a session, just came to pick them up.”

“Just humoring her,” Henry explained, glancing at me. His voice softened. “When you’re better, I’ll take you anywhere you want to shoot.”

Staff ushered them to the back. I was about to leave when Susan tugged my arm. “Come help us choose!”

Before I could refuse, she pulled me to the monitor.

The screen filled with image after image:

Henry holding her hand, eyes filled with tenderness.

Kissing at sunset, her skirt flying.

Wearing matching shirts, his arms locked around her waist.

Each frame was another knife in my chest.

“Pick your favorite, Olivia,” Susan urged, smiling like she already knew I was breaking.

Before I could speak, a thunderous crack split the air—

One of the heavy backdrop poles had been left unsecured. It toppled with a shriek of metal.

In the split second of impact, Henry lunged—not toward me, but to shield Susan, his body caging hers.

The pole slammed into my shoulder. A scream tore from my throat as metal sliced through fabric, hot blood soaking crimson into my clothes.

“Henry! It hurts!” Susan whimpered, pointing at a faint scratch on her arm.

Henry’s eyes narrowed, face taut with panic. “We’re going to the hospital.”

He swept her into his arms. At the doorway, he hesitated—only a moment. His gaze flicked back.

I was on my knees, dragging myself free, blood dripping steadily onto the floor.

And then he turned away, carrying her out without another word.

I stitched myself back together alone.

The doctor scowled as he worked. “So badly injured, and no one brought you? Just before you, a girl came in with barely a scratch. Her boyfriend demanded a panel of specialists.”

The needle pierced my flesh, hot and cold all at once. I laughed bitterly. “That girl’s boyfriend… is mine.”

The doctor’s hands faltered, eyes widening.

After returning home.

“Hello, this is Olivia Smith. I need to speak with my lawyer about updating my will. And… I’d like to reserve a plot in Section B, number twelve. My parents are there. When the time comes, I want to be with them.”

The words had barely left my lips when the door slammed open.

Henry Colombo staggered inside,.

“Olivia,” Henry’s voice was hoarse, deadly, “why are you talking about a grave?”

“I hired a lawyer and drafted my will.”

His grip clamped around my hand, desperate, trembling. “Stop it. Don’t talk like that. You’re not dying. As soon as Susan donates, you’ll recover. I’ll marry you. We’ll grow old together. You’ll live a long life—I swear it.”

After saying that，his pupils shrank at the sight of the raw wound.

His hand trembled as it hovered near me. “Olivia, it was chaos. She was crying, I panicked—”

“You did the right thing,” I cut him off. My voice was quiet, even. “She’s your girlfriend now. Of course you should protect her.”

He flinched. “No. I’ve told you—treating her well is just to secure the donation. The only one I love is you.”

“I know.”

Relief softened his face. He helped me bandage my wound, careful, gentle, almost like before. “Rest. I’ll stay.”

He glanced at the screen, then at me.

For a moment, shame flickered across his face. “I…”

“Go,” I said quietly. “Don’t worry about me.”

He hesitated. “I’m only going to make sure the donation stays on track. You know I love you—only you.”

And with that, he left.

The door closed softly behind him, leaving only the silence—and the echo of promises that had already begun to fade.