Chapter 3 He Might Not Even Be Good

In the days that followed, Vega went through her routine as usual.

She went to work. She came home. It was as if my disappearance had not affected her at all. Yet, the way she occasionally stared blankly at her phone betrayed her.

Every time it rang, no matter what she was doing, she would immediately stop and check it. And every time, disappointment followed.

After a while, even Mason noticed something was off. "Who are you waiting for? Blaine?"

Vega frowned slightly and set her phone down without looking at him, but the pen in her hand did not move for a long time.

As if he understood everything, Mason lounged lazily on the sofa, his gaze drifting toward her. "Jayden said he saw him in Caelmont State when he went there the other day. Didn't Blaine always want to go there? My guess? He went there to clear his head after your argument."

At that, he put on a feigned guilt-ridden expression. "It's my fault. If it weren't for me, you two wouldn't have fought. Maybe we shouldn't stay in contact anymore."

Vega immediately refuted him, insisting that what happened between us had nothing to do with him.

Standing beside her, I could not help but feel a bitter irony. Every word coming out of that man's mouth was a lie, yet the woman who had been married to me for five years could not see through a single one of them, simply because she trusted him from the bottom of her heart.

I found myself wondering. If one day Vega discovered that Mason had been lying all along, and that I was already dead, would she hate him for my sake?

But the thought barely formed before I shook my head.

How could she ever hate Mason because of me?

…

As dinner time approached, Mason invited Vega out for a meal, but she hesitated.

"You still haven't thanked me for what happened last time," he said. "Don't tell me a big boss like you would refuse even a dinner invitation."

With that, Vega had no excuse left.

But if anyone deserved that meal, it should have been me. After all, what he had taken was my work.

…

At the table, Mason kept placing food onto Vega's plate.

Vega had always been a germaphobe. When eating out, she strictly used serving cutlery. But everything Mason placed on her plate using his cutlery, she ate without hesitation.

So her germaphobia came with exceptions.

Midway through the meal, Mason glanced at her before speaking. "Blaine's compositions are widely recognized as top-tier. If my new drama could have one of his songs as the theme, it'd already be halfway to success."

His gaze stayed fixed on Vega, waiting for her response.

She knew that I had not composed anything in a long time. The one recent piece I had poured my heart into had already been taken by her and given away under Mason's name.

"He's not in town right now. You should just have someone else write it—it's all the same," she said, but perhaps unwilling to reject him outright, Vega added, "Blaine hasn't written anything in a long time. What he gives you might not even be good. I'll find someone better for you."

Sitting beside her, I almost laughed in anger.

Did refusing Mason really require belittling me like that?

Mason seemed satisfied and nodded with a smile, then continued, "Then maybe Blaine can introduce me to a composer he knows. He's one of the best in the industry. He must have connections to plenty of top talents."

It was a reasonable suggestion, and Vega agreed almost without hesitation. Right in front of Mason, she pulled out her phone and called me.

Once. Twice.

No one answered.