Chapter 3

I found myself saying yes.

I wanted to see what would happen when I showed up in front of Lydia's colleagues at her office, not as her husband, but as a photographer.

On the day of the shoot, I arrived at the law firm first.

The receptionist asked about my purpose. Just as I showed her my press credentials, a familiar voice cut through like a blade.

"Nathaniel? What are you doing here?"

Philip strode over in his leather shoes, looking at me as if I were something filthy.

"This is a workplace. No unauthorized personnel are allowed in here," he said, his tone laced with undisguised contempt.

"I'm here to work."

His smile faltered. He looked me up and down, then smirked again.

"What kind of work? Are you here to deliver food?" He let out a laugh. "Stop messing around, Nathaniel. This is a law firm, not your kitchen. Unauthorized personnel aren't permitted here."

I held up my press credentials. "I'm scheduled with the magazine to do a feature shoot with Ms. Lydia Payne at 3:00 pm today."

Philip raised an eyebrow. "What kind of magazine would be stupid enough to hire you? You didn't even pass Astorian Level Four."

After taking a deep breath, I took out my phone and called Lydia.

She answered and barked impatiently, "What is it? I'm busy!"

"I'm down at the law firm."

There was a pause on the other end, followed by the sound of footsteps.

When she came out and saw me, Lydia immediately frowned.

"What are you doing here? Go home right now. I have things to deal with tonight."

"I'm here for work," I replied, holding up the assignment letter.

She glanced at it without taking it, her expression as if she'd just heard a joke.

"What work could you possibly have?"

"Photography."

She looked at me with that familiar disgust in her eyes.

"You haven't touched a camera in five years. What could you even shoot? Don't embarrass yourself, and just go home."

Before she could finish, the elevator doors opened.

The magazine's chief editor, Max Welch, stepped out with his team.

"Ms. Payne, I've been looking forward to meeting you. Oh, Nathaniel, you're already here?" Max turned to me. "Shall we get started? Would you like to check the lighting first?"

Lydia's expression froze on her face, and Philip was stunned as well.

The interview went smoothly.

After it ended, we moved on to the photo shoot. I raised my camera and looked at Lydia through the viewfinder.

I'd spent all my youth loving and worshiping this woman. But now, in my lens, she was nothing more than a beautiful stranger.

I took three sets of photos. Max nodded approvingly.

As we wrapped up, I crouched down to change lenses. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Philip approaching.

"Nathaniel, sorry about the misunderstanding earlier," he said with a smile.

Then, his foot suddenly caught something, and he lurched straight into me.

The camera flew out of my hands and crashed against the metal trash can in the corner.

The lens shattered with a crack, and a split ran through the body.

My mind went blank.

That camera was passed down to me from my father, Christopher Hardy. The night he passed, I held that camera and cried until dawn.

Philip's voice was flustered as he poured out apologies, but a flash of satisfaction flickered in his eyes.

"Oh my god, I'm so sorry! Clumsy me. Nathaniel, please don't be mad."

A surge of rage shot through me. I got to my feet, eyes reddening, and threw a punch.

"Nathaniel, have you lost your mind?"

Lydia grabbed my wrist, yanking me back with force. Then, she stepped in front of Philip, glaring at me.

"Philip didn't mean to break your camera! Besides, are you seriously going to make a scene over a crappy camera? Just take a look at yourself! What, you think you're some big shot thug?"

I stared at her face, suddenly at a loss for words.

She was protecting him.

The blood in my veins gradually turned cold.

The magazine crew exchanged uneasy glances.

Max smoothed things over, saying they'd reschedule another time, and left with his team.

I crouched down to pick up the shattered camera.

Lydia walked over and handed me a few bills.

"Get it repaired. That's enough drama, so quit it."

I didn't take the money, and they fluttered to the floor.

I stood up and looked at her, then at Philip behind her. He was biting his lip, wearing a perfectly practiced look of grievance.

Without a word, I turned and walked away.

I went to the hospital. When I lay down on the operating table, the cold touch of the instruments sent a shiver through me.

After the keyhole surgery, I felt a dull pain in my abdomen. It was as if something had been taken out of me.