Chapter 1

There was no screaming or hysterics like I thought there would be.

Silence settled over the room.

I slipped the wedding band from my finger and set it gently on the table.

When I spoke, my voice was calm and clear, completely devoid of emotion.

"Keep the ring. I'll have the dowry returned as well. As for the wedding, whether you cancel it or go through with it together, that's up to you."

I turned and walked away without even asking why. Then, something crashed onto the floor behind me.

Marcel tumbled off the bed. Staggering forward, he dropped to his knees at my feet with his fists clenched.

"Cedric, I'm sorry... I'm the one who deserves blame. I forced Delilah into this. You’ve always been the only one she truly loved.

"Hit me. Kill me if you want. Just... don't act like you don't care."

Delilah hurriedly gathered the clothes from the floor and draped them over his shoulders before getting on her knees beside him. Nevertheless, what spilled from her lips wasn't guilt but overwhelming concern for him.

"No, Cedric. This is all my fault. Ever since we were kids, Marcel has always been the person who's cared about you most. I'm the one who seduced him.

"If you want to hate someone, hate me. Blame me. Take it all out on me."

My legs felt as heavy as lead. With a vacant gaze, I turned back numbly and looked down at the two people I'd once treasured most.

I still remembered the first pair of sneakers I ever owned. Marcel had secretly bought them for me.

I'd always been soft-hearted. Whenever people bullied me, I'd just endure it. However, no matter how many people stood on the other side, Marcel would always stand up for me.

He also had a camera he treasured more than anything. Inside were photographs of every important moment in my life: graduation, birthday celebrations, and the day I won first place in a speech contest.

He did all of it for one reason—because I was his best friend.

As for Delilah...

She had initiated our first kiss. Blushing furiously, she'd risen onto her toes and wrapped her arms carefully around my waist.

I had a sensitive stomach, so she’d always sneak little snacks into my bag, and in her phone notes, she kept track of all my dietary restrictions and preferences.

When I failed an interview and got drunk, crying that I was a failure after all, she stayed up all night without saying a word, helping me revise my resume line by line until dawn.

She did all of it for one reason. It was because, in her eyes, I was her hero.

I used to believe I was the luckiest man in the world, but now, the two people I loved most were on their knees before me.

Who was I supposed to blame?

Who could I possibly blame?