Chapter 1

When Renata Pritchard and Samuel Harlow embraced and kissed, I was actually right there.

On the night of our wedding anniversary, I cooked a feast myself.

Not only did I prepare a full table of dishes, but I also poured my heart into baking a cake for Renata.

Yet no matter how many times I called her, she never answered.

Worried that something might've happened to her, I called her best friend, Vivian Rhodes.

Vivian was thoroughly impatient with me. "Renata's just your wife. It's not like she sold her soul to you! She's simply annoyed by you and doesn't want to be around you. Is that not allowed?" she replied.

Amidst her scolding, I caught the sound of a lively crowd in the background.

Renata's clear, sweet voice pierced through the receiver.

"Samuel! It's been so long. I missed you so much!" she said.

That single sentence That single sentence was enough to make my blood run cold.

Overhearing faint mentions of the beach, I sped off in my car as fast as I could.

What greeted me there was a sight I'd never forget for the rest of my life.

As brilliant fireworks erupted in the sky, Renata and Samuel smiled at each other, unable to resist pulling one another into a passionate kiss.

Beside them, people in the crowd whispered in admiration, "I heard he's Ms. Pritchard's college classmate. They haven't seen each other in five years."

"He only returned to the country today, and she immediately arranged a fireworks show just to welcome him," someone said.

"Is this the power of a first love?"

Yet when my name came up, their tone shifted into sheer disdain.

"Ms. Pritchard's husband? He's such a loser. She gets annoyed just looking at him! Don't mention him on such a happy day. It'll only ruin the mood!"

Under the bright fireworks, my heart slowly turned completely cold.

How could Renata's employees hate me so much for no reason?

It could only be because Renata treated me with that exact same contempt in front of them every day, and they were simply following her lead.

Back when I was pursuing her, Pritchard Group had just fallen into decline.

I abandoned my own career and exhausted almost the entire inheritance my parents had left me, enduring years of hardship before finally helping her family weather the storm.

It was precisely because of this that her parents had her marry me.

I knew she'd never let go of her first love. I also knew that when her family fell on hard times, that so-called childhood sweetheart fled abroad without hesitation.

I thought Renata would see through it all and realize who truly loved her.

I thought that as long as I loved her with all my heart, she'd eventually fall for me.

But the scene before my eyes was a slap in the face.

Her first love remained her only love, while I—the one who'd poured out my family fortune and wasted years for her—was only fit to be called a loser.

I raised the camera in my hands.

I'd originally prepared it to document our wedding anniversary.

At that moment, however, it captured the moment my wife kissed her first love.

Holding the photograph, I sternly warned myself, "Mitchell, give up. Stop clinging to any foolish illusions about her!"

Later on, I was invited to submit my work to a photography exhibition.

As I sifted through a stack of photos, the one I was most satisfied with turned out to be this very picture.

Unsurprisingly, it won the gold award.

Yet the moment they heard I was the one who took it, Vivian and a few other friends clutched their stomachs, bursting into uncontrollable laughter.

"Mitchell, you really take the cake! Who doesn't know that the famous photographer, Mick Sandler, is Renata's idol? He's a genius, unlike you! Who are you to compare yourself to him?

"How dare a useless fool like you impersonate him just to get Renata to spare you a glance? You're not worthy!"

Renata frowned too, her face tinged with faint disgust as she looked at me impatiently.

"Get lost. Keep Mr. Sandler's name out of your mouth, and get out of my sight!" she said.

The look she gave me was a world apart from the gentle, joyful woman in the photograph.

A wave of bitterness welled up in my heart.

I had loved photography since I was little and had some talent. I even won awards and gained fame during my college years.

Mick Sandler was, in fact, my pseudonym.

If Renata had bothered to pay even the slightest bit of attention to me, she'd have noticed these things.

I was often holding a camera, snapping photos here and there. His name, Mick Sandler, would sometimes appear in letters delivered to our home.

I'd always been waiting for her to discover it on her own. I'd hoped she would bring my work to me with a pleasant surprise and ask about it.

Yet after five years of marriage, why did she still know nothing about me?

Why did she interrupt me impatiently whenever I tried to bring it up myself?

I suppose there was only one answer—she didn't love me. She despised me so deeply that she wasn't even willing to spare me a single glance.

Finally coming to terms with this truth, I actually felt a sense of relief. It was as if a heavy burden had been lifted.

"Renata, since you hate me so much, let's get a divorce."