Chapter 2 Ruined Pages

"Check what happened at the bridal shop yesterday. Right now! Find out who upset her this time. I swear, this is hell. Tell the manager to remake the dress in the original size and send it over."

The hallway was quiet.

I stood by the elevator as cold air poured from the vent, chilling me to the bone.

What he didn't understand was that it had never been about the dress. It was about his favoritism.

I took out my phone, opened my notes, and found the wedding schedule. Then, I swiped left and tapped delete.

…

After work, I went straight to our newly renovated marital apartment to pick up the drafts I had left behind.

The moment I stepped out of the elevator, I saw a pair of women's shoes by the door—the same pair from the social media post the day before.

I stared at them for two seconds, then unlocked the door.

The living room was quiet.

Natalie sat on the cream-colored sofa we had spent three months picking out together, wearing an oversized T-shirt. The moment she saw me, she jumped to her feet, flustered, and called out instinctively, "Enzo!"

The study door opened at once, and Enzo walked out. When he saw me standing at the entrance, surprise flickered in his eyes, but it disappeared just as quickly.

"I…" Enzo stepped toward me. "Natalie isn't comfortable staying alone in a hotel. And with me not around, it isn't convenient for her to stay at my parents' place either, so I let her stay here for a few days. She'll move out once she finds her own place."

Natalie looked up at me timidly, her voice soft and aggrieved. "Estelle, I know I shouldn't have done this, but my parents… They passed away in a hotel fire back then… If it bothers you, I can find a shared place and make do for a few days."

As she spoke, she reached for her phone.

"Natalie!" Enzo stopped her, frowning. "Don't. Estelle won't mind."

I looked at him quietly—at the man I had loved for so many years. He stood in front of me, utterly certain of himself, handing over our marital home to another woman as if it were only natural, not even allowing me a say.

My gaze swept across the apartment. I had designed every inch of this place.

We had chosen the sofa together. I had personally mixed the paint for the walls. Even the artwork hanging there was mine.

And now, Natalie sat in the middle of it all, perfectly at ease, basking in his protection.

My eyes fell on the oversized T-shirt she was wearing, and my thoughts drifted back to the day we painted the walls.

I had been afraid he would stain his suit, so I bought him a change of clothes. I had hesitated for a long time before giving it to him, worried he would think it looked cheap. But not only had he not disliked it, he had even said he would wash it and keep it properly.

Yet now, the shirt he had once said he wanted to treasure was being worn so casually by her.

Rain drizzled softly outside, and something inside me turned damp and heavy along with it. I did not want to argue or lose control. I simply looked around for my sketchbook.

Near the coffee table, a half-dried towel lay on the floor. My sketchbook was pinned beneath it, one corner sticking out.

I crouched down and pulled it free.

The damp part of the towel had soaked through the back half. The pages were waterlogged, colors bleeding into each other—blue, green, red, all smeared into a muddy mess.

My fingers trembled as I flipped through it.

Page after page… Ruined.

Natalie could not read what lay beneath my calm, and tears immediately welled up in her eyes. "I-I'm sorry… I thought the sketchbook was really cute, and the story inside was so touching, so I flipped through it for a bit. I didn't expect to forget where I put it after my shower… Is it important to you? I study art too. I can compensate you, okay?"

I held the soaked, ruined sketchbook and felt nothing but emptiness.

Then I stood, slipped it into my bag, and turned to leave.

"Estelle," Enzo grabbed my wrist. "Natalie didn't mean it. Don't—"

"It's fine."

It really did not matter anymore.

The door closed behind me. In the elevator, the metal doors reflected a blurred version of my face.