5 PM. I was spraying Clara’s favorite designer scent on the Italian leather sofa in the living room. That small bottle cost me a month’s salary, but if she liked it, no price was too high. 6 PM. I carefully arranged the meticulously prepared French foie gras on the dining table. 7 PM sharp. I stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching cars zoom by on the street below, quietly waiting for my wife, Clara, to return—whenever that might be. The clock struck midnight when Clara finally came home, reeking of alcohol. I instinctively reached out to steady her. She was disoriented by the drink. Her hand grazed my face, and she looked at me with tender eyes. “Asher, it’s so good you’re back…” Before she could finish, she collapsed into my arms. I smiled wryly. Guess I shouldn’t have held onto any hope. Sighing, I expertly carried her into the bedroom. After making sure she was fast asleep, I gently closed the door. I was pouring out the untouched foie gras when my phone vibrated. It was a message from Mrs. Sterling: “Asher, I heard Julian, the Sterling family’s son, is back from Silicon Valley today?” I gazed out at the nightscape, my fingers trembling as I replied, “Yes, Mrs. Sterling.” Mrs. Sterling’s reply popped up almost immediately: “You’ve been through so much these past three years. If Clara hadn’t… never mind. Let’s not talk about it. If you still want to pursue your studies in the US, I can arrange it.” I gripped my phone, and the memory of that rainy night three years ago flashed before my eyes. That night, I had just received my full-ride scholarship acceptance to MIT. I was so excited, I wanted to tell my foster mother first. Instead, I found Clara utterly devastated at the Sterling family mansion. Julian, the man she’d secretly loved for years, had left for Silicon Valley to start a business with his girlfriend of three months. Clara was so heartbroken, she tried to end her life. Mrs. Sterling found me and proposed a deal: I would give up MIT and pretend to be Clara’s boyfriend for three years. In return, the Sterling family would send me to an even better school after the three years were up. It was a trade: my dream for her life. But I had no other choice. Ever since the car accident took my parents, the Sterling family had taken me in. For so many years, Mrs. Sterling had provided for me, never letting me want for anything. When she made that request, I couldn’t refuse. And so, I abandoned my dream and began to play the role of the perfect boyfriend. I went shopping with her, cooked her meals, and memorized all her likes and dislikes. But wounds in love aren’t so easy to heal. Thankfully, with my constant presence, Clara gradually emerged from the shadow of heartbreak. She slowly began to live like a normal person again, eating, sleeping, socializing. She seemed to rely on me heavily, wanting me to accompany her everywhere. But I knew she was just used to my existence. She never truly loved me. Every time Julian posted updates with his girlfriend on social media, she would lock herself in her room and cry all night. I could only stand outside her door, listening to her muffled sobs. Then, three winters ago, Julian’s startup received venture capital funding and was featured in Forbes. Clara flew to Silicon Valley, excitedly planning a lavish party, inviting all her friends in the circle. She dressed up splendidly, her sole purpose being to see Julian. But Julian didn’t show up. His excuse was flimsy: he had to take his girlfriend out for hotpot. Clara abandoned all her guests, asking me to take her searching for a hotpot restaurant in the freezing San Francisco snow. She was drunk, and I was used to her emotional outbursts. All I could do was comfort her. During our argument, Clara accidentally dropped her bracelet into the boiling red broth. That bracelet had been on her wrist since we first met. I watched Clara frantically reach for it, but I plunged my hand into the scorching hot pot first, retrieving the bracelet for her. By the time Clara reacted, the hand I used to grab the bracelet was already scalded crimson, covered in large blisters. Clara finally seemed moved. She embraced me, sobbing, “Asher, let’s get married.” Later, I found out that bracelet was Julian’s eighteenth birthday gift to Clara. That’s why, after I retrieved it, she immediately sent it for cleaning, not even bothering to accompany me to the hospital. For three years, she had merely treated me as Julian’s stand-in. Now, the three-year agreement was up. Julian had divorced his wife and returned home. Clara was radiating a newfound glow. I knew my mission was complete. Gazing at the city lights outside the window, I replied to Mrs. Sterling: “Okay, thank you for your trouble.” Putting down my phone, I packed my luggage. On the coffee table sat Clara’s favorite perfume. I gently touched it, then let my hand drop. At 3 AM, Clara emerged from the bedroom. “Asher, I’m hungry.” She was engrossed in her phone until she bumped into the suitcase in front of her. Only then did she ask, “What are you packing for?” My tone was calm. “A business trip.” Clara didn’t even look up, continuing her query. “Where to?” I stood up, preparing to cook her some noodles in the kitchen. “San Francisco.” Hearing “San Francisco,” Clara’s brows furrowed. But soon, her attention was re-captured by a message from Julian. She casually remarked, “Asher, don’t bring me anything back from this trip. You know I hate everything about San Francisco.” My knife slipped, cutting my index finger. A few beads of blood welled up. I gave a bitter laugh, grabbing a tissue to hastily wipe it away. *I thought.* Clara and I would always be from two different worlds. What I desperately pursued was precisely what she despised. Now, finally, we could each find our own joy. The man she loved had returned to the place she loved. The man she hated was finally heading to the place she hated. Everything was as she wished. From now on, let these three years be a dazzling accident on my journey to chasing my dreams. **Chapter 2** “What are you looking at? So engrossed you’ve forgotten breakfast?” Clara prompted, finding me staring blankly at my phone. I quickly pressed the lock button. The留学 application materials from Mrs. Sterling were still on the chat screen. “Okay, I’m going.” I busied myself in the kitchen. Clara’s laughter drifted in from the living room. She was probably on a FaceTime call with Julian again. Ever since Julian’s return, she had been radiant, even dressing up lavishly at home. When Clara, dressed and in ten-centimeter heels, arrived at the dining room, she frowned at the American-style breakfast on the table. “Why isn’t it Western today? You know I have an important meeting.” I handed her a glass of juice. “My stomach hasn’t been feeling great lately. Thought you might need an adjustment too.” What I didn’t say was that I wanted to enjoy a few more traditional American breakfasts. Once I went abroad, I wouldn’t be able to find such authentic ones. Mrs. Sterling’s assistant was always efficient; they’d even booked an apartment for me near MIT. Clara casually “oh-ed,” her fingers rapidly swiping on her phone. Julian had just posted a picture on Ins—a sunrise I’d captured during my morning run. I opened my briefcase and pulled out a document. I had drafted this divorce agreement for a long time, meticulously ensuring no oversight would affect her interests. “Clara, please sign this.” “Mm.” She didn’t look up, carelessly scrawling a circle on the paper with her right hand. I watched her signature, then softly said, “I’m leaving next week.” “Okay.” She was still absorbed in typing. I couldn’t help but ask, “Do you know what you just signed?” “A project contract,” She finally looked up. “Didn’t you say that charity project in the local community needed my signature?” I smiled. “Yes, that’s the one.” I put the agreement away, watching her rush out the door, a hint of bitterness in my eyes. She had already signed the local community project last month. In the afternoon, I visited the charity project. This was what I was most proud of over the past three years. Using my own salary, I had set up a free after-school arts program for underprivileged children in an underserved part of the city. “Mr. Asher is going abroad?” The children gathered around me, their eyes filled with reluctance. I smiled, patting their heads. “Yes, Mr. Asher is going abroad to study. When I come back, I’ll teach you how to paint even more beautiful pictures.” Mr. Davis, the principal, clapped me on the shoulder. “What about Ms. Clara? She always said she wanted to visit.” I looked at the children’s drawings on the wall. One of them was a casual doodle Clara had made last year. She had said she would come teach the children how to paint “someday,” but that “someday” never came. “We’re divorced,” I said softly. Mr. Davis sighed. “I told you. If she was truly sincere, how could she never visit, despite all your efforts? Asher, if you can’t hold onto a relationship, letting go is for the best.” I smiled and nodded. Yes, letting go was liberation. As I turned, I noticed a new painting in the corner: a girl gazing up at the stars. Clara loved stargazing. Whenever she saw a sky full of stars, she would stop and watch for a long time. So, I had specifically asked Mr. Davis to hire an artist to paint this starscape for her. It was much later that I realized Clara wasn’t the one who truly loved stargazing. It was just that Julian did, and she loved what he loved. I heard my own bitter voice say: “Leave this painting here.” **Chapter 3** I stood in the walk-in closet, my fingers lightly tracing the custom-tailored designer suits. When I moved into this apartment three years ago, Mrs. Sterling had insisted on getting me a full set of luxury items. “You must match Clara’s status,” she had said. Aside from that, my wardrobe hadn’t seen a new addition in years. Clara’s closet, however, had an entire wall dedicated solely to Chanel. I took the suits down, folded them neatly, and placed them in a cardboard box. I wouldn’t take anything the Sterling family had given me. Just then, my phone vibrated. It was a confirmation from the auction house: the artworks I had given Clara over the years were officially going up for auction today. Oil paintings, sculptures, limited-edition photography collections… each piece was something I had poured my heart into, carefully chosen. Unfortunately, their ultimate destination had been Clara’s storage room. Some, she hadn’t even glanced at. The roar of a sports car echoed from downstairs. I walked to the balcony and saw a bright red Ferrari parked at the entrance. Brooke stepped out, her studded high heels clicking sharply as she walked with a determined stride. “Well, well, isn’t this the Sterling family’s spineless loser?” Brooke yelled from downstairs. “I heard you sent all those artworks to auction? What right do you have to dispose of my sister’s things?” I turned to leave, but Brooke’s voice grew even sharper: “Don’t try to act so noble! If you weren’t so useful back then, would you have even gotten through the Sterling family’s door? Now Julian’s back, and you’re showing your true colors, aren’t you?” I stopped, turning back to give her a cool glance. My sister-in-law had always looked down on me, thinking I was nothing more than an opportunist who latched onto the Sterling family. A Bentley slowly pulled up beside the Ferrari. Julian stepped out of the car, his composed demeanor a stark contrast to Brooke’s flamboyance. “Brooke,” Julian said gently, “Asher is still your brother-in-law. You’re being disrespectful.” “What brother-in-law!” Brooke scoffed, pouting. “Julian, you have no idea how much my sister has missed you all these years. You know she hates San Francisco, but she still went every three months? Wasn’t it all because…” Julian gently shook his head, cutting her off. I looked up at him, my gaze complex. This was my first time seeing Julian, and I finally understood why Clara loved him so deeply. His eyes seemed to hold constellations, drawing one in unconsciously. “Asher.” Clara’s voice suddenly came from behind me. She seemed to have something to say to me, but the moment she saw Julian, she cut herself off. She hurried over to Julian, completely forgetting what she was going to tell me. “Julian, is your apartment renovated? Why don’t you stay here first?” Her voice held anticipation. “There are plenty of empty rooms anyway.” Julian seemed a bit hesitant. “Is that… appropriate?” “What’s inappropriate?” Clara laughed. “You won’t mind, right?” She asked, without looking back at me. I looked at her profile, which was alight with undisguised joy. “No,” I said softly. “I’ll go prepare the guest room right away.” Anyway, I had already handled the property division for this villa. It would eventually be returned to Clara. The thought flashed through my mind, and I gave a self-deprecating smile. So many years, and still empty-handed. But at least, the most difficult debt of gratitude, I had repaid. As I entered the guest room, I saw our wedding photo still on the nightstand. In the picture, Clara smiled radiantly, but that smile was never meant for me. **Chapter 4** “Asher, can you make me some pasta tonight?” Clara stood at the kitchen doorway, her tone light. “Julian said he wants to try your cooking.” I glanced at my right hand, then said coolly, “Sorry, not tonight.” It was the first time I had refused Clara’s request. The kitchen fell silent, even the drip of the faucet sounding unusually clear. Julian heard her and walked over, standing behind Clara. “I was presumptuous. If Asher is busy, then…” “What’s he busy with?” Brooke interjected angrily. “He used to cook no matter how late we came home. Why’s he putting on an act now?” I raised my right hand, my knuckles covered with a medical bandage. “Cut myself.” I was indeed injured, but it wasn’t so bad that I couldn’t cook. But I simply didn’t want to anymore. The contract had expired. I no longer wanted to play the role of a gentle, considerate puppet husband. This excuse allowed me to stop wasting my energy in the kitchen. Clara froze, finally noticing the injury on my hand. Before, I always handled everything at home myself. The housekeeper only came for scheduled cleanings. “Then… let’s eat out tonight,” Julian suggested gently. “I remember that Michelin restaurant at the creative park is quite good.” Brooke immediately chimed in, “Exactly! Julian knows best when it comes to food. Unlike some people, who only know how to make my sister those plain homemade dishes all year round.” I quietly stood up, preparing to go back to my room. Clara called out, “You should come too.” In the car, Clara drove her custom Porsche, with Julian in the passenger seat, occasionally sharing amusing anecdotes from Silicon Valley. Brooke sat in the back, interjecting occasionally with comments. I gazed silently at the neon lights blurring past the window. “Asher, don’t you like to chat?” Julian asked, turning back. “My apologies,” I smiled politely. “I’m not very familiar with Silicon Valley.” “We’re being inconsiderate,” Julian said gently. “We keep talking about topics you’re not familiar with.” Clara glanced at me in the rearview mirror. After three years, it seemed she was noticing for the first time how obvious the fatigue in my eyes was. At the restaurant, Julian ordered a bottle of ’82 Lafite. Brooke, glass in hand, talked incessantly about celebrity gossip. Julian occasionally responded, his gaze frequently drifting to Clara. “Does this dish contain cheese?” Clara asked the waiter, pointing to a dish Julian had just ordered. After the waiter’s affirmative reply, Clara blurted out, “Change it to white mushroom sauce. He’s allergic to dairy.” Julian smiled at her. “You still remember after all these years.” Clara smiled awkwardly, then turned to meet my calm gaze. She instinctively explained: “It’s just habit.” After I silently nodded, she asked: “Is there anything you don’t eat?” My voice was faint. “No.” Actually, there was. I couldn’t eat mushrooms. In all our years of marriage, I had cooked countless meals for her, varied dishes, using all sorts of ingredients. The one thing that never appeared was mushrooms. Even if she’d paid a little attention, she would have noticed. But she could remember Julian’s allergies, yet she spared no observation for me. I knew her too well. *Sigh,* just for old times’ sake, I’d give her a break before I left. No need to spoil the mood. Seeing the atmosphere turn heavy, Brooke immediately jumped in: “Of course my sister remembers! Back when we were in school…” Before she could finish, a quarrel suddenly erupted at the next table. Two drunken men confronted each other, ties pulled tight, bottles and cutlery clashing with an ear-splitting clang. One of the men suddenly grabbed a red wine bottle from the table. With a loud “CRASH,” the bottle shattered against the wall, shards and wine splashing everywhere. “Watch out!” Clara instinctively lunged towards Julian, shielding him in her arms. I reacted a beat too late. Blinding red exploded before my eyes, wine mixed with glass shards, raining down on me… **Chapter 5** “Ah!” In that split second, I instinctively spun around. Glass shards and red wine soaked my shirt, my back stinging with a fiery pain. Several fragments had cut through my skin, and warm blood oozed out. “Asher!” Clara finally snapped back, quickly releasing Julian. “Are you okay? I’ll take you to the hospital!” I managed a strained smile, but I didn’t even have the strength to speak. “Julian, your hand!” Brooke suddenly shrieked. I looked up to see a faint scratch on Julian’s wrist, barely bleeding. Clara immediately turned, anxiously checking Julian’s injury. “Is it serious? I’ll call an ambulance right away!” Julian gently shook his head. “I’m fine. Asher is more seriously injured, you should first…” “Julian, don’t be brave!” Brooke stamped her foot in frustration. “Your hands are for coding, they can’t have any damage! Sis, hurry and take Julian to the hospital!” Julian tried to say something else, but Clara cut him off. “Brooke’s right, your hands are the most important.” She glanced back at me hurriedly. “You can just take a taxi to the hospital yourself. It’s very close to Royal Hospital.” I leaned back in the chair, watching the three of them hurry away, and suddenly laughed. A waiter rushed over to help me with my wounds, apologizing profusely while handing me the restaurant’s first aid kit. In the hallway of Royal Hospital, nurses pushed medication carts past, their chatter drifting into the room: “Ms. Sterling truly spoils him. Mr. Julian’s little scratch, and she booked out the entire dermatology department.” “Right? I heard she even flew in a specialist from Hong Kong, just to prevent scarring.” “Tsk, tsk, I wonder who married her. Her husband is truly lucky…” I lowered my gaze to the bandage on my arm, chuckling self-deprecatingly. Leaving her severely injured husband of many years to attend to someone else’s minor scratch? Yes, with a wife like that, I was indeed “lucky.” After my wounds were treated, I didn’t return to the apartment. Instead, I went directly to my studio in the city’s outskirts. This was my last haven. Over the years, to be with Clara, I had given up countless opportunities to code through the night. Now, it was time to embrace coding again. The studio still maintained my habits—two monitors, one on each side, the mechanical keyboard keys slightly yellowed, and days-old coffee stains settled in the glass on the desk. I turned on the computer, and the familiar interface lit up in the darkness. My phone vibrated. It was an email from MIT, reminding me to submit an open-source project as part of my portfolio for enrollment. I peeled off the gauze from my wrist, my fingertips gliding lightly over the keyboard, as if reaffirming a long-lost sensation. Morning light filtered through the blinds, casting tiny specks of light on the monitors. Here, there were no Sterling family rules, no Brooke’s scornful glances, and certainly no Clara’s undisguised affection for Julian. Only the blinking cursor in the code editor, and the sound of my fingers on the keyboard. My fingers flew across the keyboard, code streaming across the screen like a river. I was immersed in the world of programming, forgetting the passage of time. Three days later, I finally completed the project. After pushing the repository code, I remembered to check my phone. The screen was instantly flooded with messages: 39 missed calls, all from Clara. This had never happened before. Normally, I was the one glued to my phone, waiting for her occasional response. As I was still surprised, Brooke’s call came in: “Asher! Where have you been all these days? My sister’s been frantic looking for you! What kind of game are you playing now? Do you think this will make my sister truly care about you? Dream on! The Sterling family’s son-in-law can only be Julian!” The call ended, and I frowned. Clara frantically looking for me? Why? **Chapter 6** When I returned to the villa, Martha, the housekeeper, immediately crowded around me. “Mr. Asher! You’re finally back!” Martha was almost in tears. “Without you these past few days, the house has been a mess. The coffee we brewed for Mrs. Sterling was either too bitter or too weak, and she said even the folded clothes weren’t neat enough…” I nodded slightly. So that was it. She was looking for me because of inconvenience in her daily life. The living room was dim. Clara sat alone by the floor-to-ceiling window. Moonlight outlined her elegant silhouette, but it also highlighted her haughty demeanor even more. “Where have you been?” She asked without turning her head. “The studio.” I put down my backpack. Clara frowned. “Since when are you so passionate about coding?” I didn’t explain. She didn’t know I was supposed to be a top student at MIT, if not for giving up the chance to enroll because of her. Perhaps the one shining brightly in Silicon Valley would have been me. “That day, I didn’t mean to leave you behind,” Clara rubbed her temples. “Julian has always been delicate since childhood, unable to endure any injury. We grew up together, and taking care of him has become a habit.” She paused. “And I’ve already moved to a hotel. Don’t be mad anymore.” I couldn’t help but laugh. In her eyes, I was making a big deal out of nothing, forcing her beloved Julian away. “I’m going upstairs.” I turned to leave. “Asher.” Clara called out to me. “I’m hungry. Can you make me a bowl of noodles, like the one you made the night I came home drunk? Those noodles tasted really good.” Yes, they were good, because that was the last bowl of noodles I’d ever cooked for Clara. I raised my bandaged hand. “Did you forget? I’m injured.” Clara froze. It was the first time I had ever refused her request. The next day, as I stepped out of the elevator, I saw Clara waiting at the door with a gift box. “I wasn’t thinking clearly that day,” She handed me the gift box. “This is compensation.” I looked at the Patek Philippe watch inside the box and suddenly felt a pang of irony. Three years. This was the first time she had ever given me a gift. And it was out of guilt, because she was busy taking care of Julian and had neglected me. Seeing me hesitate to take it, Clara added, “I’ve been busy with Julian’s affairs lately, so I just asked my assistant to pick out the most expensive one. If you don’t like it…” “Julian! What are you doing here?” Brooke’s voice suddenly rang out from the doorway. “Just passing by.” Julian smiled gently, his gaze falling on the box. “Isn’t that the limited edition watch from the auction recently? I remember I even commented then…” Brooke’s eyes lit up. “Right! Julian, didn’t you say you really liked this series?” Julian quickly waved his hand, but couldn’t hide the longing in his eyes. I glanced at Clara’s conflicted expression, then took the gift box directly from her hand and offered it to Julian. “Since it was bought for you, you should keep it.” Clara’s stunned gaze bypassed Julian for the first time, landing on my face. It was clear I didn’t have even a hint of desire for that limited edition watch. I had changed, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint what was different. Clara searched her memories for a long time, but found no answer. Because her memories of me were so few; she rarely focused her attention on me. I was like her shadow; wherever she went, I followed. Whatever she needed, I would provide. But I still stood here now, yet I was different from before. I seemed to have finally let go of something, and she seemed to have lost something. **Chapter 7** The day before I left, I packed my sorted luggage into the car Mrs. Sterling had arranged to pick me up. In the trunk, there was also a new suit, sent by Clara’s assistant. Tonight was Clara’s welcome party for Julian, and Clara had invited me to attend. I looked at the custom suit and suddenly felt a pang of irony. The divorce papers were signed, yet she still wanted me to appear as her husband. I wanted to refuse, but remembering Mrs. Sterling’s care over the years, and knowing my MIT admission documents were still with her, I changed into the suit and went to the Sterling mansion. The champagne tower shimmered softly under the crystal chandelier. Amidst the clinking glasses, people crowded around Julian. “Julian, this watch is a global limited edition!” “Exactly! I heard a rich man was bidding frantically at the auction, but it turns out our Ms. Sterling bought it specially for you!” “So romantic! This series symbolizes ‘one of a kind’.” “Julian, Ms. Sterling truly loves you!” Someone laughed. “Remember college? You caught a cold, and she made you soup every day for a week.” “That’s right, Julian, when you went abroad to start your business, she secretly flew over every month to see you.” “Yeah,” another person chimed in, “You two are a match made in heaven. Mrs. Sterling’s current husband is just a placeholder. You two should just…” “Get together!” “Get together! Get together!…” The crowd started chanting. I leaned in a corner, quietly listening to these people talk about how deeply my wife loved another man. “Asher.” Mrs. Sterling’s voice sounded behind me. I turned, opening my mouth to say “Mom,” but changed it to “Mrs. Sterling.” Mrs. Sterling sighed. She had watched me grow up and knew I had always been a resilient person. That’s why, when Clara was at her lowest, she had chosen me to help Clara through it. She held out a file folder to me. “Your MIT admission documents are all here. I’ve also booked your flight, taking off in three hours. If you find it difficult to adjust over there, you can always come back, okay?” My hand trembled slightly as I took the documents. I knew what Mrs. Sterling meant. I wasn’t an ungrateful person. But this document had arrived so many years late. I couldn’t help but feel a surge of emotion. I couldn’t tell this woman, who had raised me, that once I left, I didn’t intend to return. This place held too many painful memories for me. “Thank you,” I said softly. “Just one small request: if Clara ever asks about my whereabouts in the future, please don’t tell her.” “You haven’t told her you’re leaving?” Mrs. Sterling asked, surprised. I didn’t know how to answer that question. I had indeed told her—when I was leaving, and where. The rest was unnecessary to tell her. Besides, she wouldn’t care. Her childhood crush was back. Whether I left or stayed would be an insignificant change to her vibrant life. “What’s leaving?” Clara’s voice suddenly cut through. I froze, unsure how much she had heard. Thankfully, Mrs. Sterling smoothly interjected, “Nothing, dear. Why are you over here?” “Mom, it’s time to cut the cake.” “I’m feeling a bit unwell,” Mrs. Sterling rubbed her temples. “You two go ahead.” Clara extended her hand to me. “Come with me?” I held up my bandaged hand. “No, you should ask Julian.” She frowned. “You’re my husband. Why should I ask him?” I smiled. Hadn’t she always abandoned me to go find Julian all these years? Now that I was stepping aside willingly, she found it strange. “Aren’t you two good friends?” I said softly. “It’s just cutting a cake.” Clara looked at me thoughtfully for a moment, then finally turned and walked towards Julian. It was Julian’s party anyway, so I was generous. I simply took Clara’s hand and cut the cake. Clara was so close to me, the warmth from the back of my hand spreading to hers, making her feel flushed. The guests started to egg them on again: “Golden couple, a kiss!” Julian lowered his head at their encouragement, his ear tips red, but he never let go of Clara’s hand. Clara looked at Julian, a fleeting trance in her eyes. The noisy clamor around her made her feel like she was back in her teenage years. This time, she was so close to the man of her dreams. I looked at the perfect couple on stage and let out a self-deprecating laugh. My phone alarm rang, drowned out by the boisterous cheers. I turned off the alarm, took off my suit jacket, draped it over the chair, and stood up to leave. My flight was in three hours; if I didn’t leave now, I’d miss it. **Chapter 8** The moment I stood up, Brooke and a few others surrounded me. The mix of perfume and champagne fumes made me feel almost nauseous. Brooke was the first to provoke. “Asher, what are you even trying to gain?” Brooke swirled her wine glass. “My sister and Julian are a match made in heaven. No matter how much you pretend to be deeply in love, you’ll still just be here watching us flirt.” “If you were smart, you’d have left on your own,” Someone sneered. “If Julian hadn’t insisted on going to Silicon Valley back then, do you think someone like you would have been worthy of marrying my sister?” I glanced at my phone. Time was ticking away. I didn’t want to get tangled up with Brooke any longer. I sidestepped, avoiding Brooke’s aggressive stance, and turned to leave. “Are you trying to act tough?” Brooke grabbed me. I lost my balance and crashed into the champagne tower behind me. Amidst the sound of shattering glass, blood bloomed on my white shirt. The entire hall fell silent instantly. Clara ran over from the stage, her face ashen. “Who did this?” No one spoke. Brooke pouted, her eyes darting nervously. Clara stepped forward to help me up from the disarray, her gaze fixed on Brooke. She was about to reprimand her. “Julian!!” A voice suddenly shouted. “Julian fainted!” Clara’s hand, still holding me, froze. Her brows furrowed, and she peered towards the main stage. I let out a soft laugh, gently pulling my arm from her grasp. “He’s always been delicate since he was a child, couldn’t endure any hardship. Go on, go see how he is…” “But you…” “I’m fine,” I struggled to stand. “The doctor should see him first anyway. I can manage myself.” Clara looked at me, momentarily lost. *Since when did I become so distant?* But she had no time to ponder. Julian had already collapsed, and she couldn’t stay here to analyze my thoughts. Clara bit her lip. “Asher, I’ll make it up to you later.” With that, she turned and scurried off to Julian’s side. I watched her gently comforting Julian from behind, my smile bitter. Brooke’s mocking voice rang in my ear: “See? No matter how pathetic you act, my sister still chose Julian.” I ignored her. I went to the restroom, quickly dealt with my injuries, changed my clothes, and left. When I opened the door, Brooke was standing outside with a small bag of medicine. “My sister sent these.” “Honestly, she should be taking care of Julian, but she’s still thinking about you…” “No need,” I sidestepped her and walked straight downstairs. “Keep them for Julian.” Brooke angrily chased me down, only to see me open the car trunk, revealing two suitcases. Her face instantly changed. “Where are you going?” “I don’t recall you caring that much about me,” I retorted without ceremony, closing the trunk. Just as I was about to get into the passenger seat, Brooke grabbed my arm: “Explain yourself! Where exactly are you going?” I brushed her arm away, stating plainly, “I’m leaving.” “Didn’t you always find me in the way? Now I’ve willingly divorced, making space for Julian. You should be happy.” “You… what kind of act is this?” Brooke’s voice trembled. “You were the one who shamelessly clung on back then. Now you’re playing hard to get with my sister?” I opened the car door and slid into the passenger seat. Before closing the door, I said to the persistent Brooke: “The divorce papers are on the coffee table. Go see for yourself, and you’ll know everything.” I looked at her hand, still trying to prevent me from closing the door. “Why so many questions? Do you not want me to leave??” Brooke recoiled as if shocked. “How could that be! I’ve been wishing you’d disappear forever! My sister will be absolutely thrilled!” The last sentence she uttered without much conviction. “Then congratulations on getting your wish,” I said, about to close the car door. “Wait!” Brooke called out again. “Do you… have nothing to say to my sister?” I silently closed the car door. To complete the mission, I pretended to be deeply in love, becoming the ‘shameless poor guy’ they spoke of. To maintain this lie, I threw away my dreams, my dignity, and even myself. Three years. I could finally be myself again. I rolled down the window and offered Brooke a relieved smile. “No. Clara will no longer be a part of my life.” **Chapter 9** After Julian was taken to the hospital that day, Clara didn’t see me again. She was completely focused on Julian, so she didn’t feel anything was amiss. But it wasn’t until Julian was discharged today, and Brooke drove them back to the villa, that she suddenly realized she hadn’t seen me in a long time. She irritably opened her SnapChat. Her chat history with me stopped on the day Julian returned home, when she went out to dinner with me. Actually, she and Julian had finished dinner at nine that night. It was her inability to suppress her excitement that prompted her to convince Julian to go to a bar for drinks. Both Julian and she drank too much. She had many opportunities to get closer to Julian, but for some reason, she didn’t. Instead, as if by some strange impulse, she returned to the home she shared with me. It seemed she only felt safe when I was there. Her fingers flew across the screen, sending me a message, wanting to ask where I had gone. But after sending it, she suddenly remembered that I had mentioned going to San Francisco for a business trip. She irritably recalled the message. She thought, *I’m always clingy, always texting her every day. This time, I’m just throwing a tantrum, jealous of Julian, so I’m deliberately giving her the cold shoulder.* Although I had always been gentle with her, Clara always knew I was a very stubborn person. Clara irritably ran her fingers through her hair. She told herself not to falter in this cold war. I loved her so much; once my anger subsided, she could just coax me, and everything would be fine. Otherwise, if I got worse, it would be even harder to deal with. Clara thought this, stubbornly holding out for a month without sending me a single message. When Brooke walked into the villa, she was shocked by the scattered empty wine bottles on the floor. She remembered Clara’s last outburst was when Julian left for Silicon Valley. She kicked aside the beer bottles and said to Clara, “Sis, Julian’s back. Why are you acting crazy again? Are you celebrating finally divorcing him?” Clara snapped her head up. “What did you say?” Brooke flinched backward but still mustered the courage to say, “He’s already divorced you, and you don’t even like him, so why aren’t you with Julian?” “How do you know about our divorce?” Clara’s voice turned cold. “It was that day… you asked me to bring him medicine,” Brooke swallowed. “I saw the divorce papers. I thought he was just being difficult, but he hasn’t come back in so many days…” Clara’s fingers tightened around the wine bottle in her hand. “The divorce papers? Where did you put them?” Brooke looked at the terrifying expression on Clara’s face and forced a smile that was uglier than a cry: “I just put them in the coffee table drawer. How was I supposed to know you two divorced, and you didn’t even know.” Clara yanked open the drawer. Inside lay the divorce papers. She didn’t even look at them, tearing them to shreds immediately. She had always thought I loved her unconditionally, but now I dared to initiate a divorce? She had indulged me too much all these years. “Call Asher and tell him to stop being childish and come back,” she told the butler. The butler spoke with difficulty. “We tried, but the phone isn’t connecting…” Clara frantically scrolled through her phone contacts, only to realize that after years of marriage, she hadn’t even saved my number. She switched back to SnapChat. The message she had sent now showed a red exclamation mark. Angrily, she dialed the number she got from the butler, but a cold automated voice announced, “The user you have dialed has canceled their account…” I had even canceled my phone number! She abruptly stood up and rushed out the door, not even hearing Brooke’s shouts from behind her. She floored the accelerator until the red light brought her to a halt, and only then did she calm down. Where could an orphan like me, who had been adopted, go? She turned the car around and drove toward the welfare training institution I had mentioned before. That was the only thing in her memory connected to me. Mr. Davis’s face noticeably chilled when he saw her. After having the assistant take the students away, he sat down. “Ms. Clara, how can I help you?” “I wanted to ask where Asher went. He…” She had meant to say the house was a mess without me, but swallowed the words. A flicker of sarcasm crossed Mr. Davis’s eyes. Three years, and she still called me by my full name, so distantly. He felt fortunate for me; a wife like that was better off without. “Ms. Clara, if you don’t even know where your own husband went, how would I, an outsider, know?” Mr. Davis said without looking up. “Please leave.” Back in her car, Clara slammed her fist on the steering wheel. She had thought I was just throwing a fit. But my canceling my phone and disappearing were clearly premeditated. Why? *Why would he leave so decisively when he loved me so much?* Her phone suddenly rang. It was Mrs. Sterling. “Clara, come home. Your mom has something to tell you.” Although she wasn’t particularly close to Mrs. Sterling, Clara always listened to her. Hearing that Mrs. Sterling had something to say, Clara assumed it was news about me. Without hesitation, she drove back to the old mansion. Seeing the urgency on Clara’s face, Mrs. Sterling assumed her guess was correct and spoke directly: “Clara, since you’ve divorced him, and Julian is back home…” Mrs. Sterling’s voice trailed off as Clara’s expression grew darker and darker. “Mom,” Clara interrupted, a hint of irritation in her voice. “I didn’t agree to the divorce.” “He just… disappeared on his own.” Mrs. Sterling froze. She didn’t understand Clara’s attitude towards me. She pulled out a red document from the drawer. “But… your divorce certificate is already processed.” **Chapter 10** Clara snatched the divorce certificate from her hand, her eyes wide with shock and confusion. Mrs. Sterling looked at the confusion in her daughter’s eyes and was startled.
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