My husband, Vincent Smith, has fallen in love. Only this time, his girlfriend is rather disobedient—she actually came before me to provoke: “Miss Harper, you and Vincent are just an arranged marriage. I’m his true love.” I smiled faintly, extended my slender fingers, and forcefully yanked the Bulgari necklace from her neck. Vincent witnessed this scene, his lips pressing into a thin line. Joanna bit her lip coyly: “Vincent, Miss Harper took the gift you gave me.” Vincent glanced at the necklace in my hand and tossed it into the trash without hesitation. Then he scolded his girlfriend: “Joanna, who gave you the audacity to disturb my wife?” Joanna stared at him in shock, tears streaming down her face. I watched coldly, finding it rather amusing. When Joanna was led away by Vincent’s assistant, she seemed full of grievances and questions. She probably couldn’t understand why the man who had whispered sweet nothings to her in bed yesterday became cold and heartless today. Vincent’s attentiveness toward me wasn’t just for show. When he took my hand, he immediately noticed the faint marks on my fingertips, kissing them tenderly over and over. “Harper, you’re hurt.” I didn’t look at Vincent. He and I had grown up together, childhood sweethearts. He wasn’t a gentle gentleman by nature, yet with me he was tender and restrained. In families like ours, couples who play around separately are common, but I was the one he pursued relentlessly. When the Harper and Smith families arranged our marriage, my cousin Vivian couldn’t hide her envy. Vivian said that in wealthy families, there’s no such thing as true love. But Vivian had seen Vincent hold an umbrella for me, seen him so nervous his hands trembled when he proposed, seen him choke up with emotion as he took his vows at our wedding. Yet, I wasn’t his only woman. Vincent made dinner. For such a successful businessman to cook personally was truly rare. Even my demanding parents praised him repeatedly. The young ladies in our social circle seemed quite envious that I could possess Vincent’s eternal favor. Just because I’m allergic to willow and poplar catkins, Vincent could ensure the entire city would never see another willow or poplar tree. He carefully tossed the salad for me, then placed it before me. I thanked him politely. During dinner, his phone screen kept vibrating. I glanced at it unconsciously. When he realized I was looking at his phone, he handed it to me without hesitation. “Harper, you’re actually taking an interest in me.” Vincent never hid his kept mistresses from me. Perhaps because no husband around us was more responsible than him. Even my parents were no exception—they each played around, and my father’s illegitimate sons could form a soccer team. My mother had her uterus removed due to an accident and couldn’t give my father a son. The two of them selected an illegitimate son to inherit the company. That illegitimate son was very respectful toward my mother and quite caring toward me. I took the phone. Sure enough, Joanna was already deleted from his Instagram. After all, having offended me, she would probably never return to the capital in this lifetime. Scrolling further down, I saw Amanda Brown. A female celebrity, also the only mistress who had stayed by Vincent’s side for over three years. I’d met her before—indeed, she was obedient and humble. When she encountered me, she was always careful, never overstepping. Vincent was very satisfied with her discretion and would give her resources from time to time. Her career was developing smoothly now. I’d even seen her at a fashion show last weekend. I had attended with Vincent, in my capacity as Mrs. Smith. Amanda walked the red carpet gracefully in the brand’s haute couture. She nodded to me gently in acknowledgment. She was very tactful, didn’t linger, and didn’t exchange any words with Vincent in my presence. That evening, Vincent seemed to notice the displeasure in my eyes and leaned close to my ear, whispering: “You don’t like her? Then I won’t see her anymore.” The sincerity in his words was unmistakable. What I disliked, he never pursued. I shook my head and laughed: “Vincent, I’m not that unreasonable.” Vincent pulled me close by the waist. Despite the noise around us, his voice was tender: “Harper, let’s have a child.” I said nothing, just quietly looked at myself reflected in his pupils.
That evening, Vincent didn’t come home as usual. He said he had business. I nodded calmly and watched his Maybach drive into the distance. Half an hour later, Vivian sent a voice message: “I think I saw your husband with mine at a nightclub. I saw several girls with them, but don’t worry—your husband has a cleanliness obsession, he usually only plays with virgins.” I removed my wedding ring and asked slowly: “Which boyfriend are you drinking with?” Vivian laughed cheerfully: “What boyfriend? Just a male model. Harper, you should learn from me. It’s better when couples each do their own thing. I’ve invited you to come play before, but you always refuse. Let me be real with you—when only one person in a marriage cheats, things will go wrong.” I didn’t respond. She continued laughing and persuading me: “Harper, I know what you really want. But you need to understand, as long as men have money, women swarm to them. With fresh young girls all around, wanting them to stay faithful is impossible.” “I haven’t stayed faithful either,” I said gently. Vivian’s mouth dropped open in surprise, asking with great interest: “Damn, look at you! You’ve been sleeping with someone behind my back! Who is it? Do I know him? Does your husband know? Tell me quick.” Just as I was about to answer, I heard knocking at the door. I smiled and hung up decisively. I sat on the living room sofa, looking toward the entrance. Adrian Martin opened the shoe cabinet familiarly, removed his coat, and walked toward the kitchen. He curved his lips and raised the lunch box in his hand, nodding at me. I met Adrian on a snowy winter night—the first time I learned of Vincent’s infidelity. I stood under the streetlamp as snowflakes mixed with tears fell continuously. When in love, I had invested all my emotions, full of expectations for marriage. Suddenly learning of his affair, I was both disappointed and furious. But I’d seen plenty of similar situations. Friends, family, including my parents, all provided less than ideal examples. For a long time, I wondered if I was the one out of step. Even my cousin Vivian, who understood me best, saw my dejected state and showed incomprehension in her eyes: “Harper, the Smith family enterprise is worth hundreds of billions. Vincent isn’t just the Smith family leader, he’s also an outstanding talent among his peers. With such background and status, it would be strange if he didn’t keep a few women.” Men’s infidelity seemed trivial in their eyes. But I was angry and tormented, yet couldn’t vent, because I’d seen Vivian’s heartbroken expression. Later she often sought thrills outside too—at first to vent, later becoming addicted. That evening, Adrian held an umbrella in the snow, slowly walking toward me. He was tall and well-built, his eyes sparkling like stars when he smiled. I lowered my head, telling him to leave. But he acted as if he hadn’t heard, simply wanting to hand me the umbrella. I directed all my fury at him, yet Adrian just gazed at me tenderly. I suddenly fell silent. After a long while, he finally chuckled softly: “Today is Christmas Eve. I wish you peace and joy.” I felt very ashamed that I had vented at such a stranger. I saw him again the following spring. I was attending as a sponsor of a film festival. During the awards ceremony, I saw him. He won the Best Newcomer award at that festival and took photos with me. Later this photo trended on social media, and people started shipping us as a couple. When my assistant asked if we should handle the public opinion, looking at his aloof expression in the photo, somehow I chose not to. In the end, I even had someone send him some film and television resources.
The third time we met, he was filming a commercial. After it ended, Adrian walked over to greet me. He smiled: “Hello, I’m Adrian Martin. Nice to meet you again.” He looked at me calmly, and in that instant, I suddenly realized—he didn’t know who I was. He had forgotten I was that woman who lost control in the snow that night. After that, I often appeared around Adrian. At first, I was just curious about him, perhaps because I rarely encountered such pure people. It might also be that when wealth accumulates to a certain degree, life becomes empty and one needs to find some interest. At that time, Vincent had met a new girlfriend, a straightforward and sincere girl, passionate as fire. He seemed quite infatuated with that girl then, somewhat addicted, and I rarely saw him. He even occasionally let things slip in front of me. I suppressed my anger, controlled my emotions, quietly playing the role of Mrs. Smith. Vincent put his arm around my shoulder: “Harper, they’re different from you. To me, you’re irreplaceable.” Of course, I understood what that meant, and I believed he was telling the truth. I never doubted anything he said to me. Because our backgrounds were similar, our interests aligned, and we had once been in love. Adrian was shy by nature, following rules and conventions. Before I even realized it, he had already fallen for me. Because every time he saw me, his eyes seemed filled with clear springs. Later I went to visit him on set, and we played together in a nearby town. It happened to be summer. We walked shoulder to shoulder through a small alley. At the end of the alley, close to a small river, boats passed by. That day, under the setting sun, sunlight danced on his hair, and the sound of flowing water filled my ears. Adrian reached out and supported my shoulder, his palm warm. In the moment I was lost in thought, he lowered his head and softly said something. When I came back to my senses and asked what he’d just said, Adrian just shook his head gently. Later, when I returned home and stood on the balcony watering flowers, I suddenly smiled. Actually, I had heard what he said that day. If I hadn’t misheard, his words should have been: “I like you.” But I felt ashamed. Because he didn’t know I was already married. After we became familiar, Adrian learned about my chronic insomnia and would come to the villa to tell me stories whenever he was free. We never had excessive intimacy. I hadn’t erased Vincent’s traces in this home. Interestingly enough, Vincent actually didn’t leave many traces in this house. Probably because he was always busy outside. After dinner, Adrian and I watched a movie on the sofa. I kissed the corner of his lips. His voice trembled: “Harper…” An impulse surged in my heart: “Adrian, do you like me?” In an instant. Even his ears turned red.
I didn’t expect Vincent to suddenly come home. At that moment, I was wearing a soft shawl, reading the script Adrian had left behind by the window. He knocked on the door first, and only after confirming I was alone did he walk in quietly. He casually loosened the tie around his neck, his tone gentle: “Sorry, Harper, I didn’t tell you in advance. Actually, I was with Maxwell today.” Maxwell was Vivian’s husband. I had no fondness for him. I put down the script and smiled faintly: “It’s fine.” Vincent reached out to hug me, but he probably realized he carried another woman’s scent, so ultimately he just gently held my hand: “I’ll go take a shower. You should rest early too.” As he turned, he saw the lilies in the bedroom, then asked: “Harper, I remember there were no lilies in the house when I left. Did you have someone buy them?” Although he knew I didn’t like having fresh flowers in the bedroom, there had never been any before. So who had bought and arranged flowers after he left? He still considerately gave me an excuse. I only needed to go along with it, and perhaps on the surface, we could return to our previous life. “Vincent, when my cousin called me, you heard it from nearby, didn’t you?” I curved my lips and looked directly into his eyes: “That’s why you rushed back in such a hurry.” Hearing my words, Vincent’s pupils darkened like an abyss. He threw the flowers into the trash. I stood up and took out the shawl, draping it over my shoulders. Wind howled, rain beat against the window. Making both our faces appear somewhat pale. After a long while, Vincent raised his eyes to look at me again. He had already reined in all his emotions and turned to get a glass from the wine cabinet. He filled it and drank it all in one gulp, only then slightly calming the irritation in his heart. He asked me when I’d gotten a boyfriend. I answered honestly. Vincent’s brows furrowed tightly. For a long time, he slowly exhaled: “Harper, I thought you were different.”
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