Chapter 2

Natalie Xu's POV

Looking down at the signature on the paper, my mind drifted back in a daze.

The year I was nineteen, I stole a kiss from Julian He.

Julian was stunned for a moment, then cupped the back of my head, leaning down to deepen the kiss.

The feeling of that kiss had stayed with me for five whole years.

That night, I sat awake with my eyes open until dawn.

Early the next morning, I called my father, Jonathan Xu.

"Dad, I got a divorce."

After a few seconds of silence, my father's strained voice came through: "Did he hurt you?"

"No, I just don't love him anymore. Once the paperwork is finished, I'll go abroad to join you."

I hung up, and a friend request popped up on my screen.

Once accepted, she sent a video directly.

In the video, Julian leaned back on a private lounge sofa with his eyes closed, his brow furrowed, mumbling Brenda's name under his breath.

Immediately after, a text followed: *I'm Brenda Gu.*

[He quit smoking years ago, but he still carries the lighter engraved with my name everywhere he goes.]

[The files on that external hard drive—he could never bring himself to delete them.]

[If you don't believe me, let's make a bet. Tell him right now that you had a nightmare, and see if he stays to comfort you.]

I closed the chat.

Ten minutes later, a message arrived from Julian: "Natalie, an emergency came up at the branch office. I have to go on a business trip for a week. Be good and eat your meals at home."

Looking at the screen, I tugged the corner of my lips into a bitter smirk.

For seven whole days, Julian didn't initiate a single call.

Yet Brenda Gu updated her Instagram several times a day.

Day one: a Michelin-starred restaurant with the caption: *He still remembers what I like.*

Day two: a riverside pier with the caption: *He hasn't forgotten a single word he said here years ago.*

Day three: a suburban bed and breakfast, with the cufflink of Julian's shirt peeking out in the corner of the photo.

Scrolling through those posts, the truth became painfully clear.

The restaurants Julian had taken me to.

The riverbanks where we had walked, and the boutique inns we had stayed at—they were all traces of Brenda Gu from the past.

He was merely piecing together another woman's shadow through me, over and over again.

On the evening of the seventh day, I found some cardboard boxes.

I packed away all the jewelry and clothes Julian had bought for me and stacked them in the storage room.

With a click, the front door opened, and Julian walked in holding a paper bag.

"Natalie, that out-of-print art book collection you mentioned last time? I got a friend to track it down for me."

He came over, wrapped his arms around my waist from behind, and nuzzled his chin against my hair. "Has the nausea still been bad these past few days?"

I pulled out of his embrace and took a step back. "You don't need to buy anything anymore."

The maid cleaning nearby chimed in, "Sir, Madam has barely come downstairs to eat at all these past few days."

Julian immediately frowned and rolled up his sleeves, heading toward the kitchen. "Why didn't anyone tell me sooner? I'll make something you like."

Behind him, the maid murmured softly, "Mr. He truly loves Mrs. He."

Standing there, I found the entire scene both absurd and pathetic.

Every bit of kindness he showed me was rooted in someone else.

Julian opened the fridge only to find it completely empty.

He ruffled my hair.

He spoke softly, saying he would run to the supermarket to grab some fresh groceries.

But less than five minutes after he stepped out, the doorbell rang abruptly.