Chapter 3

Serena’s POV

Two days later, Mia came to the studio to see me.

She sat on the sofa nervously picking at her cuticles for ten minutes before finally pulling out her phone.

"Serena... brace yourself before you look at this. Don't let it destroy you."

On the very afternoon Julian had rushed over to weep and drop to his knees promising me a future, Vivian had taken their son to an amusement park on the outskirts of the city.

Julian had been with them the entire time.

At the main entrance, Julian had his son perched on his shoulders, laughing. In front of a crowd of passersby, he had even knelt down to tie Vivian's loose shoelace.

Someone in their high-society circle had snapped photos and shared them across several SnapChat groups.

I unlocked my phone and tapped through the high-resolution images one by one.

In the pictures, the little boy was giggling while tugging Julian’s hair, and Vivian stood beside them, radiant and elegant.

As Julian knelt on the pavement tying her lace, he was looking up at his wife with genuine, tender devotion in his eyes.

I flipped my phone face down onto the glass table.

Everything clicked into place.

All that late-night talk about an overseas wedding, a bigger studio, and giving our baby a home—it was all worthless compensation money.

The honorable companionship, the public devotion, the real family—he gave all of that freely to Vivian.

All he left for me were empty midnight apologies and a commercial lease contract.

I sat motionless on the couch for two full hours.

Starting that day, I began erasing every trace of our eight years together.

I opened my phone's photo library, wiping out every shared picture and backup without hesitation.

I deleted every chat thread and call log.

There was a framed photo hanging on the studio wall from our early days at an event site. I took it down, removed the picture from the backing, tore it to shreds, and stuffed the empty frame into the bottom of a storage closet.

I deleted my active social media accounts, replacing my profile picture on Instagram with an empty, deserted banquet hall.

Next, I went through the studio and packed every suit, razor, personalized mug, and change of clothes Julian had ever left behind.

I sealed them into cardboard boxes, booked a local same-day courier, and addressed the shipment straight to the Sterling family estate. Under the sender field, I wrote simply: "Bridal Studio."

Once the boxes were picked up, I called a locksmith and replaced the fingerprint digital lock on my door.

A few days later, Julian rang the bell.

He walked into the room, and his brow instantly furrowed.

The framed photos were gone. His house slippers were gone from the entryway. Even his toothbrush was missing from the vanity shelf.

I sat at my laptop editing design blueprints, not even bothering to glance up.

Julian parted his lips to speak, but choked the words back.

He reached into his designer overcoat, placed a luxury jewelry box on the corner of my desk, and slid a high-limit black card toward me.

"A major corporate client just wired an advance deposit. Take this and spend whatever you want."

"I stopped by Cartier earlier and picked up a necklace. It'll look stunning on you."

As always, he tried to patch things up with money, deliberately ignoring the fact that his presence had been wiped from the room.

I glanced at the card and let out a faint, mocking breath.

"The studio is getting remodeled soon. I boxed up the clutter in advance."

I offered a careless lie, sparing him the humiliation of being called out.

The black card sat under the velvet box in the corner of the desk, cold and untouched. Neither of us reached for it again.