Chapter 2

Late at night, Ethan was showering in the bathroom.

The water rushed loudly.

His phone, resting on the bedside table, lit up with a message notification.

Sophia: "Received the bracelet, it's beautiful. Thank you for remembering I like this style."

I stared at the message and, as if compelled, picked up his phone.

The password was his birthday. I had always known that.

But I had never checked his phone.

Because I trusted him implicitly.

Tonight, however, that trust felt like it had been eaten through.

I tapped on his notes app.

At the very top, there was a pinned folder named "My Dearest."

Inside, there was a long, detailed list.

"She doesn't like bright colors; her clothes should be white."

"Her taste is light; she absolutely can't touch chili."

"She's afraid of noise; she dislikes crowded places."

"She's allergic to seafood; be careful with meals."

"She gets scared during thunderstorms; needs company."

Every single item, every word, felt like a sharp knife stabbing into my eyes.

I looked at these "preferences" he held as gospel.

I was chilled to the bone, as if plunged into an ice cave.

I loved bold reds.

I lived for spicy food. My favorite was all kinds of spicy dishes.

I loved going to music festivals, loved screaming in the crowd.

My favorite food was spicy seafood. I wasn't allergic at all!

For five years, he had strictly followed this list, dictating my life.

When I took him to a spicy restaurant, he'd coldly say, "Eating this isn't healthy. Didn't you say you disliked it?"

When I wanted to go on a beach vacation, he'd say, "The beach is too noisy. Let's go to a private resort instead."

I thought he was just controlling, just a bit arrogant.

For love, I desperately suppressed my true nature to fit his "rules."

Only today did I understand.

I wasn't being cherished.

I was just being loved wrong.

The person he loved was never me.

He was merely carving Sophia's image onto me, stroke by stroke.

The sound of the shower stopped.

Ethan walked out, drying his hair.

He glanced at the phone in my hand, and his face instantly darkened.

"Summer, who gave you permission to touch my phone?"

He strode over and snatched the phone away.

There was no guilt in his tone, only offended fury.

I sat on the edge of the bed, looking up at him.

"Ethan Stone, I'm not allergic to seafood."

My voice trembled as I spoke each word.

Ethan froze for a moment, then frowned.

"What's gotten into you in the middle of the night?"

"Didn't you break out in a rash last time after that sushi place?"

I laughed, tears streaming down my face.

"That was from the raw cashew cream at that fancy vegan restaurant you insisted we go to!"

"I told you many times, I'm not allergic to seafood. I love spicy food. I love rubies!"

Ethan's gaze turned cold.

"Summer Lynn, are you throwing a tantrum over that necklace today?"

"It's just a necklace. Tomorrow I'll have my assistant buy you ten plain gold chains."

"Don't make a scene. I'm tired."

He turned, tossed his phone onto the sofa, and got into bed.

Leaving me with only his cold back.

I looked at his back and suddenly felt a wave of nausea.

This was the man I had loved for five years.

He didn't even know what I truly liked.

He didn't even have the desire to understand me.