Ethan Vance was the most uninhibited painter in the city's elite circle—yet he willingly walked into the fortress of marriage with Clarissa Henson, the old-fashioned researcher from the pharmaceutical institute.

Everyone knew he loved her like crazy.

For her custom haute couture wedding dress, he flew to Milan thirty times just to finalize the hem's details. He personally drew ninety-nine design drafts just to create her perfect diamond ring. He knew she couldn't eat spicy food, so he apprenticed himself to a Teochew master chef. His painter's hands blistered from the burns, but he didn't care—all for that fleeting smile when she tasted his cooking.

Her colleagues envied her to the extreme. Even she believed, with her whole heart, that this wedding was the happy beginning she'd always dreamed of.

But on the eve of their wedding, while searching for the perfect heart-shaped pink diamond, Ethan was caught in a mine collapse.

When Clarissa got the news, she was trying on her wedding makeup. She ran to the hospital like a madwoman—only to find Ethan with gauze wrapped around his head, gripping Nina Winfield's hand tightly.

The always-arrogant Ethan looked pitiful and helpless.

"Wife, why don't you want me anymore?"

Clarissa thought she'd heard wrong. He loved her so much—how could he mistake someone else for her?

She stepped forward. But Ethan shrank back behind Nina, terrified.

Nina forced an awkward smile. "Clarissa, don't misunderstand. He just recovered from serious injuries. The doctor said he might have hurt his head—"

"I didn't!" Ethan clutched Nina tightly, like a treasure regained after being lost. "You are my wife!"

Clarissa's heart felt stabbed by ten thousand needles.

Yet she had to face reality: Ethan had taken Nina as his fiancée.

He had forgotten her.

——

After Ethan was discharged, he refused to let Nina leave his side.

Clarissa comforted herself—amnesia was temporary. Sooner or later, he'd remember her.

But when she ended her experiment early to accompany him to rehab, she overheard his conversation with a childhood friend outside the hospital room.

"Ethan, are you sure you want to play it this big?"

The corridor was dead silent. So silent she could hear her own heartbeat pounding.

His voice carried a hint of amusement. "Honestly? Being with her for so many years—it's like my left hand holding my right hand."

"You know how old-fashioned she is? She won't even do it in the car."

His lips curved into a savoring smile. "Not like Nina. She's willing to cooperate with any position."

His friend sputtered. "But Nina? Isn't she your stepsister?"

Ethan cut in impatiently. "What nonsense. Nina and I don't share blood."

"After I've had enough fun, I'll just tell her I've recovered my memory. Simple."

Dead silence.

His friends exchanged glances, unsure how to respond.

Finally, someone broke the tension. "Your wedding's coming up. What's the plan?"

Clarissa held her breath, half-expecting, half-dreading his answer.

Ethan shrugged. "What else? Wedding goes on as usual—just swap the bride for Nina."

"It's just a ceremony without the marriage license. Treat it as making a little girl happy."

Thunder exploded in Clarissa's head.

Her limbs went numb, frozen like they'd been plunged into ice water. She turned in a daze—and walked straight into Nina, who was smiling brightly.

"Clarissa, you're here! Why aren't you going in?"

Everyone in the hospital room turned at the sound.

Ethan's eyes met Clarissa's, and a flicker of guilt crossed his face—gone so fast she might've imagined it.

His arm snaked around Nina's waist, pulling her close. He pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Why'd you take so long? The surgery's done already!"

He nuzzled into Nina like a puppy seeking warmth. "It hurts so bad. Blow on it for me? Please, fiancée?"

Nina's cheeks flushed crimson. "Ethan, how many times do I have to tell you—Clarissa is your fiancée!"

Watching tears pool in Nina's eyes, something like reluctance flickered across his face.

The words formed on his tongue, but what came out was: "I don't know her. Tell her to get out."

Clarissa never imagined this. The man she'd loved for over ten years—his amnesia was an act.

Her throat closed. She couldn't force out a single word.

A childhood friend rushed to smooth things over. "Clarissa, don't worry. He loves you so much, he'll definitely—"

"I really don't know him." Her voice came out cold, slicing through his fumbling reassurance.

Under everyone's stunned stares, she turned and walked out.

She moved so fast they didn't even have time to react.

"Ethan, I told you that you were pushing it too far. Careful—she might actually leave you this time."

Ethan's lips curved. His fingers traced lazily along Nina's curves. "Relax. She's easy to coax. One crook of my finger and she'll come crawling back."

Outside the hospital, Clarissa sucked in a deep breath.

The scene replayed behind her eyes. The wedding she'd dreamed of for so long—over before it even began.

Fine. Then she had no reason to stay.

She dialed her advisor's number. "Professor, that research project you mentioned—can I still join?"

A pause on the other end. "Clarissa, aren't you about to get married? That's three years of closed research. Would your fiancé agree?"

Laughable, really.

She'd chosen medicine for Ethan. Hundreds of sleepless nights perfecting his prescriptions. Drowning in experimental data. And in his mouth, she'd become a boring, old-fashioned woman.

Her voice came out hoarse but steady. "Don't worry, Professor. I've made up my mind."

She didn't know how she made it back outside.

When she'd rushed to the hospital, her makeup was only half done. Now she stared at her reflection in a storefront window.

Mascara streaked down her cheeks. She looked ridiculous. Like a clown.

Over ten years together. They'd finally made it.

Ethan Vance—celebrated as a genius painter—had been shattered in childhood when his mother abandoned him. After that, he couldn't touch a brush. His once-flamboyant personality dimmed. He locked away his sharpness, even his smile.

Clarissa was the one who stayed. Who walked him through recovery, piece by piece. Who chose a medical major she hated, wasn't good at—all for him.

Through sheer determination, she helped him break free. He picked up the brush again.

That small step took her five years.

The day Ethan won the grand prize, he proposed on stage. In front of everyone.

She thought that was their happy ending.

She didn't expect Nina Winfield to suddenly return from abroad—bringing news of Margaret Vance's death with her.

Nina was the daughter of Margaret's second husband and his ex-wife. Yet somehow, she'd been impossibly close to her stepmother.

She told him that before Margaret Vance died, her biggest wish was to earn Ethan's forgiveness.

She had come back to atone for his mother.

At first, Ethan directed all his grief onto this stepsister.

He threw away all decency, grabbed her by the throat and cursed her, and even grabbed whatever was nearby to hurl at her.

Nina was bloodied, yet she didn't retreat.

Clarissa couldn't stand watching it and tried to comfort him, saying none of this was her fault.

Ethan was unmoved, eyes bloodshot, roaring for her to get out.

Yet she still came to the door day after day.

In a fit of anger, he actually moved houses with Clarissa.

Life returned to calm.

She naively thought Nina's appearance was nothing more than a small interlude.

Until, on the wedding guest list, her name appeared glaringly.

She probed about it, and Ethan answered carelessly.

"She said a wedding has to have the groom's family present. I couldn't win against her, so I agreed."

His tone was light and airy, like he was talking about a stranger.

Family? When did they become this close?

Ethan noticed her expression was off, wrapped an arm around her waist, his voice seductive.

"What, you don't want to see her?"

"Then I'll cross out her name right now..."

"No need. She is, after all, your stepsister. She ought to attend."

Seeing Ethan act like it was not worth mentioning, Clarissa forcibly pressed down the unease surging in her heart and chose to believe him.

But what did all of this bring in exchange?

Back at the bridal suite.

In the portrait Ethan had painted of her on the wall, her smile was so bright.

Anyone would think that only with a heart full of love could he paint her like that.

Irritable and exhausted, she sat down on the bed, and the mattress suddenly sank.

It revealed a smear of black in the corner.

She gently pulled it out and discovered it was actually a pair of black lace panties.

A roaring sounded in Clarissa's ears.

She had worked overtime day and night in the lab just to cure Ethan's hand ailment.

And him?

He and Nina, on the bed in their bridal suite, had done all the intimate things between lovers.

Just thinking of it made her so disgusted she wanted to vomit.

With a ding, a message came in on her phone.

[I heard your wedding fell through?]

[You won't be willing to swallow this anger, will you? Interested in working with me?]

Of course she wasn't willing.

The person who sent the message was Sterling James.

He was Ethan's former closest friend, and also his current sworn enemy.

The James family's business in Northridge spread across all industries, and Sterling himself was also quite interested in art.

At one art exhibition, he met Ethan, who was just starting out.

He took a liking to Ethan's talent, bought one painting after another from him, and introduced him to big shots in the art world.

But after Ethan became famous, he was no longer satisfied with burying his head in painting, and also tried to enter the field of art collecting.

Many times, he deliberately bid at the very end to win paintings Sterling had long had his eye on.

Not out of appreciation, but because he wanted to prove that he was no longer that timid, inexperienced kid who had been obsequious at Sterling's side back then.

[It's time to teach him a lesson too, isn't it?]

Teach him a lesson?

Clarissa hesitated a little.

This man had almost occupied all of her youth.

Countless emotions mixed together at her chest, seeming about to gush out.

At this moment, a friend request popped up on her phone.

At a glance she recognized that the person in the profile picture was Nina.

She didn't rush to accept, but instead secretly peeked at her most recent posts.

In the first one, she showed off in a veiled way:

"He really has such a big appetite~ Even in the car it can't satisfy him anymore."