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."

The night Ethan's proposal succeeded, Nina wrote through clenched teeth:

"Does true love really have to be bound by worldly conventions? I won't admit defeat!"

The day Clarissa tried on her wedding dress, Nina wrote through tears:

"That wedding dress looks even more beautiful when I wear it. He said he thinks so too."

Who "he" was needed no explanation.

The dull ache in Clarissa's chest twisted into something sharper—a blade churning through her insides until every organ screamed.

Nina had seeped into his life long ago. Only Clarissa had been kept in the dark.

Ridiculous. She'd been foolishly dreaming of a future with him this whole time.

The friend request popped up again.

[Clarissa, it's okay if you don't want to add me. I just wanted to tell you—the invitation's been delivered. Remember to come to the wedding!]

The piercing doorbell yanked her back to reality.

The delivery person handed her a thick envelope.

She tore it open. A sea of red burned her eyes.

It was the invitation Ethan had personally designed.

He'd handled everything wedding-related so she could focus on her research in peace.

But now, her name had been crudely crossed out. Nina's name scrawled in its place.

Even the couple's photo on the cover—Clarissa's half had been cut away, Nina's face pasted over it.

She did this on purpose.

Clarissa approved the friend request and typed furiously:

[What is this supposed to mean?]

Nina sent an emoji of a girl covering her mouth, giggling:

[Finally willing to accept?]

[You got the invitation? We were just short on time, so it had to be handled this way. Don't mind it, okay?]

The smugness oozed through the screen.

Clarissa ground her teeth:

[Don't worry. I'll be there to give you my blessings.]

Nina stared at her phone and laughed softly.

Ethan's long fingers toyed with the hair at her temple, his voice lazy. "What's so funny?"

She burrowed into his arms, her voice sweet and perky. "Nothing. I just think... the way you're treating Miss Henson, she's a little pitiful."

"She just got our wedding invitation. She's probably heartbroken right now."

After Clarissa left, Ethan had told Nina everything—how he'd been faking the amnesia all along.

For a woman he could easily control, there was no need to hide it.

As for Clarissa—

She'd stayed by his side for years. Even when he hit rock bottom, she never left.

How could she possibly bear to leave him now?

Her wounded expression outside the hospital room flashed through his mind. He deliberately ignored the faint pang in his chest and snorted.

"Don't meddle. When I've had my fun, I'll go back to her."

He'd just had a thoroughly satisfying round with Nina, still drenched in sweat.

He was in a great mood, humming as he headed for the bathroom.

He didn't notice the flash of resentment and malice in the woman's eyes behind him.

…

On the wedding day, Ethan spotted Clarissa in the guest seats at a single glance.

She actually came?

Irritation flared through him for no reason. His hand tugged his bow tie looser.

Nina reminded him softly, "The ceremony's about to start. What are you thinking about?"

Clarissa stared blankly at the stage.

She was sitting in the front family section—the seats closest to the altar.

Nina had arranged it specially. She wanted Clarissa to witness with her own eyes: their wedding had become his and Nina's.

Clarissa didn't understand why she'd come.

She'd woken up that morning and walked out as if possessed, her feet carrying her to this familiar address.

The wedding setup was exactly what Ethan had finalized with the planning company.

Nothing had changed. Even the flowers were still gardenias—her favorite.