Everyone in our social circle knew that my fiancée, Hazel Mullins, had a skin hunger condition toward me.

Only touching me brought her excitement and satisfaction. But the self-proclaimed heartthrob and heir to the Newman family refused to believe it.

He boldly declared that he would win her over within a month.

After bombarding her with seductive photos for an entire month, Hazel finally reached her breaking point and auctioned them off.

With his reputation ruined, Rory Newman was disowned by his family. In a fit of rage, he jumped off a bridge in an apparent suicide attempt.

Hazel lost her mind and leaped after him. I became the biggest laughingstock in the circle.

That was until I went skiing in the Alps and accidentally bumped into Hazel helping Rory select ski gear.

She explained with a composed expression, "Rory's dealing with some serious emotional trauma. The doctor suggested more outdoor activities. Just please, don't throw another tantrum."

I felt bewildered. I wasn't even involved with them anymore. Why would I get upset?

Then it hit me that she was unaware of one fact. I had already married someone else on the same day she jumped into the water after Rory in that dramatic display of devotion.

I was simply there for my honeymoon, with a bit of skiing on the side.

I glanced at Hazel Mullins indifferently. "Miss Mullins, you're mistaken."

Before I could finish, her gaze suddenly fixed on my wrist. "What's with that bracelet?"

She furrowed her brows and reached out to grab my wrist for a closer inspection. I sidestepped her grasp and lifted my hand, dangling the platinum bracelet engraved with "C&S" initials in front of her.

"You mean this?" I asked, a distant smile tugging at my lips. "It's obviously a couple's set for me and my wife."

Her voice carried a note of tension. "Your wife?"

She stepped closer, the surrounding chatter making her instinctively frown, but she pressed on. "But I'm your fiancée. The one you've always loved is me. How could you be wearing a couple's bracelet with someone else?"

Her eyes locked onto my face, but her panic vanished in the next moment. She smirked, "I get it. You're still mad at me, so you're deliberately using something like this to provoke me, right?"

She stated confidently, "You showed up here because you knew I was accompanying Rory on this ski trip, and you staged this encounter."

She was delusional, but I patiently clarified, "I'm here on vacation with my wife."

"Vacation?" she sneered, the sarcasm in her eyes growing deeper. "Since when did you resort to such clumsy tactics for attention? I know it was wrong to leave the country without telling you, but you don't need to provoke me like this. I've seen right through it. This won't work on me."

Rory Newman tugged at her sleeve with a hint of unease, eyeing me curiously.

"Hazel, is this gentleman a friend of yours?" he asked, his voice youthful and gentle, completely different from the arrogant heir he had been before. "He seems upset. Did I interrupt something?"

"No," Hazel replied, turning to him as her tone softened considerably. "He's just having a fit. Don't mind him. Let's get you the best ski suit."

Watching her act like this made me feel a wave of physical revulsion.

My phone rang, snapping me out of it. I checked the caller ID; it was the resort manager, Hans Copeland.

I stepped aside to answer, and the voice on the other end was frantic. "I'm so sorry, Mr. Barton, but there's been an unexpected issue. The A-grade slope at the mountaintop that you and Mrs. Barton reserved has just been bought out for the next week at triple the price. Your skiing plans might need to be postponed."

My heart sank, and I frowned slightly. "Can you tell me who bought it? I'd like to see if negotiation is possible."

There was a brief silence on the line before a hesitant response. "The buyer is Miss Hazel Mullins from the Mullins Group. She said it's to provide a quiet, undisturbed skiing environment for her fiancé, Mr. Rory Newman, who's suffered emotional trauma."

The whole thing became crystal clear to me. Just moments ago, they were browsing gear right in front of me.

I suddenly felt the world was ridiculously small. These two were like sticky plasters, impossible to shake off.

Shortly after I hung up, my phone vibrated again. This time, it was my wife, Sonia Cervantes.

I answered the call, my voice instinctively softening. "Hey, honey?"

Her warm, steady voice came through the line. "I heard about the slope issue. Don't worry. I've already asked my assistant to handle it. With my influence, they'll definitely give us some leeway. You can ski whenever you want."

I smiled, the frustration in my heart dissipating like smoke. "No need for that. You just finished your meeting. Don't go through the trouble. Actually, I was thinking of spending a few extra days at the summit chalet, enjoying the snow views as an early relaxation period. Postponing the skiing a bit is no big deal."

"Alright," Sonia said, her tone filled with indulgence. "Have fun! I'll join you as soon as I wrap up here."

After the call, I turned around to find Hazel eyeing me curiously.

She seemed to have caught snippets of the conversation, a smug expression crossing her face. "What? Your so-called wife couldn't even secure a ski slope?"

She deliberately emphasized the word "wife". Her childishness made me laugh. "It's unnecessary."

I picked up my ski equipment, eager to leave.

"Mr. Barton, are you heading out?" Rory suddenly stepped in front of me, handing over an entry form for a ski competition. "Next Monday is the doubles ski race that Hazel and I are entering. Right on that diamond slope. You should join us."

His eyes shone with anticipation, but my face darkened.

Hazel quickly stepped forward, stammering with guilt. "Don't misunderstand. Rory has been through trauma, and the doctor said competitive activities could help rebuild his confidence. I'm just trying to make it up to him."

She paused, pulling me aside toward the exit to avoid the crowd. Lowering her voice, she said in what she thought was a deeply affectionate tone, "The race with Rory is just for show—to help his condition. Once he's better, I'll explain everything to him. Just wait a little longer for me, okay?"

Her words instantly transported me back to the past.

When my parents passed away and I locked myself in my room, refusing food or drink, she pleaded through the door over and over, "Clyde, open the door. I swear, from now on, I'll be your safe harbor. I'll always stay by your side."

Back then, her eyes were clear, her tone sincere. But now, she used that same sincerity to spout the most hypocritical lies.

"You truly disgust me," I said, shoving her away and storming out of the ski shop without a backward glance.

Not long after, I received another call from Hans. "Mr. Barton, good news! Mr. Newman contacted me and said he admires your skiing technique. He's sincerely inviting you to participate in the race."

I furrowed my brows. That was hardly good news. I rejected it outright, "I'm not interested."

"Oh, come on," Hans persisted, his tone turning mysterious. "I've looked into it, and the champion's prize for this race is something truly special."

"What is it?" I asked casually, not particularly caring.

Hans lowered his voice, brimming with excitement. "It's a one-of-a-kind antique ski pole, reportedly used by royalty in the early 20th century, with a sapphire embedded in the handle. It was restored and polished by a reclusive master craftsman. This master is notoriously grumpy, and hiring him is harder than scaling Everest."

He paused for effect and continued, "The resort owner pulled massive strings to get him involved. The best part? The master has promised to personally customize a complete set of ski gear for the winner, from the board to the suit. It'll be one-of-a-kind. You can even have your and your wife's initials engraved on it."

Hans's description made me waver a bit.

Our honeymoon stretched out ahead of us, and sticking solely to skiing might eventually feel monotonous.

Money could buy most things, but they held no appeal for me anymore. This prize, however... its value wasn't in its price. It was more than a gift; it was an irreplaceable honeymoon memento.

"I'll think about it," I replied.

On the day of the competition, I chose a blue professional ski suit and arrived at the starting line alone. The race was about to begin.

Hazel stood there in a pure white ski outfit that accentuated her athletic figure. Rory, dressed in black, was adjusting her goggles. Against the snowy backdrop, they truly resembled a couple united in tackling an extreme challenge.

I positioned myself quietly at the back of the group, focusing on my warm-up exercises while paying close attention to the gate setups on the course.

The starting gun fired, and the competitors shot out like arrows. I was navigating the turn at the second gate when Rory accelerated from behind on my side.

"You're skiing really well, Mr. Barton," he commented, his voice distorted by the rushing wind. "You're like a persistent ghost that just won't fade away. You know, Hazel orchestrated that whole bridge-jumping suicide pact, making everyone think she couldn't live without me. She promised that after the race, we'd stay abroad forever and never return."

His grin widened as he continued, "You followed us all the way here, but so what? Hazel is still by my side, partnering with me."

Alarm bells rang in my mind. Rory's trauma and vulnerability were all a façade.

My concentration faltered, causing my movements to lag.

"Oh, by the way," he slid closer to me, whispering in a suggestive tone, "Hazel was incredibly passionate last night. Said she'd completely forgotten what being with you even felt like."

My brows knitted together. Everyone in the elite circle knew that Hazel only responded to me. No one else could elicit that from her.

But it wasn't a physical defect. When we first started dating, to ward off suitors, she had deliberately spread that rumor, telling me, "Clyde, in this lifetime, I'll only open my heart to you. I want the whole world to know that I, Hazel Mullins, am yours and yours alone."

Using her fabricated condition, she had built an impenetrable wall around her. She had claimed she depended solely on me with unwavering loyalty. Yet now, she had shattered that vow without hesitation.

I glared at Rory, my hands gripping the ski poles tightly.

Seeing that he had struck a nerve, he curved his lips in satisfaction. As he turned to accelerate and brushed past me, he let out a feigned yelp of surprise, deliberately angling his ski edge to hook mine viciously.