Everyone in London knows that Patrick McGrath adores his wife as if she were his entire world.

But secretly, he keeps an 18-year-old girl around, claiming she resembles me years ago. He insists he's just trying to preserve the essence of true love.

He even issued a strict order that no one should bring up anything that might upset me.

One day, overjoyed with news of my pregnancy, I rushed to his office to share it. But there she was—the young girl who bore a striking resemblance to me, sitting on his lap, feeding him wine mouth-to-mouth.

She looked at Patrick and asked, "Am I just her replacement?"

But he pulled her close and replied, "How could she ever compare to you?"

That same day, I booked an appointment for an abortion and called my aunt, who lived abroad.

"Aunt, I’ve made my decision. I’m immigrating to New Zealand."

——

On the other end, my aunt was momentarily stunned before exclaiming happily, "Lora Fletcher, you’ve finally decided! I’ll ask your uncle to handle the paperwork. It’ll take about ten days—wait for my update!"

After hanging up, I went straight home.

When I arrived, Patrick was already sitting in the living room, a rare look of nervousness in his eyes.

"You’re home late. Where have you been?"

I held up the bag in my hand and replied calmly, "Nothing much. Just some mild stomach discomfort. I went to the hospital for a check-up and picked up some Western medicine."

My health had always been poor, and getting pregnant was a challenge. After the abortion, the doctor had specifically advised me to take Western medicine for recovery.

Seeing that I appeared fine, Patrick finally got to the point. "Did you stop by the company for something today? Why did you leave so quickly after arriving?"

I assumed someone had reported seeing me outside his office. He probably wasn’t sure if I’d witnessed what happened.

In truth, the moment I saw them was brief. His assistant had only fed him a sip of wine and quickly got off his lap.

"I was just passing by your company," I said lightly. "I saw you busy with the assistant, so I didn’t stay long."

He visibly relaxed at my words, but my heart ached.

We had been married for seven years and were admired as a model couple by everyone around us. I had always thought we’d love each other for life, but his heart had changed so quickly.

"She was just reporting to me!" Patrick explained, stepping closer. "You know how young she is—she doesn’t know proper boundaries, so she stood a bit too close."

He gently placed his hand on my shoulder and continued in a soft voice.

“Wife, it’s been ages since we visited our alma mater. I happen to have some free time tomorrow—why don’t we go back and relive those memories from the past?”

He seemed more at ease as he brought up our alma mater, his mood noticeably lighter.

We were a couple who transitioned from school uniforms to wedding attire, and visiting our alma mater on our wedding anniversary had become a tradition. But this year, Patrick claimed work at the company was too hectic, so we didn’t go.

Thinking back now, he was probably preoccupied with his 18-year-old assistant.

I sighed softly and shook my head. “Let’s talk about it another time. The doctor prescribed me ten days of Western medicine, and I must boil it daily.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, reaching out to gently stroke my long hair.

I turned my head slightly, avoiding his touch without making it obvious. His hand froze mid-motion.

“Lora, is something bothering you? Why do I feel like you’re unhappy? Is it because Christy Barrett seemed too close to me while reporting her work earlier today?”

“She’s just a kid, barely 18. Surely you wouldn’t take it to heart, right?”

My chest tightened at his words. Once, I too had been an 18-year-old girl.

When I looked up again, my eyes were steady and calm. “No, I didn’t take it to heart.”

His expression softened as he murmured gently.

"That’s right! There’s a jewelry auction next week. I’ll buy you anything you like."

Just an hour earlier, I had seen Christy’s updated Moments, "Uncle said he’s taking me to the auction next week to check it out. He even promised to snap a photo of the final piece and give it to me! I love my uncle so much"

The post was accompanied by a photo of the two of them making a heart gesture. The wedding ring on Patrick’s finger stood out like a glaring beacon.

I glanced at him coldly. "No need. Save the photo for someone else."

Patrick’s expression stiffened, his gaze lowering. Just as he was about to speak, his phone buzzed.

A message from Christy popped up—nothing but a photo of a bed covered with an assortment of adult toys.

He stared at the screen, his Adam’s apple moving involuntarily.

"Lora, there’s a new business at the company, and I need to leave on a trip for a few days."

With that, he hurried out, the corners of his eyes twitching.

I thought back to the countless nights he had rushed out with the excuse of urgent work or the frequent business trips that followed.

Just then, my aunt’s message came through. I opened it, "Lora, your uncle has submitted your immigration application. See you next week!"

Patrick returned exactly a week later. I assumed he would head straight to the office, but to my surprise, he rushed home during the morning rush hour.

Over the past few days, Christy’s social media updates have been relentless. In her latest post, she posed in a white gauzy nightgown, managing to look both innocent and seductive.

Her caption read, "Uncle praised my new battle outfit and said he’d tear it off with his own hands!"

I chuckled coldly and left a casual comment, "It’s his favorite style."

Shortly after, the post vanished.

The moment Patrick walked through the door, he began to reprimand me. "Lora, I already explained what happened last time! Christy is just an 18-year-old girl. Why are you always targeting her?"

I froze for a moment, quickly realizing it must be because of the deleted post.

Sure enough, Patrick caught my expression and grew even more irritated.

"She only said she was fortunate to have a good boss, and you insulted her with such nasty words!"

"Lora, you’re 30 years old. How can you stop bullying a young girl?"

I pressed my lips together, choosing not to argue, letting Christy’s lies poison his mind.

In three days, I’ll be gone. His opinions no longer matter to me.

Seeing that I didn’t defend myself like I used to, Patrick hesitated, guilt flashing across his face as he softened his tone.

“Lora, you were always the most reasonable person before. Why have you been acting so childish lately? Is it because you haven’t been feeling well?”

He placed the food container on the dining table and carefully ladled out a bowl of hot porridge.

“This is stomach-nourishing porridge from the old house. I asked the kitchen to prepare it for you every day since you’ve been unwell. Tomorrow morning, I’ll go back and bring you another portion.”

He scooped up a spoonful and brought it to my lips.

“Every time you’re sick, I wish I could take the pain for you,” he murmured.

I frowned, keeping my mouth closed, refusing to accept the gesture.

Patrick’s patience thinned, and he snapped, “Lora, are you done sulking? You’re not some 18-year-old girl anymore. Do you really expect me to keep coaxing you like before?”

He sighed heavily, then added, “Christy is the orphan my Grandpa Mike Barrett, an old family friend, entrusted to me before he passed away. Isn’t it normal for me to look after her? Can’t you be a bit more understanding?”

I tilted my head, curling my lips into a cold smirk.

“An orphan you were entrusted to care for? How noble. Taking care of her... even in bed.”

Patrick always said he liked me best when I was sensible and well-behaved.

I had always prioritized his feelings for everything. Even when I felt wronged or unhappy, as long as he coaxed me, I would quickly accept his gestures and let things go.

Just like now—he has lowered himself to make peace, fully expecting me to follow the path he laid out.

Forget it. I’m leaving soon to stay with my aunt abroad, and I don’t want to arouse his suspicion before then.

“The porridge is a little hot. Put it down; I’ll drink it later.”

Noticing the coldness in my tone, Patrick softened his voice. “Lora, you’re so thoughtful. I knew you were the most considerate.”

A short while later, Patrick received a phone call summoning him to the company. I didn’t need to guess who was behind it.

Before leaving, he kissed my forehead and said, “Be good. There’s something urgent at the company. Later tonight at the auction, I’ll pick out a piece of jewelry just for you and bring it home.”

After he left, I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.

It’s undeniable—we once truly loved each other. He did love me, but eventually, that love shifted to Christy.

He betrayed me, yet he clung to such a flimsy excuse, claiming Christy looked so much like me in the beginning.

I gazed around the wedding home where we had lived together for seven years, my heart heavy with bitterness.

The living room’s background wall displayed our photos—memories from the early days of our love, to our wedding, and our annual anniversary pictures.

Every year, we took a new photo together. Every year, except this one.

Our story had reached its end. It was time to part ways.

I sighed quietly, cut my image out of the group photos, and began packing my belongings.

I threw away my share of all the couple’s items scattered throughout the house.

Then, I signed the divorce agreement I’d had my lawyer prepare, placing it in a box alongside the abortion surgery report, and left it on the bedside table.

For good measure, I scheduled the screenshots of Christy’s social media posts and messages to be sent to Patrick’s email.

I had just sat down to rest when a new message from Christy popped up.

It included the time and location of the auction, along with a taunting line, “Do you dare to show up, old lady? Uncle said he’ll light a sky lantern for love tonight!”

That evening, I arrived at the auction right on time.

I hadn’t planned to go—the flight to New Zealand was scheduled for tonight.

I was about to leave everything behind. Why should I let a child’s petty provocation bother me?

Christy sent me the jewelry catalog for tonight's auction, flaunting the world’s top yellow diamond necklace, the final item on the list. She was determined to claim it.

However, my attention was drawn to a piece by a new designer—a subtle and elegant brooch that perfectly suited my aunt’s daily style.

I decided to pick it up as a gift for her.

My aunt is the closest family I have. When my parents passed away during my childhood, she took care of me. Later, she moved to New Zealand to build a new life and wanted me to join her.

But at the time, I was deeply in love with Patrick. She couldn’t convince me otherwise, so she let me stay in England.

How ironic that so-called “true love” proved so fleeting.

In just seven years, Patrick had shifted his affections to someone else.

When I arrived at the auction, the prime seats up front were almost entirely occupied.

I chose a spot in the last row, intending to leave once the auction concluded.

Patrick and Christy were seated in the middle, leaning close and laughing together.

Every so often, Christy glanced back, and when her gaze landed on me, her lips curled into a triumphant smirk.

Her expression was that of a proud little peacock, preening with arrogance.