Ten years ago, I saved Tristan from his drunken father's beating—but the wine bottle he swung landed squarely on my eye and ear.

He cried as he thanked me, promising he would take responsibility for me for the rest of his life.

I was unconscious for three days. When I woke up, both my ears were deaf, my vision blurry, and a deep, jagged scar ran down my arm.

To prove his devotion, Tristan tattooed a matching scar and my name on his own arm.

In the ruthless world of business, he rose quickly, becoming the powerful and wealthy Attorney Martinez. And through it all, he stayed by my side, helping me through ten long years of treatments and surgeries.

At our wedding, he promised there would only ever be "widowhood, never divorce" between us.

One night, he got drunk at a celebration. The moment I received the call, I rushed from the hospital straight to the bar. But when I arrived, he suddenly yanked off my hearing aid.

"Jasmine, if I say this out loud, you have to be willing to admit defeat."

A soft voice answered from the shadows. "Of course."

It was Jasmine—Tristan's greatest rival and also his business partner.

Tristan's voice was gentle, but the words he said slithered out like venomous snakes.

"Celine, if it weren't for you back then, my father's million-dollar insurance payout would have already been settled. I wouldn't have had to struggle for all these years."

"If only you hadn't survived the rescue that day, I wouldn't have been stuck caring for a cripple for ten years. Every time I look at this tattoo, I feel sick..."

The crowd erupted into laughter, and Jasmine nodded with satisfaction.

Tristan looked triumphant as he turned and openly kissed her. "I'm traveling tomorrow. Will you stay with me tonight, Jasmine?"

She smiled and slipped a VIP room card into his hand with practiced ease.

When the party ended, Tristan gently put my hearing aid back on and massaged my tired eyes.

"Celine, don't come to bars anymore. The lights and noise aren't good for you."

Later that night, he sneaked out of the house.

I sat alone, clutching the medical report proving my recovery, and after a long silence, I drafted a divorce agreement.

I left my wedding ring and hearing aid on the table and booked a flight for a week later.

1

"Celine, if only you hadn't been saved that day, I wouldn't have had to take care of a disabled person for ten years just to maintain my reputation."

"Tattooing your name was the stupidest thing I've ever done."

Tristan's gentle expression remained unchanged as he spoke, and the entire room instantly erupted.

"Tristan is a real man. Ten years of charity care? I wouldn't last ten days."

"Too bad she can't hear. When her ears recover, you should whisper it to her. She'll cry for sure—another chance to play pitiful and win sympathy."

"Even if she did hear, what difference would it make? She's no better than a disabled person. Tristan is just kind enough to keep her."

Their mocking voices swarmed around me like flies.

My body felt as if all my bones had been snapped, and my bag slipped from my hand.

Inside was the gift I'd prepared for Tristan—the medical report announcing my full recovery.

I had planned to surprise him tonight. Instead, I heard the cruelest truth from him.

His words wrapped around me like snakes, tightening until my chest froze in agony.

My fingernails cut into my palms as the pain shot through my entire body.

I looked up at him, trying to speak, but no sound came out.

Seeing my trembling, voiceless attempt, the crowd burst into louder laughter.

Tristan merely toyed with my hearing aid and chuckled lazily.

"That's enough. Who told you all to mock her?"

"Celine is still my savior. I can say these things, but you're not allowed to say them to her face."

The laughter died instantly. No one dared another word.

So everything he said earlier... was just part of a truth-or-dare game?

From the corner of the room, a soft voice floated out.

"Atty. Martinez, I've really underestimated you."

A woman stepped into the spotlight—long, glossy hair, exquisite features dimmed only by fatigue.

Jasmine, the city's undefeated golden lawyer. Mysterious, powerful, and now attending a party hosted by her rival.

Tristan set down the hearing aid and cleared his throat.

"Since I dared to say this out loud, you have to be willing to admit defeat."

So it was just a dare.

I almost sighed in relief—until the next moment made everyone gasp.

Tristan strode over, wrapped an arm around Jasmine's waist, bent his back, and kissed her deeply.

Before she could even tease him, he could no longer restrain himself.

"A bet's a bet, Jasmine. I'm traveling tomorrow. Your punishment is to stay with me tonight."

No one was surprised, and the party carried on.

Only I stood out like I didn't belong.

The music blurred. My mind went blank—silent as a dead world.

In this truth-or-dare game, the punishment was to hurt me without mercy. The reward was a kiss I had never once received.

Lights flickered overhead, and though my vision had fully recovered, everything in front of me became impossible to see.

My throat was too dry to make a sound.

Jasmine's gentle voice drifted past like a breeze.

"Get some rest early tonight."

She nestled into his arms, lazy and sweet.

Before leaving, she slipped another VIP room card into his suit pocket with practiced ease.

One look from her, and the crowd nodded knowingly.

Tristan smacked his lips, savoring her taste.

A glance from him and his assistant dimmed the music and softened the lights.

"Celine, you still haven't fully recovered."

He put my hearing aid back on with infinite gentleness, even smiling.

The others chimed in. "Celine, Tristan just said the cheesiest love confessions. It gave us goosebumps!"

"He treats you so well—truly devoted!"

My eyes were already full of tears.

In the car, I rested my head on Tristan's lap as he gently massaged my eyes.

"Celine, don't come to bars again. They're bad for your eyes."

Slowly, I whispered, "Tristan... if I had died on that operating table that day... what kind of life would you be living now?"

Before I could finish my question, Tristan quickly pressed a hand over my mouth. "Shh."

"Don't say such unlucky things. If you weren't here, what meaning would my life even have?"

He thought I was upset about the hospital's routine checkup results and gently comforted me, telling me not to worry.

I stared at him coldly.

Just ten minutes ago, this same man had been cursing me—wishing I had died all those years ago. And now he was consoling me like a tender lover.

Everyone in the city knew how deeply Tristan loved me.

When he became the city's most sought-after attorney, he immediately announced our relationship to the media.

One night, I casually mentioned craving sticky rice cakes. He left instantly, driving five hours in the middle of a storm. When he returned at dawn, the cakes in his arms were still warm.

On New Year's Eve, tens of thousands of fireworks exploded across the night sky, forming my name. He stood atop the iron tower, smiling down at me as he shouted, "Happy New Year."

That night, just like always, he lulled me to sleep—and once I drifted off, he quietly slipped out through the door that led to the underground garage.

His silhouette—cold, distant, and mysterious—was visible through the reflection of the glass.

I clutched the medical report tightly as tears dripped onto the floor.

I had waited ten years for this day.

To hear his voice clearly.

To see his face without blur or distortion.

This had been my hidden wish for a decade. Yet the moment that dream finally came true, I couldn't breathe—because today, I heard the truth behind his "sweet words."

If his words tonight were lies, then how many lies had he fed me over the past ten years?

A crushing distrust clawed at my mind.

A taut string inside me suddenly snapped, then I remembered the detail I had ignored.

Three months ago, after taking a shower, I slipped and knocked over a pile of clothes. While feeling around the floor, my hand brushed against lace.

Lace...

A fabric I despised—too frivolous, too bold. I would never wear it. Yet somehow, it was in my home.

Tristan had rushed in anxiously when he didn't hear me moving, helped me up, and while dressing me, casually said it was a "new handkerchief."

Back then, I believed him.

That night, I turned on every light in the house and searched each of the eight bathrooms one by one.

In the small attic bathroom, I found it.

A delicate lace lingerie set.

A faint scent still clung to it—the same high-end perfume Jasmine had been wearing at the bar.

I placed the lingerie back where I found it, then turned and saw our framed photo sitting on the vanity.

My legs gave out.

I collapsed to the floor and cried until my lungs burned.

After we got married, he insisted on placing photos of us everywhere—saying he wanted to see me no matter where he turned.

...

Three hours later, I finally stopped shaking.

With a steady hand, I dialed the travel agency.

"Hello, I'd like to cancel the Maldives couple's tickets I booked yesterday."

"And... there's another service I want to arrange."

Outside, the deep winter night was unbearably cold.

But in the innermost VIP suite of a luxury hotel—the heat was suffocating.

The supposedly aloof and untouchable Attorney Jasmine was curled up in Tristan's arms like a contented cat.

A vivid red lipstick mark burned on her pale neck.

"Jasmine, being with you makes me truly happy." Tristan held the back of her head and kissed her fiercely—almost violently.

Jasmine teased him, "And compared to Celine?"

The air froze for a moment.

Tristan leaned back, instinctively pulling away as though a galaxy separated them.

"Don't mention Celine when we're together. You crossed the line."

"Don't forget our agreement." His eyes sharpened.

Realizing her mistake, Jasmine quickly forced a smile and joked about how pretty my hearing aids were.

"That was custom-made for Celine. It's worth a fortune. I even carved the little cat-paw pattern myself."

His voice softened, tinged with pride. He never forgot how surprised and overjoyed I looked when he gave them to me.

Jasmine's smile was stiff, but when she saw his expression relax, she let out a silent breath.

"For tomorrow's case... do you need my help, darling?"

"It involves multiple deaths. You've been exhausted lately—just get some rest."

The winter morning was bitterly cold.

Tristan had gotten up early, dressed, and pressed a deep kiss onto the sleeping Jasmine before heading to the airport.

My phone buzzed nonstop.

[Celine, are you awake?]

[I had an urgent business trip today, so I didn't wake you. The ointment you need is in the usual place.]

Expressionless, I unlocked the screen.

His "update messages" popped up one after another. But he wasn't good at hiding things.

On his neck—barely concealed beneath his collar—was a red mark. A mark that pierced through me like a needle.

My gaze fell onto the medication he had prepared for me in advance.

There was even a small note taped to the bottle.

I no longer needed it. Just like I no longer needed him.

...

At the visa center, only a few people were waiting in the hall.

"Hello, I'm Celine Mendoza—the one who called yesterday."

I handed all my documents through the glass window.

The staff member worked efficiently, but her expression tightened as she flipped through the papers.

Outside, the morning sun was warm. Inside me, everything was frozen and still.

Ten minutes later, she handed me a confirmation form.

"Ms. Mendoza, if you are sure about immigrating, please sign here."

My phone vibrated again—Tristan's updates.

He had just landed.

"It's cold today. I asked my assistant to deliver a mink coat to the house. Don't catch a cold, Celine."

I switched on Do Not Disturb.

Just as I picked up the pen, a familiar voice called out.

"Celine? What are you doing here?"

I looked up, and saw Maureen. She was there to apply for her honeymoon visa.

We were childhood friends, and even held our weddings on the same day.

She saw the grief between my brows, snatched the form from my hands, and screeched, "Immigration?!"

Her voice echoed through the hall; people turned to stare.

I took the form back silently and signed my name.

A new life deserves a new world.

That was the only thought in my heart.

"Alright, miss. Everything will be processed within seven days," the staff member said.

I turned to leave, Maureen walking quietly beside me.

From behind the counter, whispers drifted into my ears:

"Are you sure that's her? Attorney Martinez's wife is immigrating? He'll definitely lose his mind."

"Even if they fought, isn't this too extreme? Everyone knows Attorney Martinez puts Ms. Mendoza first in everything."

"Exactly. I heard that three years ago, someone hit her with their car—she was bedridden for three months. It's not serious, but Attorney Martinez still spent millions to put the guy in prison..."

I bit my lip, a bitter smile forming.

Ten years of unwavering love from him.

So why... why could he still fall for another woman?

No answer came, only emptiness.

Maureen took me to a café.

"Tell me what happened, Celine. Did someone bully you? I'll go confront Tristan myself!"

My phone lit up again—the assistant had delivered the coat.

I forced a smile and showed the screen to her.

[Have you put on the coat? Don't catch a cold.]

...

Meanwhile, thousands of miles away, Tristan had already begun work the moment he stepped off the plane.

The thick stack of documents reflected how severe the case was.

Throughout his career, he had handled bizarre, dangerous, and brutal cases—nothing could shock him anymore.

The junior assistant, Philip, murmured as he read, "It's hard to believe a biological father could do something that cruel to his own child..."

Tristan didn't speak. But the corners of his eyes were already damp.