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.

After learning the full truth, Tristan rushed to the hospital to see the injured child.

But an hour earlier, unable to endure the torment of blindness and deafness, the child had jumped from the building and ended his life.

Tristan stood in silence for a long time before promising the grieving mother that he would make the monster responsible pay in full.

And he did it easily. With overwhelming evidence and his unmatched legal skill, the father was sentenced to life in prison.

The mother immediately paid an six digit legal fee and handed him a black card as an additional reward.

"Attorney Martinez, I know you're not the type to care about this, but please accept it—and keep this matter confidential. I don't want anyone else to know what happened."

Out of professional ethics, Tristan agreed.

Before leaving, he quietly slipped the black card into the woman's coat pocket.

When his assistant questioned him, Tristan merely waved his hand and said he had only done his job.

A drunken father beating his child into disability... it was a scene far too familiar. And in the end, that child had fallen into depression and died.

Tristan's expression darkened, and a chill crept down his spine.

My drunken ramblings from that night replayed over and over in his mind. The fear hit him all at once—the fear that I would end up like that child.

He unlocked his phone. He sent dozens of messages, but there wasn't a single reply. Every call went unanswered.

Cold sweat gathered at his forehead, and the corner of his mouth trembled.

The business trip was supposed to last two days, but he immediately booked a private jet home, leaving his assistant to handle the aftermath.

"Did you pack up the things I told you to buy?"

"Don't worry, Mr. Martinez. I've boxed all the premium medicated oils in the entire city."

"You really treat Miss Celine well. No matter where you go, you always buy something for her. By the way, Mr. Martinez—maybe try some yourself? The back of your neck is completely red..."

Tristan instinctively touched his neck, his pupils tightening.

He hurriedly opened the message thread. The photo he had sent that morning—his routine ‘reporting-in'—had captured that exact patch of redness behind his neck.

After brushing off his assistant with a few casual words, he boarded the plane home.

—

I sat steadily across from Maureen as she stared at the same photo, her face frozen in disbelief.

"How could this be? He treats you like you're his whole life."

So I finally told her everything—what had happened that night at the bar.

Her eyes instantly reddened, tears streaming down her cheeks in sympathy.

Ironically, I ended up being the one comforting her. But her reaction wasn't as dramatic as I expected.

"Jasmine... is not a simple woman."

Maureen then told me that some time ago, she and her husband had attended a charity auction where they happened to see Tristan. But they were too far away to call out to him.

The atmosphere was lively, he didn't notice them, and his attention was solely on the woman beside him.

When a mink fur coat came up for bidding, the woman gave a small nod. Immediately, Tristan began raising the price like a madman—up to three times the market value—refusing to back down.

"That woman was dressed to perfection. I actually thought it was you. I even recorded a video to show you later but got busy and forgot after the event."

Maureen played the video for me.

The woman in it... was Jasmine.

Their body language—every glance, every gesture—overflowed with intimacy.

My face gradually froze.

The mink coat Martinez had sent me through his assistant, though similar in appearance, paled in quality compared to the auction piece.

Maureen stared at the photo of the coat and scoffed, "He didn't want anyone noticing, so he thoughtfully bought you a knockoff."

"Besides... he seemed to forget you're allergic to animal fur."

It didn't matter anymore. At this point, I had no use for such cheap gestures.

Maureen and I talked for a long time, and slowly, the weight on my chest eased.

Under the warm glow of dusk, we said our goodbyes. Her husband waited for her not far away, looking at her with eyes full of tenderness.

That look... outshone even the fading sunlight.

I smiled faintly and drove home.