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.

Earlier that day, Tristan had been pacing like an ant on a hot pan, growing more frantic by the minute. The dread gnawing at his conscience spread through his whole body.

The moment he got off the plane, he sped straight home, ignoring every message and call from his assistant.

"Celine! Where are you?!"

Just as he was frantically searching for me, I stepped through the door.

The second he heard the sound, he bolted toward me and pulled me into his arms.

"You're back—" he didn't even finish the sentence before tightening his embrace.

His voice trembled, and his arms wrapped around me with desperate strength—warm, overwhelming, almost suffocating. My mind went blank for a moment.

He held me tightly, inhaling every trace of my scent like he was trying to confirm I was truly alive and safe.

A droplet fell onto my shoulder.

He... was crying?

In ten years, I had never once seen him shed a tear. He was the type to swallow every emotion, never losing control in front of me.

"What's wrong?" I asked, attempting to push him away from the embrace that was becoming a little too tight.

He didn't answer. His grip didn't loosen, only softened slightly.

Half an hour later, he finally calmed down enough to explain why he came back so suddenly.

The child's story was heartbreaking. My throat tightened.

"Don't worry. That beast of a father has paid the price."

"That's good," I murmured. I unknowingly sneezed a few times.

The early winter wind seeped in; I had gone out dressed too lightly, and a shiver ran through me.

My eyes drifted to the glossy black mink coat. I forced a little smile and turned to head upstairs to change.

Tristan noticed and reached for the coat to place it over my shoulders.

"Celine, why didn't you listen to me and wear a coat?"

The fur settled on my shoulders, and I sneezed again. I was about to explain when his quiet mutter brushed past my ear.

"...Why is it this one?"

His voice was soft, but I heard every word.

He quickly typed something on his phone—clearly messaging his assistant.

I didn't understand what he meant, but before I could ask, he grabbed my hand.

In the next instant, I found myself being whisked to the city's newest luxury mall.

Anything my eyes lingered on for more than a second, he waved at the staff to pack up. Everything was carried straight into the truck following behind us.

In half an hour, the truck was filled to the brim with branded shopping bags.

People passing by stared in disbelief. I tried to refuse, but he was unwavering.

"Celine, I want everyone to know—you are my life."

For a moment, I felt dazed.

It was like stepping back in time to when we first met—when he loved fiercely, recklessly, and treated me like I was the center of his world.

Just as I was about to look deeper into his eyes, a sudden ringtone shattered the moment.

It was Jasmine.

He instantly hung up, but her bold, glamorous profile picture flashed across the screen—just long enough for me to see it.

That single call shattered the last fragile illusion.

I inhaled slowly and told him calmly that he didn't need to spend money on me.

"It's getting late. I'm not feeling well, so I'll head home first."

I gently pulled my hand away and turned to leave.

Seeing my face had gone pale, he immediately rushed after me.

"Celine, are you okay? I'll take you to the hospital. Your eyes haven't been rechecked for a long time—I'll go with you."

Earlier that morning, the doctor had reminded me to come back in a few days for another check-up. I had completely forgotten.

His gaze was cautious, waiting for my answer.

Maybe today was the day to tell him the truth.

Taking a deep breath, I nodded.

Five minutes later, we arrived at the best hospital in the city. As with my previous check-ups, I was scheduled for a full examination.

Jasmine called again. As he was preparing my medical documents, he accidentally hung up on her.

"Why isn't he answering my calls?"

Annoyed, Jasmine slammed her phone on the floor. The noise of the crowd around her only worsened her irritation.

"Patient number seventeen, please proceed to the exam room..."

The overhead announcement echoed. Jasmine picked up her phone, grabbed her paperwork, and walked into the consultation room.