"Julia, are you sure you want to join the Ancient Roman Empire Archaeology Project? It’s 2,000 kilometers away from the UK, in a remote location. You could be gone for ten, maybe even eight years."

"You’ve only been married for less than a year. Will your husband agree?"

The professor's voice held hesitation and concern as he studied her expression.

But Julia had already made up her mind. Without hesitation, she nodded.

"Yes."

"Besides, he and I were never truly husband and wife."

Seeing her determination, the professor sighed softly and handed her a confidentiality agreement.

"Julia, you’re an excellent student. When your mother joined this project, she was just as determined. You remind me a lot of her."

Julia signed her name, each stroke firm and deliberate. The sound of the pen against the paper felt sharp, almost piercing. Yet, as she finished, a flicker of regret crossed her eyes.

She was nothing like her mother.

At least, her mother had never been deceived by a man who tricked her for seven years.

She had lost count of how many nights Francis had left the hospital ward while she was asleep.

The night she discovered the truth, Julia followed him to the VIP ward on the top floor.

Maybe he had been in a hurry—he had forgotten to close the door.

Through the small opening, she saw Valerie resting comfortably in Francis’ arms, her expression shy yet content.

Valerie. The so-called childhood sweetheart he had often mentioned. The woman he had supposedly grown up with.

Even with others present in the room, Francis didn’t bother to hide his affection. His gaze toward Valerie was soft, filled with warmth.

So Valerie was the one he truly loved.

"Thank you, Francis, for booking such a luxurious VIP ward for me," Valerie said sweetly.

Her room had the best medical equipment and an elite nursing team.

Julia, on the other hand, had been placed in an ordinary ward. It was just one of many in the hospital.

Francis had always told her they were struggling financially, that he only made a few thousand pounds a month. How could he possibly afford a VIP ward that cost 10,000 pound per night?

She had tried to ignore it, telling herself it was just a coincidence.

But deep down, she knew the truth.

Francis wasn’t poor. He simply didn’t want to spend money on her.

Lying in her ordinary hospital bed, Julia stared at the mold on the ceiling, her heart hollow.

Then, she overheard a hushed conversation between Francis and his friend, Henry.

"Francis, you’re incredible!" Henry whispered in French, thinking she wouldn’t understand.

"You booked a VIP ward for Valerie but left your wife in an ordinary one. How long are you planning to keep your identity as the heir of Pendleton Co. a secret from Julia?"

Francis remained silent, his expression unreadable as he glanced at Julia.

"And if Julia finds out that you lied about having uremia that she actually donated her kidney to save Valerie, she’ll definitely divorce you!"

Then came the words that shattered everything.

"We were never married. The marriage certificate I gave her was fake."

His voice was cold, sharper than any blade, cutting straight through her heart.

"Francis, you’re heartless!" Henry spat.

"So everything was for Valerie?"

Francis’ silence was his answer.

Julia felt the world tilt around her. Summoning the last of her strength, she gripped his hand, her voice shaking.

"Francis … what are you saying?"

She wanted to pretend she hadn’t heard.

But the truth was, she had spent years working tirelessly to support them, even teaching herself French to take on more jobs. She understood every single word.

She looked into his deep, unreadable eyes. For a brief second, panic flickered in them.

Henry, sensing the tension, quickly tugged on Francis’ sleeve.

"Julia doesn’t understand what we’re saying, right?"

Francis didn’t rush to respond. Instead, he leaned in and pressed a slow, lingering kiss to her forehead.

"Sorry, dear," he murmured.

"We were just talking about work. I have a business trip to France next month, so I must’ve slipped into French."

He held her hand tightly, looking at her with the same affectionate gaze he had always given her.

But Julia no longer felt moved.

She only felt disgusted.

His love had never belonged to her.

Julia's heart ached, but so did the jagged scar on her waist, which became a reminder of the kidney she had given to Francis.

As someone prone to scarring, her recovery had been far more difficult than most. The doctor had repeatedly warned her to use imported ointments to prevent permanent marks. But after paying for Francis' hospitalization, her savings were nearly gone.

Now, she had no choice but to return to work, earning enough to afford the medicine that might erase the physical proof of her sacrifice.

She thought back to those grueling years, studying tirelessly by day and juggling three jobs at night just to pay her tuition. She had endured worse. This was nothing.

To earn money faster, Julia took on night shifts with higher wages. Taking orders, serving drinks, cleaning tables. She repeated these mindless tasks, ignoring the fact that she was still recovering.

"Miss, bring us some drinks!"

The customer's voice snapped her out of her thoughts. Julia straightened, pushing past her exhaustion, and turned around.

"Of course. What would you like?"

As she leaned down to take their order, her eyes locked onto a familiar gaze.

Francis.

The man who had once been her entire world now looked at her with barely concealed panic.

The moment their eyes met, he stood abruptly, gripping his whiskey glass so tightly that the amber liquid trembled. His lips parted, fumbling for an excuse.

But Julia remained silent, waiting.

She already knew the truth.

Her gaze flickered down to his clothes—his expensive coat alone was worth more than the medicine she struggled to afford.

"Julia… why are you here?" he finally asked, attempting to sound concerned.

But the unease in his expression made his words feel hollow.

"I'm working. Earning money for my medicine. Any problem with that?"

She ignored him and turned her attention to the group behind him.

Dressed in designer brands, they reeked of wealth. They were so different from her worn-out, secondhand outfit. A stark contrast.

Empty wine bottles littered the table, their price tags still attached. A single bottle cost as much as three nights of her salary.

And then, Julia saw her.

Valerie.

The woman who had once been her friend. The same woman she had seen in the VIP hospital suite, nestled in Francis’ arms.

Francis panicked. He grabbed the menu and pulled Julia aside, lowering his voice.

"Julia, you don’t have to do this. I’ll give you the money for your medicine. Just rest at home-"

She cut him off with a bitter smile.

"It’s fine. You told me last time that there was no money left in the account, remember? Besides, the medicine isn’t cheap. It costs tens of thousands of pounds per bottle."

That amount was nothing to Francis.

Julia watched as he struggled to come up with an excuse.

"I… I can borrow from my friends!"

Laughter erupted behind them.

"Francis, what’s taking so long? We’re still waiting for our drinks!"

Julia’s gaze flickered back to Francis, his face flushed from alcohol. She tilted her head, pretending to be concerned.

"But Francis, don’t you have uremia? Should you really be drinking?"

The color drained from his face.

Before he could respond, Valerie stepped forward.

She glanced at Julia, and for a brief moment, the arrogance in her eyes disappeared, replaced by an expression of forced politeness.

"Oh, Julia, I didn’t recognize you earlier," she said sweetly.

"Come have a drink with us!"

Julia took a step back, dodging Valerie’s outstretched hand.

"No, I have work to do."

She turned and walked away, ignoring Francis as he called after her.

Back in the kitchen, she stared at her reflection in the stainless steel sink.

A pale, exhausted face. A worn-out shirt. Cheap shoes she had bought online.

Aside from a degree from a prestigious university, what did she have?

What had ever made her think she was worthy of a man like Francis?

Everyone around Francis seemed to be playing a role in his carefully constructed life.

Including his childhood sweetheart, Valerie.

When Julia first started dating Francis, Valerie had rushed to befriend her. At the time, Julia couldn’t understand why a wealthy socialite would bother with an orphan like her.

Later, Francis explained that Valerie had been his childhood friend—practically family. It was only natural for her to befriend Julia, he had said.

At the time, Valerie had a boyfriend who was a notorious gangster who had been in and out of prison. Despite her privileged upbringing, she loved him obsessively, even severing ties with her family when they cut off her allowance.

From then on, Francis had been the one supporting her. He paid for her expenses, bought her a single-family villa, and ensured she lived in comfort.

Meanwhile, Julia and Francis were crammed into a tiny 50-square-meter apartment, struggling to make ends meet. Julia juggled university teaching assistant work and night shifts just to pay their rent.

Even now, after seeing her exhausted and overworked, Francis felt guilty.

So, for their first anniversary, he planned a surprise.

A candlelit dinner, a table filled with home-cooked dishes, soft lighting that cast flickering shadows across their faces.

But Julia felt nothing.

This, too, was just another act. Another scene in Francis’ carefully orchestrated performance.

She played her part, smiling on cue, pretending to be moved.

That night, after a few drinks, they ended up tangled in each other.

Francis trailed kisses down her neck, his warmth lingering on her skin. But then—

A scent.

A woman’s perfume clung to his clothes.

The moment Julia recognized it, all desire vanished.

She tried to pull away, but Francis held her firmly in his arms.

Outside, the rain drummed steadily against the window, the air growing thick with heat.

Julia swore to herself that this would never happen again.

Just then, a phone rang, cutting through the moment.

And the voice on the other end was the last one Julia wanted to hear.

"Francis, my boyfriend’s in trouble! He just got arrested-"

"And I just found out I’m pregnant. What should I do, Francis? You won’t abandon me, will you?"

Julia watched as the man who had been in her arms mere seconds ago jumped up, grabbing his clothes in a hurry.

"I’ll be right there."

His voice was steady, unwavering.

At that moment, Julia finally understood.

Valerie would always come first.

She reached for Francis' hand, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you have to go? It's still raining outside…"

Francis paused, standing in the dim light. His face was obscured by shadows, but Julia could still sense the coldness in his eyes.

Whether it was hesitation or boredom, his silence hurt more than any words ever could.

Their marriage certificate had been fake.

So, their anniversary was fake, too.

She had only ever been his companion—someone to fill the void. Valerie, on the other hand, was his obsession.

The door clicked shut behind him.

A sharp, searing pain shot through Julia’s waist, the old wound flaring up like fire wrapping around her body. She broke into a cold sweat, her vision swimming.

Gritting her teeth, she forced herself toward the bedside table, fumbling for painkillers. With shaking hands, she swallowed them dry.

As the medication took effect, her breathing steadied.

That was when she felt something crumpled beneath her fingers.

A faded, worn piece of paper that was tucked away in the deepest corner of the drawer.

It was the only photograph her parents had left her.

For years, she had carried it wherever she went.

Clutching it to her chest, she closed her eyes, feeling the faint rhythm of her heartbeat beneath the fragile paper.

And then, she broke.

Tears spilled down her face, silent at first, then wracking her body with sobs.

The grief, the loneliness, the betrayal. All of them poured out at once, as relentless as the rain pounding against the window.

In the darkness, she didn’t notice the phone buzzing beside her.

A message from her professor.

[Professor: Hello, Julia. Please come to the Archaeological Research Institute at ten o’clock tomorrow.]