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.]

The next morning, Julia woke up to an empty bed.

Francis never came home.

He really spent the night with Valerie on their wedding anniversary.

Julia reached for her phone, but there was no message, no explanation from him. Instead, a single notification from her professor reminded her of the meeting she had almost forgotten.

When she arrived at the professor’s office, the room was already filled with quiet anticipation.

An older man with silver hair stood beside Valerie.

“This is Professor Andrew Harrington, the former director of our Institute of Archaeology,” her professor introduced. “And this is his granddaughter, Valerie.”

Julia’s gaze barely flickered.

The professor hesitated at her lack of reaction. “Valerie mentioned you two were already acquainted, so I’ll skip introductions. She’s very interested in your research and hopes to collaborate.”

As soon as the professor left, the friendly mask Valerie wore in front of others disappeared.

With slow, deliberate steps, she approached Julia, her smile brimming with malice.

“How does it feel to give up a kidney for Francis?”

Julia said nothing.

Valerie let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head in mock pity. “Did you really think he cared?”

Still, Julia remained silent, her expression unreadable.

Valerie scoffed. “I came here today to tell you the truth.”

She leaned in closer, voice dripping with cruelty.

“Francis never had uremia. And neither did I.”

Julia’s body stiffened.

“I sold your kidney on the black market,” Valerie whispered, delighting in the devastation she expected to see. “And made a fortune off it.”

Then, with exaggerated nonchalance, she pulled a thick stack of cash from her designer purse and tossed it at Julia’s face.

Banknotes fluttered to the floor like discarded scraps.

“I know you love money. Isn’t that why you stayed with Francis? Go ahead, pick it up.”

Julia clenched her fists, her breath steady despite the storm raging inside her.

Not satisfied with her lack of reaction, Valerie pressed on, circling Julia like a predator.

“Did you know that the marriage certificate Francis gave you was fake? I forged it myself.” She smirked, relishing the moment. “Francis never loved you. Next month, he’ll finally marry me legally.”

Valerie reached for Julia’s necklace, yanking it hard. The string snapped, sending pearls scattering to the floor.

“Broken pearls are worthless,” she sneered, grinding them under her heel. “Just like you.”

Something inside Julia snapped.

With a sharp crack, her palm met Valerie’s cheek, leaving a vivid red imprint.

“This was my mother’s,” Julia seethed.

“Who gave you the right to touch it?”

But Valerie wasn’t done. Smirking through the sting, she stomped harder on the pearls, as if grinding Julia’s last bit of hope into dust.

Julia lunged.

With one forceful push, she pinned Valerie against the wall.

Before she could land another hit, the door burst open.

Francis.

His hand grabbed Julia’s wrist and wrenched her back, shoving her to the floor.

Valerie’s whimper was immediate, her voice weak and trembling. “Francis…”

Francis wrapped his arms around her protectively, his expression dark with anger.

“Why did you hit Valerie? She’s still recovering!”

Julia stared up at him from the floor.

The pain in her waist flared violently from the impact, but the ache in her chest was worse.

Francis didn’t care. He didn’t even notice.

His cold gaze was unfamiliar, like he had never known her at all.

Without another word, he lifted Valerie into his arms and carried her out.

Julia watched them go, her body frozen but her mind finally clear.

It was over.

This time, she wouldn’t look back.

It took Julia three hours to gather every last pearl from the floor.

Three hours spent on her knees, collecting the shattered remnants of what was once precious.

When the mess was finally cleaned up, she hailed a taxi to the cemetery.

Seven years ago, her parents had died in an accident while on an archaeological survey in Italy. She never got to say goodbye. By the time she arrived, their bodies had already been laid to rest in this quiet, elegant cemetery.

She was only sixteen then.

She met Francis for the first time at their funeral.

Francis' father had worked closely with hers, and at the time, his grief seemed genuine. He had treated Julia with kindness, and Francis extended that kindness even after his father’s passing.

Now, that kindness was gone.

Julia placed fresh flowers before their gravestone, tracing the engraved names with her fingertips.

Her professor once told her she had inherited her mother’s sharp mind and her father’s calm rationality.

But standing here now, she felt like a fool.

Seven years of her life were wasted. Seven years devoted to a man who never truly loved her. A man she had given everything to whether it was her heart, her trust, or even a part of her body.

She clenched her fists.

Why did Francis pretend for so long? Why go from living in a penthouse to squeezing into a tiny apartment with her?

It might be because of Valerie's gangster boyfriend. Maybe Francis was bitter over losing his childhood sweetheart and clung to Julia because she was convenient, because she asked for so little.

If her mother were alive, she would’ve scolded her for being so blind.

Julia knelt before the tombstone, just as she had seven years ago in the rain.

“Mom, your proud daughter was deceived by a hypocritical man for seven years,” she whispered.

“But it doesn’t matter. I’ve decided to leave him. I want to follow in your footsteps—to Italy, to archaeology.”

For years, the circumstances of her parents' deaths had haunted her.

The official report said they fell from a cliff at night. But why would two experienced archaeologists take such a reckless risk?

Something didn’t add up.

And Julia wouldn’t find answers unless she returned to the place where it all happened.

Back at her apartment, she started packing.

This tiny 50-square-meter space held too many memories of Francis.

One by one, she took out the gifts he had given her over the years. Using a shopping app’s price-check feature, she scanned each item.

The results stung.

None of them were worth more than £50.

She had treasured them. And yet, they were nothing.

She scribbled the prices onto sticky notes and tossed everything into a cardboard box, treating them as carelessly as Francis had treated her.

Then, she sat down and wrote a short, emotionless farewell letter.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Valerie.

Julia hesitated before opening it.

[Valerie: Francis feels so bad for me. Did it hurt when you hit the floor?]

Attached was a picture where Francis holding Valerie’s hand. His wedding ring was still on his finger.

Julia’s stomach twisted, but before she could block her, another message came in.

This time, a video.

The camera focused on Francis’ bare chest, his toned muscles on full display. Valerie’s voice cooed in the background.

“Francis, I’m already four months pregnant. Is it really okay to do it?”

His voice was a deep murmur.

“Just a little rubbing… it’s okay…”

Then came the sounds. Heavy breathing, soft moans, his husky whispers.

Julia felt bile rise in her throat.

She shut off the video immediately and blocked Valerie’s number.

‘I wish the scum couple a happy marriage and eight bastard children.’

Her eyes drifted to the ring on her finger.

The only thing Francis ever gave her that had any real value.

Without hesitation, she listed it online and sold it.

With that money, she went straight to her friend’s tattoo shop.

She wanted a permanent reminder. Not of Francis, but of what she had survived.

On the left side of her lower back, right over the scar from her stolen kidney, she inked a single line of text.

‘Boy Only Wants Love If It Is Torture.’