Three months pregnant, I received an urgent text from my husband. Fearing something had happened to him, I hurried to find him, only to be struck from behind and lose consciousness.

When I awoke, I was naked on an art exhibition platform, displayed as a nude model.

I was treated like an object, subjected to unbearable humiliation; even my unborn child was cut out and turned into part of the exhibit.

After the exhibition, I was condemned as shameless, while Selina Grant, the creator, was hailed as a brilliant female artist.

I rushed to confront Selina, only to overhear my husband and her confessing their love at the stairwell.

“Selina said only Clara Hart could inspire her, and that she was the ideal model. Besides, Clara grew up in an orphanage; her life was cheap, she often wore rags and even ate from trash bins, so posing nude is nothing.”

When speaking of Selina, Simon Carter’s voice softened.

“Selina comes from money, grew up abroad, and has true artistic talent. She’s precious, so of course I have to cherish her.”

“My days with Selina are full of passion and joy. Clara is dull; all she does is ask about meals and remind me to drink less. Being with her is tiring.”

Every word stabbed straight into my heart.

If that was how things were, then leaving was my only choice.

Simon didn’t know that the chief designer title I once surrendered for him was something I now intended to reclaim.

——

After locking herself out for the ninety-seventh time because she forgot her keys, Clara finally visited a neurologist.

The doctor told her that due to an incident at age ten, she had a lingering brain hemorrhage.

It was now dispersing, and within half a month, she was expected to awaken with no memories left, becoming a different person entirely.

Shaken by the news, Clara left the hospital in a trance, trembling as she dialed her husband Simon. “Simon, I need to tell you something, I—”

Beep beep… the call suddenly ended.

Soon, Simon texted: Selina Art Museum, Nanshan Road. I’ll be there in ten minutes.

She called again, but he didn’t answer.

Fearing something had happened to him, Clara rushed to the location, only to find no trace of Simon.

The next moment, she was struck from behind and blacked out.

When she regained consciousness, she found herself naked on a display platform, a yellow liquid pooling beneath her.

People surrounded her, whispering with disgust on their faces.

Clara was horrified.

She had wet herself—naked—in front of everyone!

Selina’s voice sounded at that moment.

“As you can see, this is a piece about women and childbirth.”

“After giving birth, a woman’s body loses charm, and some even suffer incontinence. Every mother is remarkable. I hope everyone respects women and treats all mothers with kindness.”

She finished and bowed deeply to the audience.

Thunderous applause followed; everyone praised the exhibit's message.

But Clara’s mind went blank—she had never given birth, and there was no childbirth injury.

She must have confused her with someone else. Yes, she had mistaken someone else for her—she wasn’t meant to be the model at all.

She tried to explain, but no sound came out.

She had clearly been drugged to silence her temporarily.

While panicking, she noticed a familiar figure in the crowd.

Her eyes widened—this man looked identical to her husband.

Sensing her gaze, the man merely glanced coldly at her before turning his attention to Selina.

His eyes were full of admiration, tenderness almost overflowing.

Clara froze, unable to believe what she was seeing.

Then Selina ran into his arms. They kissed openly, then walked away together.

As they left, Clara’s eyes dimmed.

Simon loved her deeply—how could he cheat, and even watch her being displayed like merchandise, naked and humiliated?

Fifteen years of knowing each other, ten years of love—she had never doubted him.

At age ten, he found her in a garbage dump and brought her to an orphanage, giving her a home and protecting her.

At fifteen, he fought thugs who assaulted her, was stabbed seven times, and nearly died.

At eighteen, she was stranded by a mudslide during fieldwork. He walked through the storm for over ten kilometers to find her, saying that if she died, he would die with her.

At twenty, he built a business for her, and in five years rose to the top of high society as a celebrated tech tycoon.

“Clara, I’ll love you forever, and I’ll do everything to give you the best life and make you the Mrs. Carter everyone envies.”

So how could the man who loved her so fiercely be the same man who had just abandoned her for someone else?

Tears welled up. Clara struggled with all her strength, but the drugs kept her from speaking or moving.

For two hours at the art exhibition, she was treated like an object, stared at, and inspected by everyone. Some men with bad intentions even took the chance to touch and grope her body.

When the exhibition finally ended, and the drugs wore off, Clara slowly stood to leave, but at the corner of the stairs, she heard that familiar, unforgettable voice.

“Being naked and incontinent for two hours, then being watched and touched—isn’t that a bit much for Clara?” Simon sounded indifferent. “Selina said only Clara can inspire her, and is the most suitable nude model for her exhibit. Besides, Clara grew up in an orphanage; her life was cheap, she often wore thin clothes as a child, and even ate from garbage cans. Being a nude model means nothing to her.”

When he mentioned Selina, Simon’s tone softened.

“Selina comes from a wealthy family and grew up abroad. She’s highly gifted in the arts, very precious, so naturally I have to cherish her.” His friend sighed quietly, “But I remember you built Hart Technology for Clara, climbing your way to where you are today.” Simon chuckled, not denying it. “At first, yes, it was because of Clara, but now I’m simply grateful that my status allowed me to meet Selina.”

“Selina is nothing like Clara. She plays piano, dances, and paints; she understands art and romance. With her, we can talk about philosophy and art all night long. But Clara—”

He paused, impatiently. “Clara is too mundane. Every day she just asks what I want to eat, if I feel cold, or other trivial things. You know, she even bargained over prices when we went to the supermarket.”

Clara heard the sound of her heart shattering. So it really was Simon; he had long fallen for someone else.

So this was how she ended up here, naked and displayed—everything orchestrated for another woman’s exhibit.

A worthless life.

To him, she had always been nothing but a worthless life.

Her heart felt like it was being crushed, the pain suffocating.

The voice continued.

“I fell for Selina. Having Clara pose nude was my idea. If she discovers it one day, let her hate me. It has nothing to do with Selina.”

He even distanced himself from Selina right away.

Clara trembled violently, as if someone had seized her throat.

“No one loves only one person forever. Clara and I just met too early. If I had met Selina first, everything would be different.”

“Being with Selina made me feel passion and joy. With Clara, it was too tiring.”

The other person asked, “If you love Selina, why not divorce Clara instead of holding her back?”

“Selina is firmly against marriage. We’ll never marry. Clara will remain Mrs. Carter and continue enjoying the title. That’s my compensation to her. It’s just that I won’t love her anymore.”

Every word stabbed into Clara’s heart.

He didn’t love her anymore.

He was the one who said he loved her first, and now he was the one saying he didn’t love her anymore.

Because he no longer loved her, he could strip her bare for others to see; because he no longer loved her, he could crush her dignity and turn her into another woman’s artwork.

When did his love become so cheap?

Tears streamed endlessly; Clara cried until her heart ached.

From age ten to twenty-five, she remembered everything Simon had done, and in return, she had given him all her love.

Her love for him had become instinctive.

Since he no longer deserved it, she would simply take it back.

Shaking, she opened her phone and bought a plane ticket to Italy, writing in her notes: “If one day you forget who you are, take this ticket and become someone new.”

She pulled the medical certificate from her pocket and tore it to pieces with her own hands.

“Simon, you and our past, disappear from my memory together.”

“What are you tearing?”

Simon frowned at the scraps of paper on the ground and bent down to pick them up.

But the moment his hand touched the pieces, Selina’s voice rang out from afar, “Simon, where are you?”

Simon instantly pulled his hand back, didn’t even look at Clara, and walked away without hesitation.

Clara watched his fading figure, suddenly smiling, yet tears streamed down her face as she smiled.

Just because Selina called, he walked away without looking back.

Did he love her that much?

Enough to abandon all his promises just to be with her.

Suddenly, heavy rain poured outside. Clara wandered for two hours in a daze before finally returning to the villa she shared with Simon.

That night, Simon never came home.

Under extreme physical and emotional strain, she developed a high fever that night, one that lasted three days.

In her delirium, she had a long dream. She dreamed of young Simon carrying her over mountains and rivers, saying he would carry her for the rest of his life.

When she opened her eyes again, she was alone in the room.

She was about to call the housekeeper for medicine when the door suddenly opened.

Clara instinctively looked up and saw the person she never wanted to see again—Selina.

“Miss Hart, we meet again.” The memory of the art exhibit hit Clara hard, her emotions surging.

“What are you doing here? This is my home. Please leave.” Selina took a drag from her cigarette and waved the keys in her hand. “Simon said what’s his is mine, so naturally I can come whenever I want.” Clara felt a sharp pain in her chest. She hadn’t expected Simon to open their home to Selina so easily.

Did he really love her that much?

“Miss Hart, I came to tell you something good.” Selina showed her phone, speaking proudly. “‘Woman Giving Birth’ has gained huge attention and was reposted by major media. In a week, I’ll bring it to an international exhibition. Then the whole world will see your beautiful body.” Clara froze. On the screen, she lay naked among the crowd, her lower body soaked in yellow liquid, her expression empty and broken.

A crushing wave of humiliation nearly drowned her. She trembled violently, almost biting her lip until it bled. Selina, still unsatisfied, pulled out more photos.

“Miss Hart, these are for my next exhibit. The theme is still you. I haven’t decided on a title yet—can you help me think of one?”

This time, the photos were intimate pictures of her, each taken by Simon during moments of passion.

He once swore no one else would ever see them, yet now they were in Selina’s hands.

Clara froze, her voice shaking. “Why do you have these photos?”

“Simon gave them to me, of course.” Selina crushed her cigarette, her tone gleefully cruel. “We artists aren’t that uptight. Simon knew I needed photos related to desire, so he gave them to me.”

“Oh, and he also said you’re even sexier in person!”

Clara shook violently, her teeth chattering, finally forcing out, “Give me back the photos!”

“No way! They’re materials for my next exhibition, and plenty of people are waiting to see them. Without them, what would they look at?”

No! She couldn’t let anyone see them. She’d rather die.

Clara lunged to grab the phone. In the struggle, Selina suddenly smirked and fell backward.

Just then, Simon pushed the door open and walked in.

Seeing the scene, his expression darkened. He seized Clara’s arm, pulled Selina into his embrace, and snapped, “Clara! What are you doing?”

“Simon, you’re finally here!”

Selina shrank into his arms, pretending to be wronged. “Simon, I don’t know why Miss Hart hates me. I only asked her about the title for my next exhibit, and she glared at me like she wanted me dead.”

Simon’s face darkened, and the look he gave Clara was filled with disgust.

“Clara, how did you become so vicious! Selina knew you were sick and even canceled her plans to visit you, shared her good news, and you actually attacked her!”

Good news?

Selina’s “good news” was treating her like an object, displayed naked for all to see?

Clara’s eyes dimmed, but she still asked, “Simon, those photos of me—did you give them to her?”

Simon frowned, answering coldly, “Don’t look at me like that. Those are art, not as dirty as you think.”

“Art?” Clara suddenly laughed, tears falling uncontrollably.

She raised her hand and slapped him across the face.

“Simon, you bastard!”

“If it’s art, why doesn’t Selina strip naked and let everyone see? Since she loves being a mistress so much, standing there bare might be a hit!”

Before she could finish, she was kicked hard in the chest.

Holding Selina, Simon looked grim.

“Hit me if you want, but who allowed you to insult Selina?”

“She made you the centerpiece of her work and gave you the chance to experience art because she admired you. I never thought you’d be so ungrateful. You really do have a lowly life.”

“Guards, lock Madam in the dark room. She is not to come out without my permission!”

Clara almost thought she heard something wrong. He knew very well she had claustrophobia and needed the lights on even while sleeping.

But now, for that woman, he was going to lock her himself in a dark, sunless room.

The bodyguards stepped forward and roughly dragged Clara toward the dark room.

Fear seized her, and Clara struggled with all her strength, pleading, "No! Don’t lock me in a place like that! No! Simon, have you forgotten kneeling before my parents’ graves, promising to treat me well for life?"

"Simon, do you really want me to hate you?"

Simon froze, fists tightening. He had once truly loved Clara.

The next moment, Selina suddenly hugged him and began to sob softly. Tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke.

"Simon, I came without notice and offended Miss Hart, but I’m not a mistress, really, I’m not."

In an instant, heartache crushed his hesitation, and Simon said in a deep voice, "Take Madam away now and lock the door! No one is allowed to open it without my permission."

The bodyguard shoved her into the small, dark room and slammed the door shut.

In an instant, Clara fell into endless darkness.

Terror overwhelmed her; she pounded on the doors and windows wildly, screaming with all her strength, "Let me out! Let me out!"

"I was wrong, don’t lock me in here, Simon, please, I’ll apologize, don’t leave me here, I’ll die." She screamed until drained, but the door stayed shut.

Clara was in despair. She curled into the corner, not…

She stopped trembling, and memories surged back.

She wasn’t actually an orphan. Fifteen years ago, she had a happy family; her parents were upright, incorruptible narcotics officers.

Until that night, drug dealers came with their men to retaliate. To protect her, her parents locked her inside a dark closet.

She witnessed her parents’ brutal deaths through that crack, staying inside for three days.

When the police found her, she was nearly broken from the trauma.

With a psychologist’s help, she underwent six months of treatment before recovering.

But ever since, she had claustrophobia, terrified of dark, enclosed spaces to the point she needed a light to sleep.

And she had told Simon everything.

She never imagined that, just to shield Selina, he would personally tear open her wounds.

Images of her parents’ deaths repeated endlessly in her mind. Clara felt as if she had gone back fifteen years, watching them die again and again.

The recurring pain tormented her nerves, and three days later, Clara finally broke.

Before losing consciousness, she faintly saw fifteen-year-old Simon under a cherry blossom tree, holding her tightly.

"Clara, from now on, I’ll protect you with my life. I’ll never let you suffer that again, never let you fall into darkness again."

For the next ten years, he kept that promise.

But now, he shattered it.

When she woke again, Clara found herself in a hospital.

Seeing her awake, Simon said softly, "Your body is fine, and Selina was worried, so she asked me to stay with you."

He reached to touch Clara’s hair, but she pulled away.

Seeing her wary gaze, Simon’s heart jolted. He frowned and said, "Why are you still acting up? This was your mistake, and you should be punished."

"Mistakes must be punished, Clara. You told me that when we were young. Have you forgotten?"

Clara slowly raised her head, calm, silent.

Looking at the face before her, she suddenly realized that not loving him wasn’t hard at all.

From now on, each second she would love him less.

Seeing her eyes, Simon felt she had changed. When did she stop looking at him with those burning eyes?

He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Then he showed her his phone.

"Clara, I came to tell you that you misunderstood Selina. Her new art exhibit is a total success, praised by all. No one looks down on you."

Seeing her unflattering photos displayed in a gallery for everyone to see, Clara froze, struggling not to cry.

She closed her eyes slowly, turning away, unwilling to speak.

Out of patience, Simon stormed out, slamming the door with a deafening bang.

Where no one could see, Clara gripped her hands, letting her tears soak the pillow.

After crying enough, Clara stood up, dragging her weak body out of the hospital, heading for the orphanage where she grew up.

Since childhood, the director, like a mother, had been kind to her, and she had always thought of the orphanage as home.

She didn’t know when she would lose her memory, but before that, she wanted to help the orphanage.

But this time, the director who had treated her like a daughter refused to let her in.

"Leave. I saw the photos of you selling yourself as a nude model. You’re not welcome here." The director threw out her things, disappointed. "I raised you carefully, not for you to do something shameful! If this spreads, all the children here will be disgraced!"

"We don’t want a single cent of your donations, and money earned from your body is dirty!"

The director had actually seen those photos.

Clara bit her lip, explaining frantically, "No, I never took Selina’s money."

"You’re still lying! Miss Grant told me you needed money, so you agreed to be her model."

The director shook her head and slammed the door on her.

"Don’t come back. We don’t have a child like you."

Clara froze, slowly falling to her knees, crying hard.

Just like fifteen years ago, she was homeless again.

And this time, the one who made her homeless was Simon.