Solenne stepped out of the hospital, still clutching the report in her hand, dazed and hollow.

The abortion was scheduled for eight in the morning tomorrow.

She had wanted this child so badly. Now, she didn’t want it at all.

What was once a long-awaited surprise had become a suffocating burden.

She drifted home like a ghost. Hungry, but with no appetite, she decided to cook something anyway—just to keep busy.

Halfway through, she accidentally knocked over a pan left on the burner.

With a loud clang, hot oil splattered everywhere, catching her hand.

“Ah!” she cried out in pain, unable to hold it in.

“Babe! What happened?”

Right then, Rockwell walked in. He’d just gotten home and immediately heard her scream.

Panic shot through him as he rushed into the kitchen.

There she was—on the floor, surrounded by the mess. His face changed instantly.

“You burned yourself? Come with me. I’m taking you to the hospital.” His voice was rushed and full of concern.

Without waiting for a response, he scooped her up and carried her out.

At the hospital, he stayed by her side the entire time, not leaving for even a second while the doctor checked and treated her injury.

“Next time, wait for me to come back and cook. These hands of yours are made for painting, not for kitchen accidents. What if the injury had been worse?”

His eyes were full of worry as he looked at her red, scalded hand.

Something about his expression tugged at her heart.

‘The concern on his face—it doesn’t look fake. So maybe… maybe some part of this whole act isn’t a lie. Maybe, just maybe, there’s a little truth in how he treats me.’

“You haven’t eaten yet, right? I’ll go grab something for you.”

Just as he turned to leave, he froze.

Following his line of sight, Solenne looked up—just in time to see Chesca walking toward them.

She instantly noticed the way his body tensed as Chesca’s eyes lit up in surprise.

“Rockwell? What are you doing here? Are you sick?”

The moment he saw her, Rockwell stiffened, his expression faltering with guilt.

“No… it’s nothing. My sister-in-law burned herself cooking. My brother’s not around, so I had to bring her in.”

“Oh, I see,” Chesca nodded in understanding.

Solenne watched the unease on his face—the way he scrambled to explain himself, desperate not to be misunderstood.

She gave a bitter smile and looked away.

That little flicker of warmth she felt earlier—gone.

‘How could I forget?’ Even if Rockwell had a sliver of real affection for her, the one he truly loved… was never her.

And any truth buried in his lies wasn’t worth sacrificing herself for.

“So, what about you? Why are you suddenly in the hospital?” he asked.

“I’ve been dealing with a cold. Came to get some meds. Actually, I’m headed to a welcome-back dinner a friend threw for me. Want to come?”

The way they talked—casual, familiar—it made her want to decline immediately. She didn’t belong there.

But before she could say anything, Rockwell spoke first.

“Sure, let’s go. We haven’t had dinner anyway. Might as well tag along.”

Chesca smiled, looking over at her. “Perfect.”

Rockwell drove them to the venue—a private room on the second floor of an upscale restaurant.

As soon as they sat down, he pushed away the iced drinks and asked the server to bring over some warm honey water.

When it arrived, he placed it in front of Chesca and said naturally, “Don’t drink anything cold, especially if you’re catching a cold. And aren’t you about to start your period?”

His gesture drew lighthearted teasing from the people around the table.

“All these years and Rockwell is still this attentive with Chesca, huh? He even remembers her cycle—now that’s commitment!”

“Well, of course he remembers,” someone laughed. “Chesca’s his first love, after all. When she moved overseas and married that French guy, didn’t Rockwell mope around for a whole month?”

Inside the room, Norman joined in with exaggerated winks and teasing.

“Miss Sherald here is gorgeous, talented, and already a well-known artist at such a young age. Who wouldn’t fall for her? It’s only natural that Rockwell liked her once.

“I wasn’t sure if he really did before, but now…”

He trailed off deliberately, but everyone chuckled knowingly, casting ambiguous looks at the old flames.

Chesca blushed from their teasing and shyly said, “Come on, don’t joke around. You’re making something out of nothing. Besides, I’ve already been married and divorced. I’m not good enough for Rockwell.”

“You’re good enough for anyone. The one who’s not good enough… is me,” Rockwell quickly jumped in, afraid she actually meant what she said—that she wasn’t worthy of him.

Up until this point, Solenne had been silently sitting there, barely noticed.

All eyes were on Rockwell and Chesca, laughing and joking, caught up in their own world. Solenne didn’t even have the right to question him.

To everyone else, she was just his future sister-in-law—his eldest brother’s fiancée. To everyone else, she had nothing to do with Rockwell.

“I’m going to the restroom,” Solenne said quietly.

But Rockwell didn’t even glance her way. All his attention was still on Chesca.

Seeing this, Solenne forced a faint smile, got up on her own, and walked away.

Chesca had noticed. The corners of her lips curved upward ever so slightly. She excused herself, saying she also needed the restroom, and followed behind Solenne.

When Solenne came out, she found Chesca standing by the sink, clearly waiting for her.

“Do you need something?” Solenne asked, her expression calm and unreadable.

Chesca smiled.

It was a smile laced with superiority, with mockery, and a hint of victory.

She spoke slowly, almost lazily, “You saw it yourself tonight, didn’t you? The one Rockwell really loves… is me. If you had even a shred of self-awareness, you’d stay away from him. Don’t let him run off with you.”

The words hit Solenne like a jolt.

At that moment, she realized, ‘So she’s not some innocent little rabbit. She knows everything.’

But how? Rockwell would never tell her. He wouldn’t risk Chesca misunderstanding his concern.

Seeing Solenne’s calm reaction, Chesca let out a quiet chuckle.

“Do you know what Rockwell was really doing the first time he promised to run away with you?”

Solenne’s throat tightened, her voice hoarse. “Didn’t… didn’t he get into a car accident?”

She remembered it so clearly—the day they planned to run away together was the day she was supposed to get engaged to Luther.

But Rockwell didn’t show up.

The next day, she was told he’d been in a car crash. She saw him unconscious in the hospital with her own eyes.

“He wasn’t in a car crash,” Chesca revealed flatly. “He flew to Paris to celebrate my birthday.

“As for the hospital? With his resources, do you really think bribing a doctor to lie to you was hard?”

She scoffed, almost like she was laughing at how pathetic Solenne had been.

The truth hit Solenne so hard, she could barely stand. Her mind went completely blank.

She had knowj Rockwell didn’t love her. But hearing it spoken out loud—so cruel, so direct—felt like a knife plunging straight into her chest.

Outside the restroom, Rockwell’s voice called out, “Chesca? What’s taking so long? Is everything okay?”

And then, without a moment’s hesitation, Chesca slapped herself across the face. Hard.

A red handprint bloomed across her pale cheek as she staggered backward and fell to the floor with a sharp, deliberate scream.

“Ahh! I didn’t do anything to you! Why would you hit me?!”

Her voice trembled with tears and fear—loud enough to reach Rockwell’s ears.

Without thinking, he rushed into the women’s restroom.

There she was—Chesca on the floor, a red mark across her cheek.

And beside her—Solenne.

Without even pausing to ask, Rockwell raised his hand and slapped Solenne hard.

“Are you out of your mind?! She didn’t even do anything to you! If you have a problem, take it out on me! Why would you hit her?!”

For the first time, he spoke to her with such fury, such sharpness in both tone and eyes.

The force of the slap sent Solenne to the floor. Her cheek swelled instantly, her mouth filling with the taste of blood.

She was stunned.

Her ears rang, her vision blurred, and her mind went blank.

“Y-You hit me… because of her?”

Solenne could hardly believe it. Her eyes burned red with tears as she stared at him.

Since they’d met, Rockwell had never even raised his voice at her—let alone laid a hand on her. Around her, he was always gentle. Always patient. Always careful.

Seeing the shock on her face, Rockwell seemed to snap out of it. Only then did he realize what he had done—he had just slapped her.

“Solenne, I…”

He took a step toward her, instinctively trying to explain.

But before he could say another word, Chesca, who collapsed nearby with tears in her eyes, whimpered, “Rockwell, it hurts… so much.”

The moment she spoke, Rockwell turned away from Solenne without hesitation and rushed to Chesca’s side. He bent down carefully and helped her up, as if nothing else in the world mattered.

“Come on, I’ll take you to the hospital.”

“Rockwell—don’t you dare! If you walk out that door with her, we’re done!”

The frustration, the heartbreak, and the anger Solenne had buried for days—everything exploded at once.

Clutching the side of her swollen, burning face, she forced herself to her feet.

Her voice was sharp, nearly shrieking. People had begun gathering nearby, drawn by the commotion.

They heard her clearly. She said she was breaking up with Rockwell.

But wasn’t he supposed to be… her future brother-in-law?

A brief, heavy silence settled in the air.

Every pair of eyes turned to Rockwell—each gaze shifting with something unspoken, something uneasy.

For a moment, Rockwell looked uncomfortable. But then he looked at Chesca, her pale face and bruised cheek, and without saying another word, he walked away with her.

He didn’t want her face to scar.

He still left.

Solenne watched his back as he disappeared down the hall. Her lips curled in disbelief, her body shaking uncontrollably.

‘That’s the man I’ve loved for so many years…’

Suddenly, her stomach twisted with nausea. A wave of dizziness washed over her, and then she felt it—warm liquid running down her legs.

She was bleeding.

The pain hit like a knife; her face went white.

‘I-I’m losing the baby…’

Before everything went dark, all she could hear was the sound of people screaming.

She didn’t know how long she was out. When she woke up, it was already the next afternoon.

She was in a hospital bed, and Rockwell was sitting right beside her.

He watched her quietly, and when he saw her eyes flutter open, his expression twisted into something complicated.

He hesitated for a long moment before finally speaking.

“Solenne… why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?

“Last night, after I took Chesca to the hospital, I came home to explain everything to you… but you weren’t there.

“The hospital called me. That’s when I found out you were pregnant. And that… you lost the baby.”

His voice was full of guilt. He reached out to touch her cheek, but she turned away from him.

She gripped the sheets so tightly her knuckles turned white.

“Be honest,” she asked, her voice low but firm. “You still have feelings for Chesca, don’t you?”

Rockwell was silent. After a few seconds, he sighed and gave a bitter smile.

“I’m sorry, Solenne. You’re right. I admit it. She was my first love—my first real love. I still… care about her.

“But I swear to you, the one I love now is you. I promised you I’d be with you, and I won’t go back on that. Please, just believe me.”

Solenne stared into his deep, tender eyes and whispered, “Then… are you going to run away with me in five days?”

In five days, she was supposed to leave Brooklyn to find Luther.

If Rockwell would come with her that day—if he’d give up his revenge against Luther—then maybe, just maybe, she could give him one last chance.

But once again, Rockwell let her down.

He hesitated. And in that pause, she already knew his answer.

Still, when he finally said it out loud, it cut her like a blade.

“I’m sorry, Solenne. Five days is too rushed. I can’t guarantee we’d get away clean. Someone will notice.”

From the moment she saw his hesitation, she knew he wouldn’t choose her.

But hearing him say it—confirm it—it still hurt like hell.

She let out a dry, bitter laugh. “Got it.”

He noticed her mood shift, and tried to comfort her, gently ruffling her hair. “Don’t overthink it. I love you. Trust me.”

Just then, a nurse’s voice rang out from the hallway.

“Ma’am, are you here to visit the patient? You’ve been standing outside this room for so long.”

The door creaked open.

When Solenne looked up, she saw Chesca standing there, pale as a ghost, her beautiful eyes brimming with tears. Her beautiful face, full of sorrow.

Instinctively, Solenne turned her head to check Rockwell’s reaction.

He, too, had looked toward the door the moment the voice rang out—and when he saw Chesca standing there, panic immediately flickered across his eyes. His expression turned frantic in an instant.

Chesca looked like she’d been struck hard. Her legs seemed to give out beneath her, and she swayed like she might collapse.

She didn’t say a word. But somehow, it felt like she had already said everything.

She gave Rockwell a single look—just one—and then turned and ran.

“Chesca!” Rockwell called out after her, urgent and full of worry.

Without a second thought, he got up and chased after her.

He didn’t even glance back at Solenne.

Just a minute ago, this man had been telling her he loved her. Now he was leaving her behind for another woman.

Suddenly, it all felt meaningless.

Solenne placed a hand over her belly. ‘Maybe the child already knew it wouldn’t have a good future if it was born—so it simply chose to leave on its own.’

A natural miscarriage didn’t require hospitalization, so she checked herself out alone.

After leaving the hospital, she returned to the villa.

She had always lived in Rockwell’s villa, under his name. ‘It’s time to pack up and go.’

She headed into the bathroom first and began clearing out everything she had bought for him—his toothbrush cup, razor, their matching towels…

Then she walked into the bedroom, picked up the photo of the two of them that had always sat on the bedside table, and tossed it straight into the trash.

There were a lot of her in that villa. She spent the whole day packing.

She stayed one last night in the villa. The next morning, she continued.

After about a day and a half, she had cleaned out everything—inside and out.

What could be shipped, she arranged to be airlifted to Greece. What couldn’t, she threw away.

But just as she stepped out to toss out another load, she saw Rockwell walking up.

His brows furrowed when he saw what she was carrying. “Why are you suddenly throwing out so much stuff?”

Solenne didn’t want to explain. She casually made something up. “Weren’t you going to fake our deaths and elope with me? I figured I’d get a head start on packing and get rid of what we don’t need.”

Rockwell’s expression relaxed, and he smiled. “Oh, I see. I see.”

After that, neither of them spoke. The air turned quiet.

Maybe he sensed that her mood wasn’t great. Rockwell thought for a moment, then he reached out and gently took her hand.

“Don’t be upset. Let’s go to an art exhibit, clear your head. There’s one downtown right now, and they’ve even put up some works by that famous Russian painter you love.”

Solenne had planned to say no—but when she heard that last part, she hesitated.

She really did love that artist’s work. His paintings rarely made it into exhibitions. It was a rare chance—she didn’t want to miss it.

“Okay. Let’s go.”

Seeing her agree, Rockwell let out a quiet breath of relief.

Without wasting time, they got into the car together.

At the exhibit, Solenne finally managed a smile. Rockwell followed behind her, smiling too.

Whenever she stopped in front of a painting for more than two minutes, he would quietly call over a staff member and buy it for her on the spot.

Around them, many visitors who loved art but couldn’t afford to buy any could only admire the works on display. When they saw what Rockwell was doing for Solenne, they couldn’t help but cast envious glances her way.

“She’s so lucky,” someone murmured. “That man must love her so much to buy all those expensive paintings just for her.”

“Every single painting here costs at least a million,” someone else whispered. “And he’s already bought more than a dozen!”

Solenne heard all the quiet, admiring whispers—but felt nothing.

Maybe the funniest joke she’d ever heard in her life… was that Rockwell loved her.

After about an hour, she had seen the entire exhibit. She told Rockwell she was going to the restroom.

But when she came back, she saw Rockwell locked in a fight with a French guy in his late 30s or early 40s.

The blue-gray-eyed guy with dark brown hair had already taken a brutal punch to the face—his cheek was swollen.

All she heard was Rockwell’s threatening voice. “If you dare slander Chesca again, I swear I’ll beat you to death!”

At first, the French guy fought fiercely with Rockwell. But the former soon lost stamina and began to falter. Realizing he was no match, he started yelling in frustration.

“Do people here all like to solve things with violence? I was just telling the truth, and you beat me up for it?

“Chesca married me for my money—then had the nerve to cheat on me! Every time I wasn’t home, she’d invite four or five men over for hookups!

“If I hadn’t come back early one day and caught them, she would’ve kept me in the dark forever!

“I’ve got surveillance footage and pictures to prove it. See for yourself!”

He shoved his phone in Rockwell’s face.

On the screen, Chesca was clearly engaged with five men. One in front, one behind, and the others using her hands and feet. Her expression was one of overwhelming pleasure—completely immersed, even speaking in French, whispering filthy words meant to arouse them.

There was no sign of resistance. No trace of being forced.

As Rockwell watched, his expression reddened.

Seeing that Rockwell was finally starting to believe him, the French guy snapped, “Now you believe me, huh? And you still beat me up like this? How are you going to make it up to me?”

Suddenly, Chesca burst in from outside, seemingly having heard what happened.

She froze at the sight of her ex-husband—and the unmistakable disappointment in Rockwell’s eyes. In an instant, she understood.

Tears spilled down her face as she threw herself into Rockwell’s arms.

“Rockwell, please, believe me! He’s lying. He forced me to do those things—to satisfy his sick fantasies. He made me sleep with those men, made me say those things to please them!”

Rockwell stood stiffly, letting her hold him without saying a word.

The footage had shaken him. No matter how he tried, he couldn’t bring himself to instantly trust her again.

Seeing that he still wasn’t convinced, Chesca panicked. Her crying became even more pitiful.

“Rockwell, please… Don’t you remember the bruises you saw on me? Those were from him! That bastard used to beat me!”

Looking at the fragile woman in his arms, Rockwell’s heart softened.

“Alright,” he finally said. “I believe you.”

Then he pushed her gently aside, grabbed a nearby painting he had just purchased, and smashed it over the French guy’s head.

“If I ever hear you slandering Chesca again, I won’t let you off so easily.”

With that, Rockwell swept the sobbing Chesca into his arms and carried her out.

Watching this unfold, Solenne found it laughable.

‘If this isn’t true love, what is?’

Rockwell loved Chesca so blindly, he forgave her even after knowing she had cheated on him.

When the spectacle was over, the crowd began to disperse.

Solenne was about to leave when a staff member from the gallery called out loudly, “Ma’am! The painting Mr. Stettheimers just bought for you… He didn’t sign for it. You need to take it with you!”

Upon hearing this, Chesca’s ex-husband—who was still lying on the floor from the blow—suddenly gathered all his strength and stood up. He grabbed the same painting that had just been used to hit him.

The frame was made of solid wood—heavy, painful if used as a weapon.

From the staff’s words, the French guy inferred that Solenne had some connection to Rockwell. Enraged, he charged at her and swung the painting.

“He smashed me. Now? I’ll smash this bitch who’s close to him!”

Solenne didn’t have time to dodge. She could only raise her hands to shield her head.

Before she knew it, the painting came crashing down on her hands, and the searing pain turned her face ghostly pale. Her vision blurred, and she collapsed to the floor.

Before walking away, Chesca’s ex-husband even spat at Solenne.

All of this happened in just a few short minutes. Rockwell, busy with Chesca, had completely forgotten Solenne was even there. He didn’t look back to see her get hurt. He didn’t see the painting strike her down.

Solenne tried to push herself up, but her arms gave out. The next thing she knew, she collapsed again.

‘M-My h-hands… I-I can’t… I can’t move my hands at all!’

The horrifying realization hit her like ice water. It was as if the blood in her body suddenly froze.