Chapter 2

On the morning of the second day of Christmas, I slung my backpack over my shoulder, about to head out.

Rosalie stepped in front of me with a smile. "Yvonne, I made this bowl of soup for you. You have to try it," she said.

I politely declined, wondering what her real game was.

Suddenly, Rosalie shoved me hard. The scalding soup splashed all over my hand. The bowl crashed to the floor, shattering into a million pieces.

My hand instantly turned bright red, the pain shooting straight to my heart.

But before I could even say a word, she started yelling, "Yvonne, I made you breakfast out of kindness. Why did you have to knock it over on purpose because you're jealous of me?

"If you don't like me, I'll just leave."

Her eyes were rimmed with tears, looking like a wounded little deer.

Hearing the commotion, Yosef burst in from outside. His face was streaked with dust, but he didn't bother to wipe it off. He cradled Rosalie in his arms and carried her straight to the couch.

He carefully took out the medical kit and tended to Rosalie's wounds with utmost care.

Eyes down, I noticed the tiny blisters on my hand. I tugged my sleeve over them and slipped out the door without a sound.

Once I stepped outside, I found the art studio—Yosef had once put so much thought into decorating it—had totally changed.

Those classical paintings and sculptures were all gone. In their place, the walls were now plastered with modern abstract art, the kind I absolutely hated.

On a day this gloomy and suffocating, those paintings clashed horribly with the whole vibe of the room.

But just because Rosalie casually mentioned she liked them, Yosef had personally overseen the workers, making sure everything was swapped out.

A cold wind swept through the hallway, sending a chill down my spine. My thoughts drifted back to years ago.

Back then, Yosef was a young man with an endless passion for art. Even though he had nothing, he always managed to hunt down the most valuable pieces on a shoestring budget.

One spring afternoon, filled with enthusiasm, he hung up the classic oil paintings he'd carefully chosen for me in that art studio.

Those paintings, like his love for me, were deep and full of meaning.

But how long could that kind of deep affection really last? Barely three years.

I took a deep breath. Just one more week, and I'd be out of Yosef's life for good.

Just as I turned to leave, Yosef suddenly seized my arm.

He yanked me hard, dragging me down the hallway, barely giving me a chance to steady myself before I crashed to the ground.

His eyes were icy and full of disdain. "Yvonne, quit acting all innocent. You hurt Rosalie, and yet you think you can just walk out of here? Get in and apologize to her."

I kept my mouth shut, refusing to say a word.

Furious, Yosef shoved my head down, dragging me into Rosalie's room.

"Say you're sorry. You owe her," he snapped.

Everything went dark for a second, and my knees almost buckled. My heart felt like it was being squeezed in a vice.

Suddenly, I remembered how Yosef used to come to my rescue like this.

I once invited him to an outdoor concert.

But on the way there, my long dress got caught on a tangled shrub by the roadside, and the hem ripped.

Several well-dressed but arrogant young men surrounded me, sneering and blocking my way.

I was on edge, my eyes welling up, barely holding back tears.

Just then, Yosef walked over with the sunlight blazing behind him.

He didn't hold back. He beat the crap out of those guys, leaving them bruised and swollen, then forced them to apologize to me.

"Apologize to her. Now," he thundered.

Those guys trembled, their faces ghostly pale.

At that moment, Yosef was totally my hero.

And in him, I saw a striking resemblance to Yannis, who once meant the world to me.

Suddenly, the pain in my crushed hand snapped me back to the present. Yosef's grip was so tight I could barely breathe.

Funny how things changed. Now I was the one he was shoving around, making me apologize.

I lowered my gaze, keeping my voice steady. "Yosef, she brought this on herself. I'm not interested in playing along with your whole 'knight in shining armor' drama for her."

I tried to turn away, but Yosef only tightened his grip, not letting me go.

He suddenly started talking nonstop, sounding nothing like the Yosef I used to know.

But everything he said was just him defending Rosalie, through and through.

He said, "Yvonne, I've let you get away with too much.

"Rosalie's had a tough life already. Now that she finally has me to protect her, you just have to go and bully her. I'm not letting this slide. I'll make sure she gets what's fair."

He pushed me down to my knees, forcing me to pick up the broken shards one by one.

In a careless moment, a jagged shard cut my finger, and blood welled up instantly.

I sucked in a sharp breath.

Yosef reached out, almost on reflex, to see if I was hurt.

But Rosalie tugged at his sleeve, stopping him in his tracks.

Yosef just threw out a curt, "You okay?"

He was still as taciturn as ever, whether it was me or anyone else.

I snorted, sarcasm dripping from my voice. "I'm fine. It's just a little blood."

But Rosalie shrank into his arms, gagging uncontrollably.

"Yosef, I can't handle seeing blood," she whimpered.

Yosef quickly covered her eyes.

"It's okay. I'll take you back to your room," he said, his voice gentle and reassuring.

I watched the two of them leave, and I didn't miss the smug little look Rosalie shot me—total victory flex.

I forced down my emotions and let out a sarcastic chuckle.

Three years by Yosef's side, and it all meant nothing compared to someone else showing up for just a month.

I was so pathetic and kinda laughable.

My stomach was in knots, cold sweat breaking out across my forehead.

But it made me feel more clear-headed.

I forced myself up, a cold sneer playing on my lips.

Now that Yosef was this heartless, there was nothing left worth staying for.