Chapter 1

I watched as my fiancé carried his first love into our newlywed house.

They collapsed onto the bed, covered in rose petals, and kissed passionately.

I didn't lose control, didn't cry, didn't storm in to catch them in the act.

I just stood at the door, took a photo, and posted it on my social media.

Only his family could see it.

I turned around and headed straight for the airport.

Two years later, outside the ICU.

He was shaking all over, clutching my white coat as if his life depended on it.

"I've been searching for you for two years! Why wouldn't you let me explain back then?" he asked.

I pushed his hand away and handed him the critical condition notice.

I said, "Sign it. If you hesitate any longer, she'll be gone."

*****

I stood at the door, holding a homemade cake.

The door beeped and unlocked as I pressed my finger to the scanner.

The house was pitch black, except for a warm yellow light seeping through the crack of the master bedroom door.

Today was Ethan Grant's birthday, and it was the last one before our wedding.

I quietly changed my shoes.

The living room was empty.

The air was filled with the rich fragrance of roses.

I smiled.

Ethan always said he didn't want anything fancy, but his actions spoke louder than words.

To surprise him, I wrapped up my hospital training early and came back ahead of schedule.

He had no idea.

I gently placed the cake on the entryway cabinet, then tiptoed toward the master bedroom.

Then, I heard sounds coming from inside.

It was faint, but unmistakable, a woman's breathy moans and a man's husky murmurs.

I froze in my tracks.

My heart skipped a beat.

No way.

It was just the TV, right?

Ethan knew how much I adored him and he loved me just as deeply.

We were about to get married. Every single tile and light fixture in our place was handpicked by us together.

How could he...

I took a deep breath and rested my hand on the doorknob.

I told myself not to be afraid. Maybe he had prepared another surprise for me.

The cold metal doorknob pressed sharply into my palm, sending a jolt of discomfort through me.

Without a second thought, I gave it a gentle twist.

Then, I pushed the door open.

The door opened soundlessly.

The sight hit me like a red-hot brand, burning itself into my memory and making my heart clench.

Petals were scattered all over the bed.

Lush, blood-red rose petals.

And on top of those petals, two bodies were entwined in a passionate embrace.

The man was my fiancé, Ethan, the one I knew better than anyone.

The woman, though, I'd never met in person; I'd only ever seen her in Ethan's photos.

The girl he always cherished, his unreachable first love, Olivia Stone, the one he kept tucked away in a hidden compartment of his wallet.

They were lost in a passionate kiss.

Olivia's arms were wrapped around Ethan's neck, her long hair cascading across the sea of rose petals.

The scene was breathtaking, like an exquisite oil painting.

A stunning portrait of betrayal, dripping with irony.

I stood frozen in the doorway.

Time seemed to stand still.

My mind went totally blank. I couldn't hear or feel anything.

I didn't feel the soul-crushing pain I thought I would.

Nothing.

All I felt was a coldness that froze me from the inside out, leaving me utterly numb.

Ethan seemed to sense something was off and froze.

He turned his head a little, looking right past Olivia's shoulder, straight at the doorway.

And then, he saw me.

His eyes went wide in shock.

His face went pale, his lips parted, but no words came out.

Olivia, nestled against him, sensed the shift in the room.

She turned her head and saw me.

Her expression stayed perfectly calm; there wasn't even a flicker of panic.

Instead, she gave me a smug, provocative smirk; like she'd just won the game.

She deliberately nestled closer into Ethan's arms, wrapping herself around him even tighter.

As if she was marking her territory, making it clear he belonged to her.

I watched them.

Then, I looked at the bed where Ethan and I had spent so many nights together, and the roses that should have been mine.

Suddenly, I found it all laughable.

I pulled out my phone.

Pointing it at this "oil painting", I snapped the shot, cool and collected, not a tremor in my hand.

Click.

The crisp sound cut through the silence, making the moment sting even more.