Chapter 2

Carlier was downing bottle after bottle, desperate to drown out his frayed nerves with alcohol.

But the more he drank, the sharper his mind became.

The host's words replayed repeatedly in his ears like an unbreakable curse. "Her life before she died was very miserable. Passed away from late-stage stomach cancer, despite all attempts to save her…"

Carlier suddenly snatched up a bottle and smashed it against the wall. "Liars! Every last one of you! No way Roshelle's dead!" Carlier screamed.

That woman was so obsessed with money and status that she had tossed aside their relationship of five years without a second thought for just 100 grand.

Carlier remembered it all too well. It was a stormy afternoon, and he was in his very rundown rental apartment.

He had just been fired for sticking to his design principles, and he was so broke he couldn't even pay next month's rent.

He had run through the rain across half the city and finally landed an odd job that barely paid enough for him to survive.

That day, he had rushed home clutching those soggy bills, which were his day's wages. He couldn't wait to tell Roshelle that he could finally buy her that dress she had been eyeing for ages.

But when he pushed open the door, all he saw was her emotionless face and callous greeting, "Carlier, let's break up."

Carlier froze. "Rosi, don't do this to me. I found a job today. Later, when I get paid..."

"I can't wait anymore," Roshelle cut him off as she looked at the wet bills in his hand with undisguised contempt. "Carlier, I'm already twenty-four. I can't afford to waste any more time. I don't want to keep living like this, not knowing where our next meal is coming from and barely scraping by to pay the rent every month.

"We've been together for five years. What have you given me? A decent dress? A designer bag? Or a place to call home?"

Every word Roshelle spoke was like a blade that cut into the most fragile part of Carlier's self-esteem.

He stood there, shivering from the cold and the rainwater still dripping from his hair. He looked downright pathetic.

"So, you're really breaking up with me because of this?" he asked softly.

"Yes. I'm too tired," Roshelle replied with a firm nod.

Carlier gave a bitter laugh before pulling from his pocket the only keepsake his mother left him. It was an old silver ring he had been saving to propose to Roshelle at the end of the year.

His eyes were red-rimmed as he asked in a pleading manner, "What about this? You don't want it either?"

Roshelle only glanced once at it before answering in a disdainful tone, "A worthless silver ring? How much can that possibly be worth?"

In that moment, Carlier could almost hear his heart shatter.

Later, he found out Roshelle had already hooked up with a sleazy, rich businessman who could give her 100 grand.

Carlier rushed madly to that businessman's office building, only to see Roshelle step out of a BMW with a dazzling smile.

In that instant, all the love he had ever felt for her turned into a tidal wave of hatred.

That hatred kept him going for five years. It fueled his rise from the unsavory depths, propelling him to climb relentlessly upward by any means necessary.

Now, he had finally succeeded. Everyone looked up to him.

He thought he could finally show Roshelle just how wrong she was and prove that she was blind to leave him.

But Roshelle was dead now. She died just a year before he finally succeeded.

'What kind of sick joke is this? Is this my comeuppance?' Carlier laughed bitterly, but tears were streaming down his face.

He couldn't accept this outcome. He grabbed his phone and called his personal assistant.

"Find out everything about Roshelle Sorin! I want every detail from the past year… No, make it the last two years! Turn the city upside down if you have to, just dig out the truth!"

After ending the call, Carlier's gaze finally settled on the wooden box sitting in the corner.

As if bewitched, he moved stiffly toward the box and opened it with trembling hands.

There was only a thick stack of yellowed letters and a very old camcorder. There was also a tiny card.

On it was written, "Carlier, if you're reading this, please forget me. And then live on happily as far as possible."

The handwriting was delicate and all too familiar to him.

But the last few words were shaky. It was as if Roshelle had used up every ounce of strength just to write them.

Carlier's heart became all knotted up. He flung the card away as if scalded before staring at the old camcorder.

Then, as if possessed, he found the power adapter and plugged in the camcorder.

The screen flickered to life. A pale face with a gentle smile appeared on the TV screen.

It was Roshelle Sorin.

"Hey, Carlier." Her voice crackled through the poor-quality recording.

"Today is our first day apart after our breakup. Was my act convincing? Carlier, you must be very angry right now. You have so much pride. I bet you must be feeling I had brutally humiliated you."

She was smiling, but big teardrops were rolling down her cheeks.