Chapter 2
By the third day, the floating text was getting clearer.
It was like someone had put a see-through screen in front of my eyes. Now, whenever anyone got within fifteen feet of me, I'd see words floating above their heads.
The supermarket cashier' thoughts: [Why are there so many people today? This is driving me crazy.]
The security guard's thoughts: [That lady's always buying groceries and cooking, but her husband? Never around.]
Even the security guard figured it out.
But it took me three years to figure it out.
On Saturday, Edward was home for once.
He was in the study, dealing with emails, so I brought him a cup of coffee.
"Edward, black coffee, just how you like it," I said.
He took it without looking up.
The floating text above his head: [Here she comes again. Can't she just stop interrupting me every time?]
I smiled, stepped out, and gently closed the door behind me.
As the door clicked shut, I heard something in my heart quietly close as well.
The doorbell rang at 2 PM.
I opened the door.
A woman was standing outside.
She wore a white dress and flawless makeup and carried a Tiffany-blue paper bag.
It was Charlotte Stone.
She was Edward's college classmate and the design director at Foster & Co.
And, as everyone said, she was Edward's first love.
"Stella, long time no see!" she said.
She smiled sweetly.
But the floating text above her head told a different story. [Three years, and you're still hanging around here?]
I kept smiling.
"Charlie, come on in and have a seat," I said.
She stepped inside, her gaze sweeping around the living room.
Charlotte's thoughts: [Nice decor, but too bad it's wasted on her.]
"I brought a birthday gift for Edward, a tie I picked out while I was on a business trip in Milan," she said.
She passed me the paper bag.
Charlotte's thoughts: [Let's see what you can actually afford for him.]
I took the bag from her.
"Thanks, Charlie. Edward's birthday isn't until next month. You really remember everything," I said.
She let out a soft laugh, covering her mouth.
"Come on, we've known each other for twelve years," she said.
Charlotte's thoughts: [You've only known him for a few years.]
Edward heard the noise and came out of the study.
When he saw Charlotte, his expression didn't change.
But the floating text popped up above his head. [She's here. That dress looks good on her today.]
He never commented on what I wore.
Whenever I asked him, "Does this look good?" he'd just shrug and say, "It's fine."
The three of us sat in the living room, sipping coffee.
Charlotte and Edward started talking about a new project at Foster & Co.
When she mentioned a design proposal, Edward, who usually keeps quiet, actually chimed in for once.
The floating text above Charlotte's head kept flashing. [See that, Stella? He only has real conversations with me. Who do you think you are?
[Once I seal the Dreamwhale collaboration, let's see if you still think you belong here.]
The Dreamwhale collection.
Those three words struck a raw nerve.
Dreamwhale was the name of an illustration brand.
Over the past two years, its co-branded products had been flying off shelves worldwide.
Foster & Co. had been trying to secure the exclusive rights to Dreamwhale, but the artist never appeared in public and communicated only through an agent.
Charlotte was in charge of the project.
What Charlotte didn't realize was this, the artist behind Dreamwhale was me.
I picked up my coffee cup and took a sip.
None of them noticed how my hand shook just a little.
It wasn't fear.
It was something I couldn't even put into words, twisting inside me.
Three years ago, when I married Edward, I put down my paintbrush.
Because of what he told me.
"We've got plenty of money. You don't need to work," he said.
I thought he was being sweet to me.
But the floating text told me the truth.
He just thought my work didn't matter at all.