Chapter 3

That evening, Ethan came home.

His face was expressionless, but his eyes gleamed brightly.

Then he shoved a music score into my arms.

"I promised to give you this before. Here."

He pushed me down onto the sofa and sat at the piano himself.

With his back to me, hunched over, he clumsily searched for each key.

If this were before, I would have, like Vivian, taken a photo and posted it with the caption, "My boyfriend is trying so hard to make me smile!"

But now, I just asked calmly, "When did it start?"

The piano stopped.

Ethan turned around, his brows furrowed tightly.

"I've explained. I've apologized. Aria Summers, what more do you want?"

I looked up at him directly.

"There's an extra pair of slippers at home, a new perfume, and a Pikachu plush. The bedside drawer also has several boxes of ultra-thin condoms, the strawberry-flavored kind we never bought. Your closet—"

"Enough!"

The living room fell into dead silence.

Only our amplified breathing could be heard.

Ethan stood still for a few seconds before getting up.

The music score crumpled in his grip, his knuckles white with tension.

He looked at me with disappointed, cold eyes.

"Aria Summers, I'm starting to wonder if your father's mental illness was hereditary. Are you planning to jump off a building to force me next?"

"Just like how your mother cheated and your father used death to force her?"

A roaring sound filled my ears.

My heart felt like it had exploded.

I'd thought he might argue or deny.

I never expected him to tear open my old wounds this way.

"Some things are better left unsaid—that's adult maturity! No matter what I do outside, you're still the future Mrs. Blake. I ruined my hands for you, gave up my dream of being a doctor. What more do you have to be suspicious about?"

"Vivian shouldn't have showered in your bathroom, but she apologized. Don't blow other things out of proportion and target her!"

His voice grew louder with each word.

Combined with those cold eyes, every word cut like a sharp blade.

As if the one being unclear with a subordinate, maintaining an ambiguous relationship, wasn't him, but me.

I looked at him, finding the certainty in his eyes painfully glaring.

Not the guilt of being caught, but the confidence that I had no way out, that I wouldn't dare break things off with him.

My throat felt blocked.

I didn't say another word.

He only remembered ruining his hands, giving up his dream of being a doctor.

But he'd forgotten that I'd also ruined my hands, spending every day in the kitchen for him.

After he went to the bedroom, I numbly pressed piano key after piano key.

The music played on.

But it no longer had the sweetness of the past.

Neither of us spoke again that night.

Around midnight, Ethan quietly left.

When the door closed, I opened my eyes.

Soon after, Vivian posted again.

Five photos.

Each one showed brilliant fireworks exploding in the night sky, forming words.

Together, they read, "Ethan Loves Vivian."

I'd received the same confession three years ago.

Back then, Ethan's company had just gone public.

On the same day, he gave me a villa key and a huge flower-growing balcony.

It had roses, peonies, orchids, and succulents.

Lively like a warm little home.

That night, countless fireworks exploded in the night sky as he shouted with a smile, "I did what I promised Aria. I'll love Aria forever."

Same person.

But the object of his love had changed.

My phone vibrated.

It was a reply from my mom.

I turned off my phone, opened my suitcase, and began packing my clothes.

Everything else went into the trash.

When Ethan returned, what he saw was that suitcase.