Chapter 1

To save my boyfriend, Andrews, I got injured and ended up in the hospital.

Months later, the doctor said my wounds were healing well, and I could finally be discharged.

Andrews looked at me with tenderness in his eyes.

"That's great, Pegula. You're okay. I can finally rest easy."

My heart swelled with joy. "Once I'm out, we'll get married."

But he shook his head, a hint of apology in his smile.

"What I meant was, I can finally rest easy and leave."

"Ramon has been waiting for me for over half a year. I couldn't possibly break up with you while you were sick; that would be too cruel."

"Now that you've recovered, it's time for me to go and pursue my own happiness."

I touched my lower abdomen, which still ached faintly, and my heart went utterly cold.

So all his meticulous care was just so he could guilt-free run to someone else.

Andrews acted as if he didn't see my face instantly drain of color.

He spoke, his tone light with relief. "You know, Ramon is so fragile, and she adores me. She'd do anything for me, even be with me without any formal commitment."

"Last month, on my birthday, she gave herself to me, like a present."

My throat tightened, each word squeezed out from between my teeth. "Last month... I was still in the ICU."

He chuckled, a reminiscent and slightly boastful glint in his eyes.

"Right here, on this hospital bed. You were in a coma then. She cried, saying she was terrified something would happen to you, and even more terrified I'd fall apart. She insisted on comforting me with herself."

"Ramon's crying... it just does something to you."

I followed his captivated gaze to the white sheets beneath me.

I could almost see another young, soft body, intimately entwined with the man I loved, right here, while I lay clinging to life.

My stomach churned violently.

I dug my nails into the edge of the bed, not even feeling them break and bleed, numb to everything but the crushing pain in my chest.

He cupped my face, seemingly oblivious to the hatred in my eyes, and frowned, perplexed. "Why are you crying? I'll compensate you with money for the injuries you sustained for me."

In Andrews' eyes, there was still that deep affection I'd known, etched into my very soul.

It was as if the person excitedly describing having sex with another woman on my sickbed wasn't him.

I gasped for air, my heart clutched by an invisible hand, aching as if it would explode.

He sighed in exasperation, pulling out a tissue to wipe away my tears, his movements as gentle as if he were handling a precious treasure.

"Pegula, you're the person I'm most grateful for, but Ramon is the one I love."

"If it weren't for you, I would have been the one crushed under the construction scaffolding that day. If my hands were ruined, how would I draw, how would I win awards?"

"Ramon just joined the design firm; she has a brilliant future ahead. I can't let her be branded as a homewrecker because of me, so I proposed to her the day before yesterday. She really loves the ring."

"You've always been the most understanding, the most generous. You'll bless us, won't you?"

Construction site, proposal, ring.

Three months ago, he took me to inspect a project site he'd personally designed when the scaffolding suddenly collapsed.

I didn't hesitate, pushing him out of the way, only to be hit in the abdomen by a steel bar, collapsing unconscious on the spot.

I lay in the ICU for half a month, and he stayed by my side for half a month.

Everyone said our love was stronger than steel.

But it turned out that while he was guarding me, he was also guilt-free enjoying another woman's body.

I curled my cold fingers, my voice shaking uncontrollably. "We're over."

He paused, then chuckled, as if I was telling a childish joke.

"Pegula, don't say things you don't mean."

"For me, you gave up your future in France, haven't touched your scent lab in seven years, and your sense of smell has deteriorated. What else can you do now besides being my assistant?"

"If you leave me, who would want you?"

I stared at him intently.

Seven years. I went from being the most promising young perfumer to just a regular assistant by his side.

I thought our love story was that of a genius architect and his muse.

But now, he was telling me I was just a worn-out tool he'd used up.

My phone rang. It was the special ringtone he'd set for Ramon.

I'd heard it many times – when I was asleep, when I was disoriented after surgery.

He always said it was a client.

It turned out I had been living a complete joke all along.

He didn't answer immediately, instead saying in a placating tone, "Don't stoop to bickering with a young girl. Our seven years together, surely that's worth more than her few months?"

"You're not getting any younger, Pegula. No one else will take you. Just listen to me, stop being dramatic."

He rose, leaned down, and pressed a cold kiss on my forehead.

"You handle your own discharge. Ramon has prepared a celebration party for me, I need to get going."

The moment the hospital room door closed, I couldn't hold it in anymore. I retched violently by the bedside.

Andrews was wrong. No one proposes to a mere pastime.

That ring, I waited seven years for it, until my heart died.

True feelings don't disappear; they just shift.