Chapter 2

Amelia's POV

The next morning, I walked into my office to find him sitting at my desk, demanding, "Where were you last night?"

I was speechless. Why had security let him in? Right—to outsiders, we were still married.

"I went home," I said calmly.

Since discovering his affair, I'd moved out and quit his company. I'd returned to my father's business, which had been managed by his brother after his death. He'd never asked where I worked or where I lived now. This was his first appearance.

"Home?" he repeated, as if the word offended him. "Then why didn't you come to our home? And when did you start working here?"

"I've been asking around," he continued, his tone regaining that familiar corporate confidence. "Everyone says our marriage is perfect, that we're made for each other—everyone envies what we have."

If only they knew.

"Amelia, you don't need to work. I can support you. Or you could come back to my company—"

I pressed my palm to my forehead and sighed deeply. "Julian, that's exactly what they want—to keep me tied to the house. When I worked at your company, even though I was your secretary, you never actually gave me real work. I just accompanied you to business dinners, played the dutiful wife, maintained your image."

He looked genuinely confused, as if I were speaking a foreign language.

"Besides, your parents never wanted me working at the company anyway. They just wanted me home, having babies."

"That's not—" He stopped mid-sentence, his gaze falling to my neck. His pupils contracted sharply. "Amelia, are you having an affair? Is that why you're trying to frame me—projecting your guilt onto me?"

My hand instinctively moved to my neck. "You said yesterday we're still married, right? Maybe you left these."

Julian shot up so forcefully that my desk shook. His eyes were bloodshot, his expression desperate. "The doctor said I was unconscious for three days. Those marks on your neck are fresh—some deep, some shallow. Do you think I'm an idiot?"

I deliberately set down my bag and sat on the small sofa in the corner of the office. "You're accusing me of cheating based on this? Then how do you explain those photos of you and Sophia?"

Julian didn't bother explaining; he grabbed my hand almost desperately, saying he needed to take me somewhere that would make me understand everything.

We drove to the cathedral where we'd held our wedding. It was crowded with tourists and worshippers.

Julian pulled me to the small bridge beside the cathedral, frantically searching among hundreds of love locks until he found ours—rusted and weathered by years of wind and rain. The inscription was barely visible: Julian and Amelia, till death do us part.

He looked triumphant, like he'd just closed a crucial business deal.

"Julian," I said casually, "maybe you should look over there. You might find another surprise."

Last month, to make Sophia happy, he'd brought her here too. She'd even sent me photos to gloat.

The inscription read: Julian and Sophia, forever and always, never apart.

"Forever" didn't last very long, did it?

Julian's face grew paler as he realized this, and he almost went mad, desperately trying to tear the locks off the bridge with all his strength.

He still refused to believe it.

I was curious why he couldn't accept that our marriage had reached its end.

"I love you," he insisted. "I would never betray you. This is impossible."

I shook my head. "No, Julian. You didn't change overnight."

Memories flooded back—how it all started, how innocent it had been.

When Sophia first joined the company, Julian was very strict with this employee whose data was always wrong. He was professional but harsh, even considering firing her at one point.

But she was my stepsister—like me, she'd lost both parents and was fresh out of college, inexperienced. I felt she deserved a chance, so I transferred her to another department.

She didn't disappoint. Through her own efforts, she steadily climbed the ranks.

The turning point came at a business dinner when Sophia was harassed by a difficult client. Julian stepped in to help her, even though it meant offending an important client.

He came home that night very proud to tell me about it, clearly expecting my praise.

I thought it was just basic decency from a boss, so I gave him a simple compliment and left it at that.

But then they started traveling together frequently for business.

Everywhere they went, Julian would send me photos to check in, sharing what he saw and experienced. Even from thousands of miles away, he seemed eager to include me in his experiences.

I remember one phone call where I heard Sophia in the background calling him a "devoted husband," saying she wanted to find a boyfriend just like him.

He used to mention my name constantly. At company parties, I was always the first person he thanked.

When I asked him why, he said he wanted to tell the world how much he loved me.

But when did he stop sharing these things with me?

I think it was the day Sophia smuggled a nearly frozen kitten into their car, hidden in her bag.

Instead of scolding her, Julian was amused by her ridiculous gesture. When he told me about it later, he laughed with unusual joy.

Or maybe it was when their car broke down. Julian was frustrated, but Sophia crouched beside him telling jokes, optimistically assuring him it was no big deal.

I started torturing myself, watching and analyzing their every interaction.

Until one day, I saw Sophia pull Julian into a coffee shop after a failed business meeting.

I sat directly behind them and ordered the same dessert they did.

I took one bite and put it down.

He was humming, his step lighter than I'd ever seen.

That's when I knew: my husband was in love.

After that, I stopped fighting with him. I started cataloging all our assets, waiting for him to ask for a divorce.

Because I couldn't accept that I'd spent three years loving a man too cowardly to honestly express his feelings.

When Julian and I first got together, I told him that if he ever wanted to leave or fell in love with someone else, he should just tell me. We could part amicably.

But I waited a whole year. They continued their relationship for a year. And I never got his honesty.

Standing on that bridge, surrounded by symbols of other people's promises, I finally understood that some performances never end with honesty—they end with the slow, painful realization that the person you loved never really existed.

"Julian, why won't you just admit it?" I finally said. "You stopped loving me a long time ago. And now I don't love you either."