Chapter 2

I met Jackson at a college party.

He fell in love with me at first sight and began a passionate pursuit.

Initially, I didn’t agree. I believed that love at first sight was merely infatuation with appearances, a love too superficial.

I rejected Jackson five times, yet he remained persistent.

Until one night, when I was followed home after a late tutoring session, he saved me, getting stabbed in the process.

I was terrified and cried my heart out, while he lay in my arms, comforting me:

“Don’t be afraid, the bad guy is gone, and you’re unharmed, that’s what matters.”

The sincerity in his gaze struck a chord within me.

So, I gave him a chance.

Over the years, Jackson remembered all my preferences, thoughtfully preparing gifts for every anniversary.

Suddenly, I recalled something and pulled out a box from the cabinet, a gift Jackson had given me for our anniversary a few days ago.

It was a lace slip dress.

The exact same one Ava was wearing just now.

I had tried on the dress; it wasn’t my size.

I rummaged through the bedside table and found many bottles of rose-scented perfume, the same scent I had smelled on Ava.

The same pearl necklace, which I had seen Ava wear.

These coincidences happened often, and I once thought it was just two people having similar tastes.

Now I see it was merely Jackson’s infidelity showing its cracks; he had been dismissing me all along, and I foolishly believed him.

When the veil is lifted, what lies beneath is riddled with holes.

My heart felt as if it was being repeatedly squeezed, and I couldn’t fathom why Jackson would abandon years of affection.

When Jackson walked in, I remained seated on the floor, numbly staring out the window.

“Isabella, the floor is cold. You’re not well; you’ll catch a chill.”

He sighed, attempting to lift me from the ground, only to be showered with boxes I threw at him.

“Don’t you have anything to explain?”

I asked unwillingly, wanting to understand the truth behind so many years of feelings.

Jackson was silent for a while, lighting a cigarette, the smoke obscuring his face.

“Isabella, these things don’t matter. What matters is, I see you as family; no one will replace your place.”

“My heart still belongs to you, and I will continue to care for you and love you as I always have. Isn’t that enough for you?”

His condescending tone made it seem like shaking my head would be a sin.

Can someone truly divide love and desire between different people?

“Isabella, I can give you everything you want.”

I said nothing, getting up from the floor, intending to kiss Jackson.

But as I approached him, he pushed me away:

“That’s not possible, Isabella. Looking at your face doesn’t stir any interest in me. Do you remember the last time you looked in the mirror?”

I froze, as if thrown into an icy sea, reaching up to touch the hideous scar on my face.

My eyes suddenly stung, yet no tears came.

This scar was a result of saving Jackson, stretching from my temple to my chin.

After graduating college, I accompanied him in building his career, living in a shabby rented room when money was tight.

One day, the rental caught fire due to outdated wiring.

Jackson was trapped in the flames, and I rushed in to save him, only to be struck by a falling beam.

The doctor said the scar would be difficult to treat, with exorbitant costs.

At that time, all we had was the savings we had scrimped and saved for starting a business, so I refused treatment.