Chapter 3

"Stop this nonsense, Vincent." Sabrina didn't believe a single word.

In her eyes, this was likely just another dramatic stunt I'd concocted.

"I'm taking him to change. Come find me when you've calmed down," she said, already pulling Colin away without another glance.

Colin shot me a smug look over his shoulder.

I shook my head and left with Amelia.

Days passed with no sign of me, and Sabrina finally lost patience. She showed up at my apartment looking for me.

But it was Sam who answered the door—he was there to help me pack.

Faced with Sabrina's arrogant questioning, Sam didn't even let her in. He just stood blocking the doorway and coldly informed her, "He's not here. He's out of town preparing for his wedding with Amelia."

Sabrina paused at that, then burst out laughing.

In her mind, there was no way I'd ever leave her, let alone marry someone else.

She was convinced this was just some pathetic lie Sam and I made up to mess with her.

Or maybe—just maybe—I was secretly planning our wedding, trying to surprise her.

Blindly confident, Sabrina turned and left, deciding to give me a few days to "cool off." Once I got tired of playing hard to get, I'd come crawling back to beg for her forgiveness.

Five years ago, I was considered a genius too.

That year, the "Red Hall" gallery offered me a solo exhibition—a debut opportunity most painters could only dream of.

But at the time, Sabrina was going through an unprecedented creative block.

When I tried to share the news with her, she knocked over my palette. Red paint splattered across my canvas like blood.

"You're going to abandon me now?" she screamed, eyes red as she gripped my shoulders. "I can't paint anything, and you want to have a show? Vincent, put me first for once, will you? You'll have plenty of chances to show off later."

Seeing her in pain, I softened.

I tore up the invitation myself, turned down every opportunity, and became the shadow behind her.

Five years passed.

The only one sacrificed was me.

A week later, Sabrina's studio was thick with suffocating anxiety.

"Damn it!" she cursed under her breath.

No matter how she mixed the colors, nothing felt right. Either too harsh or too muddy.

"Vincent!" she snapped irritably.

Dead silence hung in the air.

Only then did it hit her—I'd been gone for a while.

"Sabrina..."

Colin, who'd been hovering nearby, spoke up cautiously.

Seeing her agitation, he walked over and gently held her arm.

"Don't be upset. He's not worth it," Colin said dismissively. "Honestly, good riddance. What could he even do besides chores and washing brushes? A glorified househusband like that could never understand your art."

Colin thought he was flattering her.

But Sabrina froze mid-motion.

She slammed her brush down with a sharp crack.

"He stayed with me from the very beginning when no one knew my name!" Sabrina yelled, her voice cutting. "His eye for color is something you couldn't match in ten years of practice! Who are you to judge him?"

The air in the room went cold.

Colin trembled, looking wounded, but he was too intimidated by her fury to speak.

After her outburst, Sabrina stood still for a moment, pressing her fingers to her throbbing temples.

Amid the tense silence, her phone on the table began buzzing wildly.

It was a group chat with a few old friends—rarely this active.

Annoyed, Sabrina snatched it up just to shut it up.

But the moment her eyes landed on the screen, her blood ran cold.

It was a screenshot from my Instagram, forwarded into the chat.

The profile picture was still that side-face shot, but the posts were no longer promotions for her exhibitions.

It was a photo.

My hand intertwined with Amelia's.

And there, gleaming unmistakably on my ring finger, was a custom platinum wedding band.

The caption was just one line: [Finally found the one. Guide me home for the rest of my life.]

"Oh my god..." Colin leaned in, gasping dramatically. "Vincent actually married someone else?! Already?!"

Sabrina's hands shook violently.

Her phone slipped from her grip and crashed into a puddle of unmixed paint on the floor.

For the first time, the world she'd always been so sure of—cracked.