Chapter 3

"Hold on, you've misunderstood—" I began, but Zachary interrupted me with a dismissive gesture.

"I'm swamped. I'm leaving now. Some advice—quit these antics to erode whatever affection I still have for you."

The door banged shut as he left, plunging the house into eerie quiet.

I remained motionless for a while, then let out a cynical chuckle.

Zachary, how much of your supposed love for me remains? Is there anything left to diminish?

In the past, such a misunderstanding would have left me distraught, unable to function. Now, I quickly regained my composure.

I resumed examining the wedding particulars my mother had forwarded.

Before closing my messages, I instinctively tapped the notification icon in my social media app. That's when I noticed it—an uncommon update from Zachary.

"When you encounter someone this extraordinary, you wed them and keep them near."

The image showed Aria alone, accompanied by a picture of their wedding invitation.

Soon after, one of our shared acquaintances remarked: "Man, you've already switched brides? That was quick."

Shortly thereafter, Zachary's post vanished.

But it promptly resurfaced on Aria's Instagram feed instead.

Then my phone started ringing.

Previously, I would have immediately captured a screenshot of the post, called him, and demanded explanations. No dispute would have concluded without shouting.

This time, however, I let the call go unanswered. And then again.

I didn't pick up, not even once.

What astounded me most was my lack of distress over what I'd just witnessed. Perhaps I'd become desensitized.

My initial reaction wasn't fury or anguish—it was mild amusement at the coincidence.

Their wedding was planned for the identical date as mine.

When Zachary finally returned home that evening, I was already in bed, feigning sleep.

He crept into the room and paused by my bedside.

"Natalie? Are you awake? I tried phoning you—why didn't you answer?"

I kept my back to him, my voice muffled and apathetic.

"I must have dozed off. Didn't hear it."

He exhaled with relief and leaned down, reaching to check my forehead. "Has your fever subsided?"

But as he drew closer, the overpowering scent of women's perfume—saccharine and intense—hit me forcefully. My stomach turned, and I had to resist the urge to retch.

Instinctively, I moved away from him, avoiding his touch.

He halted, his hand awkwardly suspended in mid-air.

"Natalie," he inquired carefully, "Did you come across something?"

I burrowed deeper into the covers, stifling my voice. "No. I'm just feeling unwell. I want to rest."

I slept through the night and woke feeling unburdened, as if a load had been lifted.

With a clear mind, I began gathering my belongings, methodically erasing every trace of myself from this house.

That's when I realized how many "couple's items" I'd acquired over time.

Initially, Zachary would use them with me. But at some point, without my noticing, he'd stopped. Most of those things had been relegated to some corner, gathering dust.

I packed them all into a box and discarded it in the trash.

Then I stumbled upon something else—an old scrapbook.

It was brimming with snapshots from our travels, postcards we'd collected, train tickets from our long-distance phase, and letters he'd written to me.

The entire scrapbook chronicled our years together.

But after Aria entered the picture, the pages had ceased to be filled. There were no more photos, no new memories to add.

By the time Zachary arrived home, I was tossing the scrapbook into the fireplace.

He rushed in frantically, pulling the burning book out of the flames with his bare hands.

Disregarding the burns on his fingers, he turned to me, enraged.

"Have you lost your mind? Do you understand how significant this scrapbook is to us? Why would you burn it?"

Zachary seldom raised his voice at me. This was the first time he'd addressed me in such a manner.

His anger appeared genuine, but so was the fact that he was planning to wed someone else behind my back.

I didn't want to quarrel with him, so I nonchalantly replied, "The scrapbook had become moldy and bug-infested. Don't fret—I've saved all the photos and mementos. I'll create a new one eventually."

Hearing this, his anger finally subsided.

Later, as I applied salve to his burn, Zachary gazed at me with an intensity I couldn't quite decipher.

"Natalie," he said abruptly. "You've seemed different lately. Is work causing you stress? I've arranged a personalized vacation package for you. Take some time off to unwind."