Chapter 2

That night, I didn't accept the transfer, nor did I reply "I love you too" as I usually did.

She seemed to sense something was off and returned home the next day.

"What's the deal with the divorce papers on the table?"

The weary words made Stella's figure even more vivid.

She pinched the bridge of her nose, furrowing her brow, barely containing her anger yet forcibly suppressing it.

Stella never gets angry in front of me. Whenever she puts on this face, I always take a step back.

"Stella, we're not right for each other."

I didn't want to expose the embarrassing side of her and Caelan.

Call me a doormat or a coward if you will, but when it comes to Stella, I just want to let her save face.

After all, I've held her back for over a decade.

Stella laughed bitterly: "Kael, isn't it a bit late to say we're not compatible after all these years?"

I didn't respond. Stella sighed and patiently tried to reassure me:

"Alright, I know you were hurt at the last gala. I've already cut ties with that company. Nobody will speak ill of you in front of me anymore."

With that, Stella said she had matters to attend to at her company and promptly left.

The mention of the gala left me in a daze.Last time Stella celebrated her 30th birthday, she hosted a party at home with many guests, and I came out to help greet them.

A company CEO who had drunk too much made some inappropriate comments to me.

"Where did you, Kael, get the guts to marry our Ms. Stone?"

"A crippled, washed-up painter, you're just holding her back!"

The entire party fell silent, with only the sound of high heels clicking as they approached.

Many people were fond of Stella, and what that CEO said was what others wanted to say too.

That night.

Stella had too much to drink and, for the first time ever, called me.

"I'm drunk, come pick me up."

"Stella, sis, who are you calling?"

A slightly gentle voice sounded, along with the rustle of clothing moving closer to the phone. I could hardly imagine how intimate their posture must have been at that moment.

"It's my brother. His legs don't work well, why are you calling him?"

"Bro, Stella has a cocktail party today. Don't worry, I'll make sure she gets home safely."

There wasn't a hint of anything amiss, the brotherly affection maintained perfectly, as if the person who had sent those bed photos of himself and his sister-in-law wasn't Caelan.

I said nothing and hung up the phone.Thoughts swirled chaotically in my mind. Even when my collaborator called about organizing the art exhibition, I could barely focus on what they were saying.

"Mr. Shaw, this exhibition will be held jointly with another artist. Would that be alright with you?"

"The other artist also likes the venue, saying it's sufficiently gloomy..."

My collaborator chuckled, and I couldn't help but feel curious about this person. After all, I had chosen this venue precisely because of its gloomy atmosphere.

The details of the exhibition were quickly settled. By the time I finished up, night had fallen.

Since moving out, I'd been temporarily staying at my studio.

At one in the morning, Stella showed up at my door, drunk as a skunk.

"Why aren't you coming home? There's a limit to throwing tantrums, you know."

Stella had drunk a lot. She sprawled on the couch, her displeased expression sharpening the edges of her already cutting demeanor.

"Stella, I'm serious about the divorce."

Despite my reluctance to let go of years of sentiment, I clenched my fists and said it out loud.

However, Stella retorted:

"Kael, who else would marry you besides me?"

I froze in my wheelchair, somewhat taken aback.

The woman didn't open her eyes, seemingly unaware of how hurtful her words were.The disability seemed to have become a barrier between us, and I wasn't the only one who cared about it.

After a long moment, she slowly looked at me, her eyes regaining some clarity.

"I'm sorry, I misspoke."

My heart gradually grew cold. I lowered my gaze and asked:

"Stella, you actually mind my leg a lot, don't you?"

I had changed into my pajamas, but they were still long-sleeved and long-legged. I didn't want to see the neatly cut end of my left leg.

Now the fabric was slightly swaying with my clenching movements.

Stella panicked, stumbling to the wheelchair and gripping my hand tightly.

"Don't overthink it. I'm just too tired lately, and I spoke without thinking."

I remained noncommittal, but finally smiled and said firmly:

"Stella, let yourself off the hook. You've long since repaid your debt of gratitude."