Chapter 1

My husband and I were widely regarded as the perfect couple in the art world.

He publicly declared that he would only paint portraits of me for his entire life.

No matter how much others offered, he refused to budge.

But on the day I braved the pouring rain to bring food to his studio,

I saw him meticulously painting delicate red plum blossoms on his young assistant's body.

"Haha, your brush tickles so much!"

"Stay still or for every flower you ruin, we'll use an extra condom tonight."

I stood frozen, listening to the intimate sounds from the studio as tears suddenly fell.

So he had long broken his vow to paint only for one person, yet still pretended to be devoted to me.

Choking back tears, I replied to the professor's email:

[I'm willing to go for this advanced study program.]

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1

The email had barely been sent when the professor's call came through.

"Are you sure about this? The upcoming academic workload will be intense. You probably won't have time to look after your little family with your husband."

"Professor, I absolutely must go."

I'm done with Damien and everything about this home.

"Alright, the flight ticket for next Monday has already been booked!"

It was late at night when Damien's car pulled up outside the building.

He turned on the lights and was startled to see me sitting quietly on the couch.

Noticing my bare feet on the carpet, he hurriedly found some socks and put them on me himself.

"Aria, why aren't you in bed? Couldn't sleep without waiting for me to come home? The studio was a bit busy today, I forgot to let you know. It's all my fault!"

He grabbed my calves, tucking my icy feet into his embrace.

Those once-familiar warm hands, now made me feel sick even through my clothes.

"Don't dirty my clothes."

Damien's hands froze, and he quickly let go.

He lowered his head nervously, carefully examining his fingertips.

"Aria, I might have accidentally got some paint on me while working today..."

However, even after a thorough inspection, he couldn't find any trace of paint.He and that little assistant managed to keep their affair hidden from me for five years. Of course, there wouldn't be any obvious evidence left on his body.

Watching Damien frantically search for wet wipes to vigorously clean his hands, as if facing a great enemy, I found it nothing but ironic.

Is this what a guilty conscience looks like?

Only after Damien had wiped his hands three times did I finally speak up:

"Your hands are so red from the cold, I thought it was paint."

He immediately let out a sigh of relief, his expression softening.

"Well, I should be careful. It's not right to make my darling unhappy."

He grabbed a thick blanket, wrapped me up, and carried me back to the bedroom.

"Aria, even when I'm not around, you need to stay warm. If you get sick, it'll break my heart."

As my body gradually warmed up, my heart grew colder and colder.

After washing up, Damien eagerly tried to embrace me, his kisses following suit.

I instinctively pushed him away, and he immediately looked at me with a hurt expression.

"Aria, are you still angry? How about I skip the studio tomorrow and stay home with you instead?"

As he spoke, he habitually raised his hand to remove his wedding ring.

But he grasped at nothing.

Damien only took off his wedding ring when showering or during intimate moments.

It seems that assistant had already become familiar with his habits.

After five years of a nameless, unacknowledged relationship, she finally couldn't resist trying to send me a message."What's wrong?"

I asked knowingly, as Damien's body instantly stiffened.

"Darling, I'm sorry. I was afraid of getting paint on my wedding ring while painting, so I took it off and forgot to bring it back from the studio."

As he spoke, he was about to get up and grab his car keys:

"I'll go get it right now!"

Suppressing my inner disgust, I pretended not to be suspicious at all and held him back:

"It's fine if you forgot it. It won't get lost in your studio."

Damien smiled, looking guilty yet touched, and returned to bed, holding me as he fell into a deep sleep.

After some time, his phone lit up.

I carefully picked up the phone and entered my birthday to unlock the screen.

Opening WeChat, the assistant's message popped up again:

[Damien, how could you be so careless? You left your wedding ring at my place. Do you want to come get it, or should I bring it to you?]

I scrolled up a bit and saw that Damien and his assistant had been chatting a lot.

Three meals a day, four seasons a year, they were sharing their lives with each other every moment.

Looking at the countless "artistic paintings" on women's pristine bodies in Damien's photo album, I laughed bitterly in silence.

Struggling to calm myself, I planted a small program on Damien's phone, erasing all traces.He had barely put his phone back in its place when Damien quietly got up, taking his phone as he left the room.

Through the implanted program, I could clearly hear the voice of his little assistant whining apologetically:

"I'm sorry, big brother. It's your fault for drawing on my back. I can't wash it off no matter how hard I try."

"And you insist on going back to your darling, refusing to help me!"

Damien chuckled softly, keeping his voice low:

"Alright, I'll come help you right now, you little temptress!"

He hurriedly changed his clothes, grabbed his car keys, and left.