I am the dedicated stan photographer for the celebrity actress, Rosalind Jones. But more than that, I am her husband of four years, a secret hidden from the world. Her life was a whirlwind of scandals, but I knew it was all part of a carefully crafted persona, an expensive image her company had built for her. I never let it bother me. Until the day her first love, Caden, returned to the country. It was our fourth wedding anniversary, and for the first time, she stood me up. As I left our meeting spot, I tossed the diamond necklace I had bought for her into a trash can. I pulled out my phone and booked the next available flight. With my camera in hand, I flew away. At first, Rosalind thought I was just throwing a tantrum, angry that she’d missed our date. I sighed and forwarded her the photos a friend in the paparazzi had just sent me. In the picture, she and Caden were locked in a passionate kiss. In our home. A few minutes later, my phone began to vibrate uncontrollably. I let out another long sigh. And sent one last message: “Let’s get a divorce.” 1 A fine mist was falling from the sky, the cold droplets trickling down my neck and making me shiver. I stood in the middle of the open-air plaza, not bothering to seek shelter from the rain. I was only worried she wouldn’t be able to find me. Half an hour ago, Rosalind had called to say something urgent had come up and she’d be late. Every year, no matter how busy we were, we spent our anniversary together. But now, as the minutes ticked by, there was still no sign of her. I couldn't resist pulling out my phone. “Did you see the news? Rosalind has a new scandal with some hot young thing! She’s my idol, seriously. Never gets involved with anyone over twenty-five,” a girl nearby gushed to her friend, her face a mask of admiration and envy. I looked up from my phone and smiled grimly. In the entertainment world, Rosalind was known as the Unsinkable Rose, a flower that thrived in the ruins. She was audacious and beautiful, possessed of a reckless courage. She was always at the center of some new gossip, and it seemed every billionaire, top-tier idol, and rising star had at one point or another fallen for her charms. Her dating advice had become gospel for countless women. “Finding a man is like sending out résumés. If one doesn’t work out, move on to the next. Be bold, don’t be afraid. One of them is bound to stick.” “Be brave and express your love. Make the first move. If he doesn’t say no, keep going. If he seems uncomfortable, apologize immediately and then make one last, outrageous request: ‘Can I have a hug before I go?’” I thought back on it. The girl was right. None of Rosalind’s rumored flings had ever been over twenty-five. I fell silent. I just turned twenty-six this year. I searched for the latest scandal the girl had mentioned. A photo from the airport immediately popped up, showing two people locking eyes across a crowded terminal. One was Rosalind, stunning in a trench coat and red lipstick. The other was a young man in his early twenties, dressed in a black windbreaker and sneakers. The young fans around them were snapping pictures, ecstatic about the fresh gossip. But they didn’t know what I knew. Rosalind had never looked at any of her rumored lovers with such a tender, surprised gaze. I knew this man. Rosalind had told me he was like a younger brother to her. But he had once sent me a message, claiming to be her first love. What their relationship truly was didn’t matter anymore. The look in her eyes said it all. I glanced at the time the article was published. So, her “urgent business” was picking Caden up from the airport. Then I noticed something else. Pinned to the collar of Caden’s jacket was a small, pink peach-shaped brooch. I froze. No wonder she had switched things up this morning, spritzing on a peach-scented perfume. It wasn't a mistake made in a rush. She had completely forgotten that I was allergic to peaches. 2 I ripped off my damp mask and threw it into the nearby trash can, along with the gift box. Suddenly, I could breathe again. The world felt fresher. Just as I was about to leave, a small, fluffy dog nudged against my leg. I looked down. It was an adorable little thing, its round eyes staring up at me. It seemed to sense my mood, its gaze a mixture of comfort and affection. I knelt and stroked its curly fur, a genuine smile finally breaking through my gloom. This little dog didn’t understand my pain, but it offered a pure, uncomplicated comfort. It was more than I could say for the woman who was supposed to be my wife. “Grape Cooper?” It was named after my favorite fruit. Interesting. I let go of the name tag on its collar, my smile widening. “Grape! Oh, I’m so sorry!” A young woman wearing sunglasses, a mask, and a hat—dressed like she was about to rob a bank—bowed apologetically. She scooped up the dog and fled as if she were a thief. I stood there for a moment, stunned. My hand was still holding what she had pressed into it. I opened my palm. It was allergy medication. I stared after her retreating figure, a strange feeling blooming in my chest. I pulled out my phone, opened a travel app, and, without even looking at the destination, booked the next available flight. I have no family, no real friends. For all these years, Rosalind has been my only tie to this world. Now, even that was gone. I was finally, completely free. Before boarding the plane, I let Rosalind’s calls go to voicemail, one after another. I listened to each ring, a silent farewell to the past six years of my life. When the last call ended, I blocked her number and deleted all her contact information. 3 It was only after she had dropped Caden off at his hotel that Rosalind remembered Julian. Today was their wedding anniversary. They were supposed to celebrate together. But Caden had called her unexpectedly, telling her he was on his way back to the country. He had been a rising star a few years ago, but at a crossroads in his career, he had chosen to go abroad to study. His years overseas had not been kind to him. Netizens mocked him for turning his back on his home country, jeering: Guess the foreign dream didn’t work out, huh? Rosalind had been worried about him. She decided to go to the airport to meet him. With her star power, she figured, no one would dare say anything nasty to his face. With everything going on, her anniversary plans with Julian had completely slipped her mind. She pulled out her phone, which she’d been too busy to check earlier. There wasn't a single missed call from him. She glanced at the puddles on the street. She knew she was in the wrong, so she decided to be the bigger person and call him. The call went straight to voicemail. Rosalind frowned for a moment, then her expression cleared. “Miss Jones, where to now?” the driver asked. “Times Square.” No matter how late she was, as long as she showed up, Julian would never stay mad. That was the lesson of the past six years. Julian loved her, adored her. The weather was bad, and it was late, but it didn't matter. Rosalind checked her reflection in a small mirror, fluffing her hair with a confident smile. If he was angry, she’d hug him. If that didn’t work, she’d kiss him. Julian always forgave her. She bought a cup of hot ginger tea on the way. The weather was unusually cold today, and she shivered as soon as she stepped out of the car. A flicker of concern for Julian sparked within her. She set the tea aside and checked the time. She hadn’t realized it was almost eleven o’clock. She’d thought it was seven or eight at the latest. A sudden, uneasy feeling settled in her stomach. She told the driver to hurry. Her calls to Julian still went unanswered. She frowned. He was really taking it too far this time. So she stood him up. Did he have to make her worry like this, deliberately avoiding her calls? When they arrived, the normally bustling Times Square was deserted and quiet. Rosalind jumped out of the car, her eyes scanning the empty plaza. There wasn't a soul in sight. Her face darkened instantly. Julian hadn’t waited for her. In six years, that had never happened before. A sanitation worker walked over to a nearby trash can and began rummaging through it. Suddenly, the woman let out an excited cry. Rosalind looked over and saw her holding up a delicate diamond necklace. It was very familiar. It was the anniversary gift she had seen when she snooped through Julian’s phone a few weeks ago. He had actually thrown it away. A cold, mirthless smile touched Rosalind’s lips. She decided then and there that this time, it wouldn’t be her coaxing and coddling him. This time, he would be the one begging her for forgiveness. 4 On the plane, I opened my camera out of boredom. It was still filled with the photos I had taken of Rosalind at her shoot this morning. Flicking through them one by one, I had to admit, she had a face that could captivate any man. With that face, she had conquered the entertainment industry. And with her carefully crafted “man-eater” persona, she had tapped into the rebellious desires of countless young women, turning them into her most fervent fans. In this business, a female fanbase was everything. Rosalind’s value skyrocketed. I suddenly remembered when she had first entered the industry. She had a gambling-addicted father who, after racking up massive debts, had killed himself, unable to face the pressure. But his death didn’t erase his debts. Rosalind, his only remaining family, became the target of his creditors. When a woman has nothing but her beauty, that beauty becomes a dangerous poison. The creditors, the directors, they all saw her as prey. I never doubted that Rosalind would eventually become a huge star. But whether she would get there through clean means or by wading through murky waters, I didn’t know. She was my girlfriend. I had to protect her. So, I used all my talent to shoot a special series of photos for her. That stunning portfolio went viral online, and soon, clients were lining up to hire her as a model. Naturally, with her unique ability to attract fans with a single glance, she was signed by the country’s top entertainment agency. She became an actress. Later, she had told me, in that sweet, coquettish way of hers, that she loved herself most through the lens of my camera. So, I turned down all the lucrative job offers that came my way and became her exclusive photographer. Looking now at the photos I had taken—in freezing winters and scorching summers, pushed to the edge of rowdy crowds just to get the perfect shot—I felt like a fool. 5 As I deleted the last photo of her from my camera, the plane began its descent. The signal returned, and several new messages popped up on my phone. I was surprised. I had blocked Rosalind. Who else would be messaging me? I opened the messages. “This is Caden. Rosalind said you might have left because of me, so she asked me to explain.” “Rosalind and I are just like brother and sister.” “She was just worried something might happen to me when I got back today, that’s why she was late for your date.” “She went to find you as soon as she remembered, but you were already gone. She’s really angry. You should come back and calm her down.” “She’s at my place, throwing a fit and smashing things.” “Julian, you’re being really immature. If it were me, I would never let her get this upset.”
? Continue the story here ?? ? Download the "MotoNovel" app ? search for "393275", and watch the full series ✨! #MotoNovel