Chapter 2@@@

The moment the car door closed, the outside noise was sealed away.

Only Ethan Carter and I remained in the car. He chuckled softly, adjusting my seatbelt as he always did.

His movements were gentle and practiced, as if we truly were each other's only love.

"You worked hard tonight."

He started the car while placing his hand over mine. "You barely stopped all evening. I could tell you were tired."

His voice was steady and concerned.

If I hadn't already heard his conversation with Mila Scott, I might have believed this was all genuine.

I gently withdrew my hand, my lips still curved in a smile: "I'm fine."

I knew he was testing me.

Because tonight, I had been unusually quiet.

The car drove into the night, streetlights passing one by one, the atmosphere inside oppressively silent.

He suddenly changed the subject: "Tomorrow, I'll take you to the jeweler. We should design a unique wedding ring for the ceremony."

"Wedding ring?"

I turned to look at him.

His smile was confident, his eyes gentle: "Yes. I want everyone to know that you are my one and only."

My fingertips tightened slightly on my lap, but I quickly relaxed them, smile unchanged: "Sounds good."

He flirted with another woman right in front of me, yet still wanted to marry me—it was utterly absurd.

When we got home, while Ethan was showering, I walked to the desk, opened my leather journal, and wrote in cold, hard strokes:

"The party. Ethan Carter and Mila Scott. Language: French. Content: Rendezvous. Witness: Me."

After finishing, I stared at the words for a long time, my lips twisting into a cold smile.

The next day, sunlight streamed through the floor-to-ceiling windows of the downtown jewelry store, crystal chandeliers refracting dazzling light.

The diamonds in the display cases sparkled brilliantly, catching every eye.

Ethan led me into the VIP area, thoughtfully pulling out a chair and handing me a beverage.

Throughout the process, he embodied the perfect fiancé—gentle and generous.

The designer laid out several ring sketches on the table.

"These are the preliminary designs based on your requirements."

I looked down, flipping through them, when I suddenly glimpsed scrawled initials in the corner of one page—"M.S."

My heart clenched.

Those letters stood out glaringly, like a searing brand.

Mila Scott.

Below it was a line in French: "Toujours. (Forever.)"

So before bringing me here, he'd already been here with another woman?

I drew a breath and quietly closed that sketch, my tone gentle: "This one doesn't quite suit me."

Ethan didn't notice at all, focusing instead on another design:

"This cut suits you better, just like your eyes."

I looked up at him, my lips curving into a smile: "Really?"

The designer reminded us: "Would you like engraving inside the band? Many couples choose their initials or a special phrase."

Ethan perked up immediately, leaning close to whisper in French by my ear: "Tu es ma seule et unique. (You are my one and only love.)"

His breath was warm, as if this were a sweet nothing meant only for me.

I slowly turned my head to meet his gaze, furrowing my brow in apparent confusion as he expected: "What does that mean?"

Seeing my reaction, he visibly relaxed and planted a kiss near my lips.

"I'm declaring my love to you in French, baby."

He must have thought I couldn't understand, that I was just passively accepting his devotion.

But in my heart, I coldly added this phrase to the next link in my chain of evidence.

Ethan studied me carefully, hoping to see a trace of my former self—in the past, whenever he sweet-talked me, I would shyly throw myself into his arms.

But now, my smile was merely faint.

He seemed about to say something else when the designer interrupted.

"Sir, please come this way to discuss the details."

He glanced at me, and I smiled back.

After confirming multiple times that I felt fine, he went to discuss details with the designer.

I sat quietly to the side. The moment he turned away, I quickly pulled out my phone and photographed the sketch marked "M.S," saving the image in a hidden folder.

The rings sparkled under the lights, symbolizing promises and eternity.

But to me now, they looked like cold needles piercing my heart.

As we left the jewelry store, the sunlight was blinding, the streets bustling with people.

Ethan held my hand, his smile confident: "On our wedding day, you'll wear the most unique ring in the world."

I looked at him, my lips curved in a gentle smile, but my eyes were ice-cold.

Yes, that ring would be unique.

Because it wouldn't just be our wedding ring—it would become the epitaph for this relationship.