Three years of devotion, one message, and everything she knew was a lie.

The lights flickered, the candles burned, and she realized her worth.

---

One day, Elaire discovered that her husband Leon was having an affair.

He had been seeing a college student.

It was Leon's birthday. Elaire had prepared a table full of dishes early in the day. Just then, she heard a notification from his phone.

Ding!

He had left his phone at home.

Elaire switched it on and saw a text from the college student.

[ I hurt myself when I was carrying the cake. It hurts so much. ]

Attached was a selfie—not of the sender's face, but of her legs. The girl in the photo wore pulled-up white socks, black leather shoes, and a blue-and-white skirt that had been pushed up to reveal her long, slender legs. Her pale knees were visibly reddened from the bump. The youthful, vibrant image of her body paired with coquettish words exuded a forbidden allure.

People often say successful businessmen like Leon favored this type of woman when choosing mistresses.

Elaire clutched the phone tightly, her fingers turning white from the pressure.

Ding!

Another text came from the college student.

"Mr. Hawthorne, see you at Cloud Hotel tonight. I want to celebrate your birthday!"

So, his mistress wanted to celebrate his birthday tonight.

Elaire grabbed her bag and headed straight to Cloud Hotel. She had to see for herself who this college student was.

She soon arrived at the hotel, ready to go in. Just then, she saw her parents, Harry and Lilian at the entrance. Surprised, she walked up to them.

"Dad, Mom, what are you doing here?" she asked.

Harry and Lilian, caught off guard, exchanged a glance before responding to her hesitantly.

"Elaire, your sister's back in the country. We brought her here," Harry said.

'Isabel?'

Through the hotel's gleaming floor-to-ceiling windows, Elaire spotted her sister Isabel and immediately froze.

Isabel was wearing the exact same blue-and-white skirt from the photo in Leon's phone. The college student was none other than her own sister!

Isabel had always been a beauty, known as the 'Red Rose of Hovendale,' and she was famed for having the most beautiful legs in town. Many men had been captivated by her charm. And now, her darling sister was using those legs to seduce her husband.

Elaire found it laughable. She turned to her parents and said coldly, "So I'm the last to know?"

Harry gave a sheepish smile. "Elaire, Mr. Hawthorne doesn't even like you."

"Exactly, Elaire, " Lilian chimed in. "Do you know how many women in Hovendale are dying to be with Mr. Hawthorne? Better to let Isabel have him than some other woman."

Elaire clenched her fists. "Dad, Mom, I'm your daughter too!"

Turning on her heel, she started walking away.

Lilian called after her. "Elaire, tell me—has Mr. Hawthorne ever touched you?"

Elaire stopped in her tracks.

Harry's voice turned sharp. "Elaire, don't act like we owe you anything. Three years ago, when Leon and Isabel were Hovendale's golden couple, everyone thought they'd get married. But then Leon got into a car accident and went into a coma. That's the only reason we had you marry him instead."

Lilian gave Elaire a disdainful once-over. "Look at yourself, Elaire. In the past three years, you've turned into a housewife who revolves around her husband. Meanwhile, Isabel became the principal ballerina of her company. She's a white swan, and you're just an ugly duckling. What do you have to compete with Isabel? Just give Mr. Hawthorne back to her already."

Every word felt like a knife into Elaire's chest. Tears filling her eyes, she walked away.

...----------------...

Back at the villa, night had fallen. Elaire had sent the maid Mathilda home, so the house was empty, dark, and cold.

She sat alone at the dining table.

The once-warm meal had gone cold. The cake she had carefully prepared had 'Happy Birthday, Honey' written on it in frosting.

It was glaringly ironic, just like her existence—a complete joke.

Leon and Isabel had been the golden couple of Hovendale, with Isabel as Leon's cherished 'Red Rose'. But three years ago, a sudden car accident left Leon in a vegetative state and Isabel disappeared entirely.

That was when the Winters family brought Elaire back from the countryside and forced her to marry Leon in Isabel's place. Elaire had agreed willingly when she found out it was Stanley—the man she had loved all along.

For three years, Leon remained in a coma. During those years, Elaire devoted herself to caring for him. She stayed by his side, gave up socializing, and focused solely on nursing him back to health, living as a dutiful housewife. In the end, her efforts paid off. Leon woke up.

Elaire lit the candles on the cake.

The flickering glow illuminated her reflection in the nearby mirror—a plain housewife in a dull black-and-white dress, devoid of charm or excitement.

Meanwhile, Isabel, now a successful ballerina, was young, vibrant, and beautiful.

Elaire was an ugly duckling, while Isabel was the white swan.

After waking up, Leon abandoned the ugly duckling and returned to the white swan's side.

Elaire let out a bitter laugh.

This wasn't love; it was self-delusion. Leon had never loved her, but she had loved him. The first one to fall in love always lost.

Today, Leon had made her lose completely.

Tears welled in her eyes as she blew out the candles, plunging the villa back into darkness.

Just then, two bright headlights pierced through the night. Leon's car sped up the driveway and came to a halt on the lawn.

Elaire's eyelashes quivered. He had come back. She had thought he wouldn't return tonight.

The villa door opened and Leon stepped in, carrying the cool air of the night with him.

Leon Hawthorne, the heir of the Hawthorne family, had been a business prodigy from a very young age. By 16, he had earned dual master's degrees from Harfield. Later, he took Hawthorne Group public in Hawthorne, making a name for himself internationally before returning home to lead the company as Hovendale's wealthiest man.

Leon walked in.

"Why didn't you turn on the lights?" he asked in a deep, magnetic voice as he turned on the wall lamp with a click.

The sudden brightness made Elaire blink. When her eyes adjusted, she looked at him.

Dressed in a custom-tailored black suit, Leon exuded a cold, aristocratic elegance that left countless socialites dreaming of him at night.

"It's your birthday," she said.

Leon's handsome face remained indifferent as his gaze swept lazily over the dining table. "Don't waste your time on this again. I don't celebrate such occasions."

Elaire smiled faintly. "Is it that you don't celebrate, or you just don't want to celebrate with me?"

Leon glanced at her, his gaze impassive. "Think what you like."

With that, he turned around and started up the stairs.

He had always been like this—distant and cold. No matter what she did, she could never warm his heart.

Elaire stood and called after him. "It's your birthday today. I have a gift for you."

However, Leon didn't stop or turn around. "I don't need it."

Elaire let out a soft chuckle and said, "Leon, let's get a divorce."

Leon froze mid-step, one foot already on the staircase. He turned around, his deep black eyes locking onto her.

...****************...