1.
Today is the third anniversary of my marriage to Julian.
As usual, I prepared a hearty dinner for him with my own hands, busying myself from 3 p.m. until the streetlights came on. Every detail—red wine, steak, and scented candles—showed how much care I'd put in.
When the clock on the wall struck 8, the door finally opened.
Julian wasn't alone; in his arms, he held a delicate-looking woman—Isabelle, the "love of his life" as he called her.
"Julian, I..." I started to speak, but he cut me off coldly.
He pulled a document from his briefcase and threw it onto the dining table covered with expensive silk. The steam from the steak blurred his expression, but not the coldness in his voice.
"Clara, sign it."
The bold words "Divorce Agreement" were like poisoned steel needles, stabbing sharply into my eyes.
"Julian," Isabelle lifted her head from his arms, her limp, delicate hand clutching his sleeve. Her voice was timid, laced with a sob, "Isn't this too cruel to Sister Clara? Today's your anniversary..."
Julian stroked her hair tenderly, but when he looked at me, his eyes were filled only with impatience and disgust. "Be quiet. This isn't your place to speak. Clara, I don't have time to waste with you. Isabelle's health is poor and she needs surgery soon—I must get this money."
The "money" he spoke of referred to a clause in our prenuptial agreement: if one party filed for divorce during the marriage, the at-fault party would have to pay the other party a compensation of up to 100 million yuan, and 90% of the marital property would belong to the other party.
And clearly, he had already labeled me as the at-fault party.
He was certain that to save this ridiculous marriage, I would give up this huge sum of money—and like I had for the past three years, I would grovel at his feet.
Unfortunately, he miscalculated.
I picked up the pen and, without even reading the details of the agreement, signed my name at the end—Clara.
The handwriting was neat and decisive, with no hesitation.
Both Julian and Isabelle froze.
"Clara, you..." A look of shock flashed in Julian's eyes, as if he hadn't expected me to agree so readily.
I pushed the signed agreement in front of him and looked at him calmly. "Julian, you're free now. According to the agreement, you'll leave with nothing. This company and everything you have now will have nothing to do with you."
His face turned livid instantly. He stared at me in disbelief, as if looking at a stranger.
"Who do you think you are? I built this company from scratch!"
"Is that so?" I let out a soft laugh, then took another document from the drawer under the table—my father's will and a share transfer agreement. "Take a good look, Mr. Julian. The company you're managing now is called 'Clara Global'—it's an inheritance my father left me. You're nothing more than a senior professional manager I hired."
Three years ago, my father passed away from illness. On his deathbed, he left his massive business empire to me. But I was so caught up in the fantasy of love that, to play the role of a "supportive wife," I handed the company over to Julian to manage, stepped back behind the scenes, and willingly became an ordinary housewife.
I naively believed that if I gave my all, I would win his true heart.
Now it seemed like nothing but a joke.
Julian's face turned from blue to pale. He stared fixedly at the will, his hands trembling violently.
"No... That's impossible..." He muttered to himself, seemingly unable to accept the truth.
"Nothing is impossible." I stood up and looked down at him. "At 9 a.m. tomorrow, the company's legal team will handle the handover procedures with you. Now, please take your 'true love' and get out of my house."
Isabelle's face turned deathly pale. She had probably never imagined that the backer she'd carefully schemed to get would collapse overnight.
Julian clenched his fists tightly, his eyes bloodshot. He looked at me and asked, word by word, "Clara, when did you start plotting against me?"
I laughed—so hard that tears almost fell.
"Plotting against you? Julian, the day I handed the company over to you and willingly gave up my career to cook for you, I already lost. Now, I'm just taking back what's always been mine."
With that, I turned away from him, walked straight up to the second floor, and packed my few personal belongings into a suitcase.
Everything here was stained with his presence, making me sick.
I decided to leave—to go somewhere no one knew me and start over.
2.
When I dragged my suitcase downstairs, Julian was still standing there, like a puppet whose soul had been drained. Isabelle was nowhere to be seen—she had probably realized staying here was useless and left on her own.
Good. That saved me the trouble of talking her out.
"Where are you going?" Julian's voice was hoarse, with a faint, imperceptible tremor.
"None of your business." I replied coldly, not pausing for a moment.
Just as my hand touched the doorknob, a powerful force grabbed my wrist.
"Clara, don't go." He hugged me from behind, his warm breath brushing against my neck. There was a hint of pleading in his tone. "I was wrong. Let's not get divorced, okay? Everything before was my fault—I'll treat you twice as well from now on."
His embrace had once been the haven I craved most, but now it only made me feel bone-chilling cold.
I struggled to break free, then turned to look at his handsome yet hypocritical face.
"Julian, who did you really fall in love with—me, or the gold mine behind me?"
He opened his mouth, but no words came out.
The answer was obvious.
I pulled open the door and walked into the night without looking back.
The city's neon lights flickered, but they couldn't light up the road ahead of me. I drove aimlessly until my gas tank ran empty—only to find myself at the beach.
The sea breeze was salty and damp, messing up my hair. I sat in the car, staring at the dark sea in the distance, and for the first time, I felt so lost.
Over the past three years, my entire life had revolved around Julian. Without him, it felt like I'd lost myself too.
My phone rang at an inopportune moment—it was my assistant, Amy.
"Miss Clara, where are you? Mr. Julian is turning the company upside down looking for you. He's used all his connections to find you."
"Let him look." I spoke softly. "Amy, book me the earliest flight to Paris."
"Paris? What are you going to do there?"
"Start a new life."
After hanging up, I turned off my phone and tossed it onto the passenger seat.
Goodbye, Julian.
Goodbye, the foolish Clara.
When the plane landed at Charles de Gaulle Airport, a light drizzle was falling over Paris.
I didn't contact anyone. Instead, I rented a small apartment near the Champs-Élysées on my own. It wasn't big, but it was cozy—and through the floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see the Eiffel Tower not far away.
I needed time to sort out my thoughts.
I started living like a true Parisian: going to the market every day to buy fresh ingredients and learning to cook exquisite French dishes; walking along the Seine and watching pigeons circle in the squares; visiting the Louvre and standing in front of the *Mona Lisa*'s smile for an entire afternoon.
I cut off my long hair and got a neat short cut. I threw away all my designer dresses and replaced them with comfortable linen suits.
I began to pick up the paintbrushes I'd abandoned for years.
Before marrying Julian, I was a somewhat well-known painter. My works had been exhibited in Parisian galleries and received high praise. But for him, I'd given up my career and my dreams.
Now, it was time to get them back.
I set up a small studio in my apartment and immersed myself in the world of colors every day. I painted Parisian street scenes, sunsets over the Seine, and all kinds of people in cafés.
My style was no longer as bright and warm as before—it had gained a touch of melancholy and depth, but it was also more moving.
Amy occasionally updated me on the company's situation via email.
Without me, the "hidden boss," Julian was clearly in a panic. Although he had a business mind, his tricks were no match for the company's complicated interpersonal relationships and the veteran shareholders.
In less than a month, the company's stock price had dropped by 20%.
The board of directors was full of complaints about him, and several shareholders joined forces to demand his removal as CEO.
Meanwhile, he searched for me like a madman.
He checked all my credit card transaction records, only to find my last purchase was at the airport duty-free shop. He sent people to every place I might be, but came up empty-handed every time.
He even published a missing person notice in the newspaper—using a sketch I'd drawn of him when we first met.
In the photo, he was smiling brightly, full of vigor and ambition.
Looking at that familiar face in the newspaper, my heart remained completely calm.
Everything was in the past.
3.
Time is the best healer.
In my second month in Paris, I gradually emerged from the shadow of my divorce. I started posting my paintings online—and unexpectedly, they attracted a lot of attention.
A gallery owner named Leo contacted me, hoping to hold a solo exhibition for me.
Leo was a typical French man—romantic, witty, with a pair of charming blue eyes.
He praised me endlessly, calling my paintings "poems filled with sorrow."
With his help, my solo exhibition opened as scheduled in a small gallery in the Saint-Germain-des-Prés district.
On the opening day, many people came—art critics, collectors, and ordinary people who loved art as much as I did.
I stood in the crowd, watching my works being admired and discussed, and a long-lost sense of accomplishment welled up in my heart.
This was the life that belonged to me.
The exhibition was a great success, and most of my works were reserved. Leo held a celebration dinner for me, and amid the clinking of glasses, he confessed his love to me.
"Clara, your beauty and talent have captivated me. Please give me a chance to be the sunshine in your life."
His eyes were sincere and passionate, and I couldn't refuse.
I said yes.
Days with Leo were simple and happy. He would take me to Montmartre to watch the sunrise, stay quietly by my side and grind ink for me while I painted, and read Baudelaire's poems to me.
He healed the wounds in my heart and made me believe in love again.
I thought my life would continue like this in peace—until that man appeared and shattered all the tranquility.
That day, Leo and I were organizing paintings in the gallery when a familiar figure appeared at the door.
He had lost a lot of weight and looked haggard. There was a faint stubble on his chin, and his once bright eyes had become dull and lifeless.
It was Julian.
He had finally found me.
Leo obviously recognized him too—after all, Julian had once been a prominent figure in the business world. He stood in front of me protectively, watching Julian warily.
"Mr. Julian, you're not welcome here."
Julian ignored Leo. His gaze was fixed on me, his eyes swirling with complex emotions—remorse, pain, and a hint of crazy possessiveness.
"Clara," he walked toward me step by step, his voice hoarse, "come home with me."
Home?
I let out a cold laugh. "My home is here. Mr. Julian, I think there's no longer any relationship between us."
"No!" He grabbed my wrist excitedly, his grip so tight it felt like he would crush my bones. "You're my wife! You'll always be mine!"
"Let her go!" Leo stepped forward, trying to pry his hand away.
But Julian, as if driven by madness, threw a punch at Leo.
Leo was caught off guard and stumbled back a few steps, blood oozing from the corner of his mouth.
"Leo!" I exclaimed, reaching out to help him—but Julian held me tightly in his arms.
"Clara, you can only be mine!" He growled in my ear, his eyes red. "I won't let anyone take you away from me!"
His paranoia and madness filled me with fear.
The commotion in the gallery attracted passersby, and soon the police arrived.
Julian was taken away by the police for intentional assault.
I accompanied Leo to the hospital to have his wounds dressed. He remained silent the whole time, his face grim.
I knew Julian's appearance was like a thorn stuck between us.
"Clara," on the way back, Leo finally spoke, "I need you to explain this to me."
I told him everything about my past with Julian, holding nothing back.
After listening, he said nothing for a long time.
The atmosphere in the car was so heavy it was suffocating.
"So, is it because of him that your painting style became so melancholic?"
I nodded.
He suddenly laughed—a laugh filled with self-mockery. "I'm such a fool. I thought I was your artistic muse, but it turns out I was just a replacement."
"Leo, that's not true!" I hurried to explain. "It's over between me and him. You're the one I love now!"
"Love?" He looked at me coldly. "Do you even know what love is? Clara, you need some time to figure out what you really want."
With that, he dropped me off downstairs at my apartment and drove away.
Watching his determined back, my heart sank little by little.
I'd messed up. I'd messed up again.
4.
Julian was soon released on bail.
He didn't come to find me again, but my life was thrown into chaos because of him.
He bought the apartment opposite my gallery and stood by the window every day, watching my every move with a nearly obsessive gaze.
He sent people to harass Leo, threatening him to leave me—otherwise, he would make sure Leo's gallery couldn't stay open in Paris.
Leo was a principled artist. He refused to give in to Julian's threats, but he also didn't want to put me in a difficult position.
In the end, he chose to leave.
He left me a letter saying he was going to travel around the world to find new inspiration for his creations. He wished me happiness, but every line was filled with helplessness and disappointment.
I held the letter, squatting in the empty gallery, and cried uncontrollably.
Why?
Why couldn't Julian just let me go?
Couldn't we just part ways amicably?
My world, with his return, turned dark again.
I closed the gallery and locked myself in my apartment. I didn't eat or drink, didn't paint—like a plant waiting to wither.
Amy called, anxiously telling me that while I'd been in Paris, Julian had reconnected with some shareholders and was trying to take back control of the company.
"Miss Clara, please come back quickly! If you don't, the company will really change hands!"
I held the phone, staring at the gloomy sky outside the window, my heart filled with confusion.
Go back?
Go back to face that man who had caused me so much pain, and face all the intrigue in the business world?
No, I didn't want to.
I just wanted to paint quietly and live a simple life.
But reality forced me to put on my armor again.
I told Amy, "Stabilize the shareholders. Tell them I'll be back soon."
After hanging up, I looked at my haggard reflection in the mirror—and a glint of determination flashed in my eyes.
Julian, if you want to fight, then I'll fight back.
This time, I won't back down.
I pulled myself together and started preparing to return to China.
I contacted the legal team my father had trusted most during his lifetime, researching the company's share structure and the possible moves Julian might make.
I met with several influential friends in the French business world, hoping to get their support when the time came.
Through Amy, I also secretly contacted several old employees in the company who were loyal to my father.
Everything was proceeding quietly.
Julian seemed unaware of my actions. He still waited opposite my apartment every day, like a lovelorn man pining for his wife.
His so-called "affection" only made me feel ridiculous and sick.
A week later, I was ready.
The night before I left Paris, I took the initiative to meet Julian.
We met by the Seine—where we'd first met.
When he arrived, he was wearing a white shirt—just like the young man I'd remembered.
When he saw me, his eyes lit up, and he walked toward me quickly.
"Clara, you're finally willing to see me."
I ignored the joy in his tone and spoke calmly. "Julian, let's settle this once and for all."
The smile on his face froze.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm going back to China to take over the company again." I looked at him steadily. "I hope you'll stop disturbing my life from now on."
"Impossible!" He grabbed my shoulders excitedly. "Clara, I can give up the company—I can give up anything. I just want you! Let's remarry, okay? Let's go back to how we were before, okay?"
"Go back to how we were before?" I laughed as if I'd heard the funniest joke. "Julian, have you forgotten how you held another woman in your arms on our anniversary and forced me to divorce you? Have you forgotten how you were willing to make me leave with nothing just to get Isabelle?"
"I..." He stammered, his face losing all color.
5.
"Do you know how I've been surviving these past few months?" My voice trembled slightly, and the emotions I'd bottled up for so long erupted in that moment. "I have nightmares every single night—nightmares of your cold, indifferent face, of Isabelle's fake, simpering smile. I was too scared to go out, too scared to see anyone. I locked myself in my room, and I almost jumped out the window!"
Half of these words were meant for Leo to hear, but the other half? They were the raw truth of how I felt.
Julian—he'd shattered every beautiful illusion I'd ever had about love.
"I'm sorry, Clara, I'm so sorry…" He pulled me into his arms in a panic, sputtering out apologies. "I had no idea… no idea I'd hurt you this badly… I was blind, stupid. You're the only one I've ever loved, the only one!"
His apologies sounded so empty, so meaningless.
I pushed him away and stared at him coldly. "Julian, put away your cheap, phony affection. The moment you chose to betray me, all that was left between us was hatred."
With that, I turned and walked away, never looking back.
I could feel his burning gaze on my back, following me until my figure vanished into the night.
Julian—this game? It's only just begun.
The news of my return to China hit the company's shareholders like a bombshell.
At the board meeting the next morning, I arrived promptly at the conference room door, accompanied by Amy. I wore a sleek black business suit and heels, exuding poise and resolve.
The second I pushed the door open, every eye in the room locked onto me—some filled with surprise, some with scrutiny, others with thinly veiled schadenfreude.
And Julian, sitting in the chairman's seat? His face was a kaleidoscope of emotions.
He'd never expected me to return with such unyielding authority.
I walked straight over to him, tapped the table lightly—my voice soft, but loud enough for everyone present to hear.
"Mr. Julian, you've occupied this seat for far too long."
His face turned livid as he stood up, and I took the chair without the slightest hesitation.
This throne was mine. Today, I was taking it back with my own hands.
"Clara, you're going too far!" He growled through gritted teeth.
"Going too far?" I looked up, meeting his fiery gaze with a faint smile. "The real show hasn't even started yet."
I signaled for my lawyer to read my father's will aloud, then presented the documents proving I was the company's majority shareholder.
The evidence was irrefutable—no one could deny it.
"According to the company's articles of association, as the controlling shareholder with over 51% of the shares, I have the authority to dismiss and appoint the CEO." My eyes swept over every director in the room. "Now, I formally announce the dismissal of Mr. Julian from his position as CEO."
The conference room erupted in an uproar.
Several of Julian's cronies immediately jumped up to object.
"I object! Mr. Julian has made enormous contributions to this company—you can't just fire him like this!"
"That's right! Ms. Clara has ignored the company for years, and now you waltz back to seize power? We won't accept this!"
I stared coldly at these petty troublemakers, then tossed a stack of prepared documents onto the table.
"These are proof that Julian embezzled company assets and lined his own pockets during his tenure." I turned my gaze to the loudest objectors. "And as for all of you—there's clear evidence here of your collusion with him, of accepting bribes. Every detail is documented."
The color drained from their faces in an instant. They collapsed into their chairs, unable to utter a single word.
Julian stared at me in disbelief, as if he couldn't fathom how I'd gotten my hands on this evidence.
Of course, I had Amy to thank for this. While I'd been away, she'd used the authority I'd given her to secretly gather every bit of proof of Julian's crimes.
"Julian," I said, my voice sharp and deliberate as I looked at his ashen face, "for the sake of what little 'marital bond' we once had, I'll give you two choices. One: Resign voluntarily, take your people, and get out of this company. Two: I call the police, and let them handle this."
His body swayed, as if all the strength had been drained from him in an instant.
He knew—he'd lost, and he'd lost completely.
In the end, he chose the first option.
He slunk out of the conference room like a defeated rooster.
A war without guns ended in my complete victory.
I became the new CEO of Clara Global, finally taking my rightful place at the pinnacle of power.
In the days that followed, I launched sweeping reforms.
I rooted out every last one of Julian's loyalists and promoted a group of capable, talented young people. I shifted the company's strategic focus to artificial intelligence and new energy—fields that held the future.
I was swamped with work every day: meetings, reviewing documents, signing contracts. I was like a wound-up toy, never stopping.
Exhausting? Yes. But also deeply fulfilling.
I relished the feeling of being in control—of having my destiny in my own hands.
Julian didn't bother me again. It was as if he'd vanished from my world entirely.
But I knew better. He was lurking somewhere in the shadows, like a beast waiting for the chance to strike a fatal blow.
Sure enough, the calm didn't last long.
At the critical moment of a bidding war for one of our new energy projects, our core data was leaked—costing us a billion-yuan contract.
And the person who'd leaked the data? Reed, the project lead I'd personally promoted—also my senior from university.
All evidence pointed to him.
The police quickly launched an investigation, and Reed was taken into custody.
Rumors spread like wildfire inside and outside the company.
Everyone was saying I'd misjudged Reed, that I'd played favorites—and that my mistake had caused this catastrophic loss.
The board began pressuring me, demanding a reasonable explanation.
I knew—this was Julian's revenge.
He wanted to use this to force me out of power.
But I didn't panic. I immediately activated crisis management protocols and launched a secret investigation of my own.
I refused to believe Reed would betray me.
He was an honest, kind man. We'd been close in university. He'd never sell me out for money.
There had to be more to the story.
6.
I went to the detention center to see Reed.
He looked haggard. The first thing he said when he saw me was, "Clara, I'm sorry. I've betrayed your trust."
"I believe you," I said, staring firmly into his eyes. "Tell me—what really happened?"
He was silent for a long time before finally speaking, his voice slow and heavy.
It turned out his daughter had a rare congenital heart condition and needed a fortune for surgery. Julian had found him, using his daughter's life as leverage to force him to hand over the core data.
"He said if I did what he asked, he'd immediately arrange for the best doctors to operate on my daughter—and cover all the costs," Reed said, burying his face in his hands in agony. "I had no choice. I couldn't watch my little girl die."
I understood now.
Julian always knew how to exploit people's weakest points—using the dirtiest tactics to get what he wanted.
"Don't worry," I said, patting his shoulder, "I'll take care of your daughter's treatment. All you need to do is tell the whole truth in court."
He looked up at me, tears of gratitude in his eyes. "Thank you, Clara. Thank you."
After leaving the detention center, I immediately contacted the best cardiologists in the US and arranged for Reed's family to fly there as soon as possible.
No amount of money was too much if it meant saving that child's life.
At the same time, I began preparing for the upcoming commercial lawsuit.
Julian thought he'd covered his tracks perfectly—but he had no idea I held an ace up my sleeve.
Isabelle.
After Julian's downfall, Isabelle had left him quickly, supposedly running off with a richer tycoon.
But her greedy, never-satisfied nature had ensured her own ruin.
My people had tracked her down: She'd embezzled money from the tycoon, been beaten and thrown out, her leg broken. Now she was hiding in a shabby rental apartment, barely scraping by.
I went to see her.
When she saw me, she shrank back into the corner in terror, as if she'd seen a ghost.
"W-what do you want?"
I walked over to her and tossed a bank card onto the floor in front of her.
"There's a million yuan in here. All you have to do is testify in court—tell everyone how Julian threatened and bribed Reed to steal the company's secrets. This card will be yours, and I promise no one will ever bother you again."
A million yuan was an astronomical sum for her now.
Greed flashed in her eyes. She agreed without hesitation.
"I'll talk! I'll tell you everything! That bastard Julian—he promised me ten million yuan, said he'd let me live like a queen. But then he fell from power, and I got thrown out too! I hate him!"
She rambled on, spilling every detail of how Julian had plotted everything, how he'd manipulated Reed step by step.
I recorded every word with a voice recorder.
Julian—this time, I'm making sure you never get back on your feet.
In court, when I played Isabelle's recording and called her to testify in person, all the color drained from Julian's face.
He'd never dreamed that the woman he'd cherished so much would stab him in the back.
With witnesses and evidence against him, Julian had no way to defend himself.
He was convicted of commercial espionage and extortion, sentenced to ten years in prison.
The moment the verdict was announced, he turned to stare at me, his eyes filled with venom and bitterness.
I stared back, giving him a cold, triumphant smile.
This war? In the end, I won.
7.
After Julian was locked up, my life finally returned to calm.
Reed, having provided crucial testimony, received a suspended sentence.
His daughter's surgery had been a success, and she was recovering well.
To repay me, Reed returned to the company, working harder than ever. He became my most capable right-hand man.
The company thrived too: Our investments in new fields paid off handsomely, the stock price soared, and my net worth grew with it.
I graced the covers of financial magazines, hailed as the youngest, brightest "queen" of the business world.
People called me a natural business genius, the pride of the Clara family.
But only I knew the price I'd paid to get here.
I'd won my career—but lost love.
Leo never contacted me again. He'd vanished from my life like a gust of wind.
Occasionally, I'd see news of him in art magazines: He'd traveled to Egypt, India, Brazil. His paintings had grown more vibrant and alive, winning international awards.
Looking at his bright smile in the photos, I knew he'd found his own sunshine.
As for me? I was still alone.
Amy, seeing me buried in work day in and day out, took pity and started setting me up on blind dates.
"Ms. Clara, you're still so young—you can't spend your life alone! Look at this one: a Wall Street financial whiz, young and successful. You two would be perfect together."
"And this one! A Silicon Valley tech tycoon, super smart. You'll definitely have lots to talk about."
I looked at these men—perfect on paper, without a single flaw—and felt nothing. No interest, no spark.
After Julian's betrayal and Leo's departure, my heart felt like it had died.
I told Amy, "Stop arranging these dates. Right now, all I care about is my career."
"But—"
"No 'buts,'" I cut her off. "Love is a luxury for me, not a necessity."
She sighed, giving up on trying to persuade me.
Days passed like this, and I thought my life would be nothing but work forever.
Until three years later, when I saw Leo again.
It was at a charity gala.
I was there as a special guest; he was there as an artist donating his work.
He looked more mature now, a quiet charm from the years adding depth to his features.
The moment our eyes met, time seemed to stand still.
After the gala, he called out to me.
"Clara."
His voice was still as gentle and warm as it had been three years ago.
We walked side by side in the hotel garden, neither of us speaking at first. The air was awkward.
"Are you… doing okay?" He finally broke the silence.
"I'm fine," I said, forcing a smile. "What about you? I hear you're an internationally famous painter now."
"Just okay," he said modestly. "I've been traveling, painting what I like."
We chatted about trivial things— the weather, art, the little things we'd done over the years.
Neither of us mentioned the painful past we'd shared.
As we were about to part, he suddenly said, "Clara, I'm having an exhibition downtown next week. Would you… like to come?"
I hesitated for a moment, then nodded.
8.
The exhibition was called *Reunion*.
Every painting on display featured one woman.
That woman was me.
There was a painting of my back as I walked along the Seine, one of my profile as I stared at the *Mona Lisa* in the Louvre, another of me painting furiously in my apartment.
Every brushstroke was filled with affection.
I stood in front of one painting, unable to move.
It depicted us on Montmartre, watching the sunrise. Golden light bathed us, and in his eyes, I could see my own smiling face reflected back.
That had been the happiest time of my life.
Tears blurred my vision before I knew it.
"Do you like it?" Leo had appeared behind me, his voice soft.
I wiped away my tears and nodded. "I love it."
"For three years, I've traveled the world, but every painting I made was of you," he said, wrapping his arms around me from behind, his chin resting on my shoulder. His voice was deep and tender. "Clara, I never stopped thinking about you."
At that moment, my heart began to beat wildly again.
"Why… why did you leave without saying goodbye?" I asked, my voice choking.
"Because I was scared," he sighed. "Scared that your feelings for him weren't just hatred. Scared that I was just a shadow he'd left behind. So I left—I wanted to give you time, and myself time, to figure out what we really had."
"And now… have you figured it out?"
"I have," he said, turning me around to face him, his hands on my shoulders, forcing me to look into his eyes. "I love you, Clara—no one else, just you. I love *you*—your talent, your strength, even your vulnerability. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. Will you give me another chance?"
His eyes were as sincere and passionate as they'd been three years ago.
I couldn't hold back any longer. I stood on tiptoe and kissed him.
We were back together.
This time, nothing and no one could come between us.
We were like any other couple in love, sticking together every day.
He moved into my apartment, cooking for me, reading poetry to me, sitting beside me while I painted.
My painting style, too, grew bright and warm again, thanks to his return.
We traveled the world together: watching stars in the Sahara, making promises by the Aegean Sea, chasing auroras in Iceland.
Amy said I'd changed—laughing more, softer, no longer the unsmiling, unapproachable "queen" I'd been.
I knew it was Leo—his love had melted the ice around my heart.
A year later, at the proposal he'd planned so carefully, I said yes.
Our wedding was held in an old church in Paris, with only our closest family and friends in attendance.
No tycoons, no reporters—just genuine blessings.
As I stood in my white wedding dress, holding his arm and reciting my vows to the priest, I saw a familiar figure in the crowd.
He was wearing a prison uniform, handcuffed, escorted by two guards. He was watching me from a distance.
It was Julian.
He'd applied for a temporary release—just to come see my wedding.
He'd lost weight, aged a lot, half his hair turned white. His eyes were dull, no trace left of the ambitious, confident man he'd once been.
Our eyes met.
No hatred, no love—just calm, quiet acceptance.
He mouthed two words to me.
"Congratulations."
I nodded slightly in response.
Then I turned back to the man beside me, and smiled—the brightest, happiest smile of my life.
Leo, thank you for making me believe in love again.
The road ahead is long—and we'll walk it together.