At six in the morning, Ethan stood inside my empty bedroom holding the one-way ticket in his hand.
For the first time since childhood, he looked genuinely lost.
My closet was almost empty.
The paintings I had hung above the desk were gone.
The little ceramic rabbit he gave me when we were twelve was gone too.
Even the books I used to leave stacked beside the window had disappeared.
Only the note remained.
You now have the freedom you wanted.
Ethan read it twice.
Then a third time.
Behind him, Hannah crossed her arms.
“What exactly were you expecting?”
He turned sharply.
“Where is Olivia staying in London?”
“I don’t know.”
“You’re her best friend.”
“And you were her fiancé.”
The words hit their mark.
Ethan’s jaw tightened.
“I need to talk to her.”
“No.”
His eyes darkened.
“Hannah.”
“You spent years telling her she was controlling, spoiled, difficult, privileged.”
She walked toward him.
“Then you humiliated her publicly for protecting a girl you had known for less than a week.”
Ethan said coldly:
“Nora was being bullied.”
Hannah laughed.
“Still defending her?”
She pulled out her phone.
“Then perhaps you should check the news.”
Ethan frowned.
On the screen was the official announcement from the city youth exhibition.
NORA TANG DISQUALIFIED FOLLOWING AUTHORSHIP INVESTIGATION.
Below it were images.
My dated sketches.
Time-lapse records.
Laboratory documentation.
And finally, the microscopic mark proving the painting had been created in the Lu restoration studio.
Ethan went silent.
Hannah watched him.
“You said you didn’t need to be sure.”
His face slowly changed.
“You accused Olivia anyway.”
He grabbed the phone.
“When was this released?”
“An hour ago.”
He scrolled downward.
Then froze.
The investigation had gone further.
The exhibition committee had reviewed the school locker records.
Although the hallway camera had supposedly failed, the electronic maintenance log showed something strange.
The camera had not malfunctioned.
Someone had manually disabled it.
Using a faculty access card.
The card belonged to Camila Qin.
Ethan’s expression became cold.
At that moment, his own phone rang.
Nora.
He answered immediately.
“Ethan…”
She was crying.
“Everyone is attacking me.”
Normally, those tears would have been enough.
That morning, Ethan only asked:
“Was the painting Olivia’s?”
Silence.
“Ethan, listen to me—”
“Was it hers?”
Nora sobbed harder.
“I didn’t know! Camila gave it to me. She said Olivia had withdrawn and that I could use it because the exhibition needed another entry.”
Hannah’s eyebrows rose.
Ethan closed his eyes.
“Then why did you say you painted it at home?”
Another silence.
“I was scared.”
“Why did you have matching sketches?”
“I…”
She couldn’t answer.
For the first time, Ethan did not comfort her.
He hung up.
Then turned toward Hannah.
“Give me Olivia’s London address.”
“I don’t have it.”
“Her university?”
“No.”
“Her studio?”
“No.”
His voice rose.
“How can you know nothing?”
Hannah looked at him almost pityingly.
“Because Olivia planned this very carefully.”
Then she smiled without warmth.
“She didn’t leave so you could chase her.”
“She left because she never wanted you to find her.”
I landed in London twelve hours later.
The sky was gray.
The air smelled of rain.
And for the first time since childhood, I woke up in a city where no one knew me as Ethan Pei’s fiancée.
I enrolled at the Royal Institute’s international art program using the place I had deferred the previous year.
My grandfather had begged me to accept it then.
I refused because Ethan didn’t want a long-distance engagement.
How ridiculous.
I had sacrificed London for a man who eventually chose someone because she “needed protection.”
Now London felt less like exile and more like something returned to me.
My new apartment was small.
One bedroom.
A narrow kitchen.
A window overlooking an old brick courtyard.
Nothing compared to the Lu residence.
I loved it immediately.
On my third day, Hannah called.
“You’re trending.”
I groaned.
“Why?”
“The exhibition scandal.”
“I expected that.”
“No. That’s not why.”
She sent me a screenshot.
It was Ethan.
Standing outside the Pei family residence in the rain.
Reporters surrounded him.
One asked:
“Mr. Pei, did you cancel your engagement because Miss Lu allegedly bullied Nora Tang?”
Ethan’s face was expressionless.
Then he answered:
“No.”
Another reporter shouted:
“But witnesses say—”
“I was wrong.”
The crowd went quiet.
Even through a photograph, I could imagine the shock.
Ethan Pei almost never admitted fault.
He continued:
“The painting belonged to Olivia Lu.”
Someone asked:
“Then will you apologize?”
His response was immediate.
“Yes.”
I closed the article.
Hannah asked:
“Nothing?”
“What should I feel?”
“He’s been looking for you everywhere.”
“That sounds like his problem.”
“He went to your grandfather.”
I paused.
“What happened?”
“Grandpa Lu refused to tell him anything.”
That made me smile.
Then Hannah lowered her voice.
“There’s something else.”
“What?”
“Nora has been suspended.”
I wasn’t surprised.
“But Camila confessed.”
I sat straighter.
“To stealing the painting?”
“Partly.”
Hannah hesitated.
“She said Nora asked her to help.”
I said nothing.
“She also admitted Nora had been asking about you before she transferred to our school.”
That caught my attention.
“What do you mean?”
“She knew who you were.”
My fingers tightened around the phone.
In the dream, Nora’s arrival had always seemed accidental.
The scholarship girl entering the elite academy.
Ethan noticing her.
Me becoming jealous.
Everything beginning naturally.
But if she had investigated me beforehand…
Then perhaps the “novel” was not unfolding as innocently as I had assumed.
“What exactly did Camila say?”
“That Nora asked which clubs you belonged to, what competitions you entered, where your locker was.”
A pause.
“And whether you and Ethan were truly engaged.”
I stood slowly.
“Hannah.”
“Yeah?”
“Send me everything.”
Back home, Ethan was discovering the same truth.
Camila sat in the principal’s office with her parents and two school administrators.
Her face was pale.
“I only wanted Olivia removed from the exhibition.”
Ethan stood by the window.
“Why?”
Camila looked toward Nora.
Because Nora was there too.
Her eyes were swollen.
Her hands trembled.
Camila finally said:
“She told me Olivia had used the Lu family’s money to steal opportunities from scholarship students.”
Nora whispered:
“That’s not what I said.”
Camila turned on her.
“You said she deserved to lose once!”
“Camila—”
“You said if everyone saw her accuse a poor student without evidence, they would finally understand what kind of person she was!”
The room went silent.
Ethan slowly looked at Nora.
She immediately started crying.
“I was angry. Olivia treated me badly from the first day.”
“She told you to ask the class representative for help,” Ethan said.
Nora froze.
That was all.
The supposedly vicious humiliation that began everything.
A boundary.
Not cruelty.
He remembered the dreamlike pattern of the last few days.
Nora cried.
Everyone defended her.
Olivia refused to explain herself.
And somehow, he had automatically assumed the worst of the girl he had known his entire life.
Why?
He couldn’t answer.
That frightened him.
Nora stepped toward him.
“Ethan, please…”
He moved back.
Her face changed.
“You promised to protect me.”
Ethan stared at her.
Once, that sentence would have awakened something instinctive in him.
Now it sounded different.
Almost rehearsed.
“Did you know Olivia before coming here?”
Nora’s eyes flickered.
“No.”
“Think carefully.”
“I said no.”
Ethan pulled out his phone.
Camila had already provided screenshots.
One conversation was dated two months before Nora transferred.
Nora had messaged her:
Is Olivia Lu difficult to get along with?
Another:
Does Ethan Pei really listen to her?
And finally:
If they break their engagement, does the Pei family lose anything?
Nora’s face became white.
Ethan looked at her.
“You didn’t know her?”
She opened her mouth.
Nothing came out.
And for the first time, the girl who always had tears ready had no story prepared.
A month passed.
I did not return.
I painted.
Studied.
Walked alone beside the Thames.
And gradually discovered that life could be quiet without being empty.
Ethan sent emails.
I deleted them.
Letters arrived through my grandfather.
I refused them.
He even sent back the engagement jade our families had exchanged when we were children.
I mailed it directly to Grandpa Pei.
No note.
Eventually, the messages stopped.
I thought he had finally understood.
Then, two months later, my professor approached me after class.
“Olivia, someone is interested in purchasing your Rainy Alley series.”
I looked up.
“It isn’t for sale.”
“It’s a foundation.”
“No.”
“They’re sponsoring the Young European Artists Exhibition.”
I paused.
That exhibition could launch a career.
“Which foundation?”
She handed me the invitation.
My fingers stopped.
PEI INTERNATIONAL ARTS FOUNDATION.
Of course.
I almost laughed.
“He found me.”
My professor looked confused.
“You know them?”
“Unfortunately.”
That evening I called my grandfather.
“Did you tell Ethan?”
“No.”
“Then how did he find me?”
Grandfather was silent.
That worried me.
“Grandpa?”
“Olivia, come home.”
My heart tightened.
“Why?”
“There’s something you need to see.”
“What?”
His voice became serious.
“Documents regarding Nora Tang.”
I stared through the apartment window.
“What documents?”
“Her scholarship records.”
A pause.
“They’re false.”
I stopped breathing.
Grandfather continued:
“The Tang family she claims abandoned her does not exist in the provincial records.”
“Then who is she?”
“That’s what we’re trying to determine.”
My skin went cold.
In my dream, Nora Tang was the heroine.
The poor, brilliant girl destined to rise.
Everything in the world bent toward her.
People believed her.
Protected her.
Loved her.
But what if the dream had only shown me the story everyone was supposed to believe?
Before I could answer, someone knocked on my apartment door.
Three times.
I looked toward it.
My grandfather was still speaking.
“Olivia?”
“Someone’s here.”
“Don’t open it.”
Too late.
A white envelope had already been pushed beneath the door.
There was no name outside.
I picked it up.
Inside was a single photograph.
Nora.
Much younger.
Standing beside a woman I recognized immediately.
Ethan’s late mother.
On the back, someone had written one sentence:
“If you want to know why Ethan was destined to choose Nora, stop believing your dream was only a dream.”
And beneath it was an address.
London.
Less than twenty minutes from my apartment.
Then my phone lit up with a message from an unknown number.
Come alone, Olivia.
And don’t tell Ethan Pei.
