[Babe, I think I left my watch. Can you drop it off for me? By the way, Luther’s still in Greece. He won’t be back until the wedding.]
When she didn’t reply, he assumed she hadn’t seen it.
A few minutes later, he sent another message.
[Never mind, I’ll just come get it myself. You should rest.]
He wasn’t far; soon, he was back.
When he entered the bedroom and saw the mess still untouched, he found Solenne sitting in a daze with the watch in her hand.
She didn’t even notice anything strange.
He walked in casually and took the watch from her hand.
Then, without saying a word, he began tidying the room.
She watched him strip the dirty sheets off the bed, toss them in the laundry, and lay down a fresh set.
In no time, the room looked spotless again.
Every move he made and every expression on his face—it all told her he cared about her.
Nobody wouldn’t guess for a second that he had another woman in his heart, or that everything he’d done was just a charade.
Once he was done, he walked back toward her side.
“Why the pouty face?” he teased gently, pinching her cheek. “Who upset my baby this time?”
His voice was playful, almost doting. In contrast, Solenne looked him straight in the eye, asking, “Rockwell, do you… do you really love me?”
He thought she was just being clingy, so he stroked her soft hair with a chuckle.
“Of course, babe, I love you. You can ask me as many times as you want. You’re so lovely—how could I not love you?”
Just then, his phone rang.
Just one look at the caller ID, he let go of her hand and gestured that he needed to take the call outside.
Rockwell stepped outside to take the call.
Seeing this, Solenne quietly followed him, keeping her distance to eavesdrop from behind.
Norman’s irritated voice came through the receiver. “Hurry up, dude! Chesca’s coming back to New York today. If you don’t get to the airport soon, you’re going to miss her!”
“I know, dude. How could I forget a day like this?” Rockwell replied lazily.
Solenne felt like her heart had been sliced open.
‘That name—Chesca. It sounds so familiar. Where have I heard it before?’
Then it hit her. Almost instantly.
Back when Rockwell used to cheer her up, he’d take her to art exhibitions. Every time, without fail, he would pause in front of the same artist’s work.
She’d been curious back then. ‘What kind of painting could capture his attention like that?’
She even checked the artist’s name—Chesca Sherald.