He was once a safe harbor

When I was injured by the stage chandelier on the runway, Kevin held his fake cousin protectively, looking anxious, "Don't worry, I'm here."

I barely finished the show, almost passing out from the pain backstage.

He harshly said, "Stop pretending. It's just a scratch, are you dying or what? Tonight, I'm taking Wendy out to experience the world. Don't forget to wash Wendy's clothes. Oh, and remember to hand-wash them."

This was the hundredth time Kevin had left me behind for his non-blood-related 'cousin.' I stared blankly at the wedding ring on my ring finger, thinking maybe it was time to end this marriage.

——

After taking off the ring, the pale mark on my ring finger stood out. It was a brand from ten years of marriage, a shackle on my heart.

"Amy, there are some intimate pieces in my room too, could you help me wash those too? Kevin and I might be out till midnight." Wendy's voice pulled me back to reality as she returned at some point.

She whined at me, looking cute and playful. Behind her stood Kevin, his face full of indulgence, his eyes brimming with affection.

Kevin's gaze didn't even linger on me for a second, he merely said coldly, "Remember to prepare a late-night snack. Wendy's stomach isn't great lately and the food outside is too greasy."

I'm a model, I always controlling my diet and weight. Constant dieting has made my stomach fragile, yet Kevin loves heavy, oily and spicy food and never chooses something gentler for me.

But now, he cares deeply about Wendy's stomach issues. I clenched my fists, forcing myself to hold back the tears on the verge of falling.

"Alright." I didn't know if my voice quivered, but the pain in my chest was so intense that I couldn't breathe. Through tear-blurred eyes, I saw his black leather shoes pause.

One hundred times. This was the hundredth time Kevin had left me for Wendy, yet it was the first time I didn't cry, didn't break down, I just let him go quietly. When was the last time?

Just yesterday, when Wendy jokingly said she wondered how long it would take to walk back from the show venue to the hotel.

Kevin left me on the roadside, "Let her try. She needs to lose weight anyway, she can walk back."

In a foreign city, under falling snow, I walked six miles back to the hotel.

My hands and feet were so numb with cold that I lost all sensation, yet Kevin didn't offer a word of apology or explanation upon seeing me. Instead, he questioned, "Why did it take you so long to get back?"

Hurt and frustration swelled up, but Kevin waved me off impatiently and turned to enter Wendy's room. That night, Kevin didn't return to our room.

I listened to the sounds of their laughter next door all night. The sounds echoed endlessly as noise came from the hallway outside my room.

Kevin and Wendy had returned. I watched as Wendy walked in, laden with bags and she said, "Amy, look, Kevin bought me this new limited-edition bag. And this dress, handmade in Italy, one of a kind."

Swallowing my bitterness, I turned away, no longer looking at her.

"Amy, did you really make us a midnight snack?" Wendy's shrill voice sounded exaggerated as she leaned over, then wrinkled her nose and covered her mouth, saying, "Amy, don't you know I'm allergic to eggs?"

Watching the steaming egg and cheese pasta in the pot, a fresh wave of bitterness welled up in my eyes.

Before I could turn around, Kevin was already berating me, "Amy, what kind of sister-in-law are you? Are you trying to poison Wendy?"

He grabbed a nearby bottle and threw it at me. The bottle shattered on impact and sharp fragments flew, leaving several small but glaring cuts on my calf.

With a "clank," I set down the spoon in my hand, turning to face the two of them. Wendy leaned into Kevin's arm, eyes red, her mouth curling into a smile that seemed both boastful and taunting.

Claiming to be allergic was one of Wendy's usual tactics and excuses. I had no idea what she was actually allergic to, only that she'd announce an allergy at any moment, for any reason.

Constantly looking for ways to make things difficult for me, she'd watch gleefully as Kevin lashed out in anger. And each time, Kevin would fall for it like a fool. This time was no different.

Looking at the painful scene before me, I felt a hollow emptiness in my chest, as if a cold wind was blowing through a gaping void.

But this time, I didn't feel as heartbroken as before. I turned, picked up the pot and dumped the cooked egg and cheese pasta into the trash right in front of them.

"If you're allergic, then stay hungry!" I tossed the pot into the sink with a loud clang.

Wendy covered her ears and shrieked, pretending to be startled, her big tears rolling down her cheeks. Kevin glared at me before gently comforting the person in his arms.

My eyes stung, but I swallowed the endless bitterness and walked past Kevin. He reached back, grabbing my wrist, "Amy, have I been too lenient with you?"

In the struggle, blood began to seep from the freshly bandaged wound on my arm. My hands trembled slightly, my throat felt as if something was lodged in it and I looked at Kevin, "Lenient? Are you not actually indulging that tacky girl from the countryside you've got in your arms?"

I pointed at Wendy, watching her surgery-altered face change color and continued, "Or has it been so long that someone's forgotten who they are?"

Kevin's gaze flickered, his brow furrowing as he looked at the wound on my arm. "Amy, weren't you also from the countryside?" He looked down at me so arrogantly, his mocking expression enough to crush me.

Ten years ago, Kevin had discovered my potential as a model from among the crowds. He'd used each of his meticulously designed creations to elevate me to a high position. He was my mentor, but he was also my calamity.

Wendy giggled on the side, her malicious smile unmistakable, "Alright, let's forget about this. Just don't let it happen again."

Then he lowered his head, soothing the girl in his arms in gentle, soft tones. Once upon a time, he comforted and loved me the same way.

Even if I had just a minor scratch, he'd be anxious, vowing to find the best doctor to ensure I didn't scar. But now, with such a large wound on my arm, he acted like he didn't even see it.

He said, "Alright, stop crying. You're really bad at lying, aren't you? Who goes around constantly claiming allergies? Do I look that gullible?"

In that moment, my feet felt like they were filled with lead, unable to take a step.

"Oh, Kevin, you're so mean! You know I'm not that bright, yet you tease me," Wendy said in a coy, aggrieved voice, as Kevin patiently comforted her.

So, he knew all along. I had thought Kevin was fooled by Wendy, but I didn't expect that he knew everything. He knew she was faking allergies and even played along with her act.

I had been the only clown in this three-person game, with my hundreds of hysterical outbursts over the past two years becoming their shared inside joke.

The moment the door closed, I collapsed to the floor as if all my strength had drained away.

"Kevin, can you bring me my underwear?" Wendy called out from her room. "Oh no, not that one! The red lace one, you said it looked the best."

From behind the thin door, I could hear Kevin's hearty laughter mingled with Wendy's coquettish, playful voice. I felt nothing but utter disgust.

Gazing at the foreign moon outside the window, I hugged myself tightly and cried silently.

The first time I met Wendy was two years ago. Kevin pointed at the modestly dressed girl behind him, saying that she was his cousin, lost for twenty years. Since then, he'd fulfilled her every request with care and attention.

But only I knew that Wendy was a fake, someone Kevin hired to act as his cousin to compete with his uncle, Kenneth, for the inheritance.

Over recent years, Grandpa Richard's health had deteriorated, but he insisted on leaving his entire fortune to whoever could bring back the missing cousin.

Kevin came up with this reckless plan and needed me to act along, pleading for my cooperation. He promised that once he secured the inheritance, he'd send her away. But neither of us anticipated that Grandpa wouldn't pass away, instead, his health even slightly improved.

I'd suggested ending this ridiculous charade multiple times, but Kevin adamantly refused, telling me to wait. That wait stretched into two years.

I watched as Kevin went from feigned affection to genuine care and eventually to a heart entirely fixated on Wendy. The cousin was fake, but his feelings for her were real.

That night, I called my agent, Gary Andrews, "Get me some runway gigs. I'm getting a divorce."

For the past two years, I'd put my modeling career on hold to prepare for pregnancy and to stand by Kevin's designs. But now, I needed to live for myself.

On the other end, Gary cheered, exclaiming that I had finally seen the light and happily said, "I'll get everything arranged so neatly that Kevin won't be able to find a trace of you. But …will Kevin agree to the divorce?"

I paused for a few seconds, looking at the wound on my arm and made up my mind, "I'll find a way."

That night, I had an exceptionally long dream, filled with all the happy memories between me and Kevin. In the next instant, I was surrounded by flames, everything reduced to ashes.

The next day, Wendy's laughter woke me up and the sticky feeling all over my body told me I had a fever. I scheduled a doctor's appointment on my phone and got ready to leave.

When I opened the door, I saw the two of them at the dining table, endlessly teasing each other. The table was a mess, with food scattered everywhere.

I glanced indifferently at Kevin and went straight to the fridge to grab ingredients for a salad. Throughout, I noticed Kevin's gaze lingering on me, while Wendy pouted and stomped her feet in mock anger.

After rolling my eyes a few times, I quickly finished my salad at the kitchen counter.

Just as I was about to leave, Kevin couldn't hold back any longer and spoke, "Amy, are you going out?"

I adjusted my clothes in the mirror without responding, then turned and walked out.

Kevin suddenly rushed in front of me, blocking the door and glaring at me while said, "Don't you know what day it is today? At this hour, you're still planning to go out?"

Of course, I knew, it was the day of Kevin's 2024 Fall-Winter fashion show. I was supposed to be the mystery guest, closing the show in a unique wedding gown.

I replied, "I made an appointment with a doctor to get my wound treated. It got infected and I had a fever last night."

Kevin looked momentarily taken aback, his emotions hard to read.

"Kevin, let Amy go. She's always been delicate, not as strong as me," Wendy chimed in, pressing herself against him in a coy, needy way.

Just as I was leaving the hospital with my wound newly dressed, Kevin's call came through, "It's been two hours. Even if you were bandaged head to toe, you should be done by now, right? Amy, do you really think I can't do this show without you?"

I sneered internally. Kevin, there won't be a show with me, but I'll definitely leave you a grand farewell gift.

"Don't worry, I'll make it back," I replied, hanging up before he could respond.

Ignoring his subsequent calls, I eventually turned off my phone. Arriving at a familiar studio, I knocked on the door.

This was where Kevin and I had started out, a studio he had built with his roommate, Freddie Jones. Over time, while Kevin and I ascended the social ladder and became consumed by fame and fortune, this studio remained simple and unchanged.

The bell chimed pleasantly as I opened the door and Freddie, though initially shocked, greeted me with a smile.

After some catching up, I got straight to the point, "You've heard about Kevin's fashion show, right? All of his designs for the show are based on drafts you originally created. I need those original drafts as evidence of his plagiarism."

Freddie's hand paused mid-pour, spilling tea on the table, "You two are …"

"I'm planning to get a divorce." I cut his words.

After leaving Freddie's studio and getting into a cab, I looked down at the brown-paper-wrapped chocolate in my hand.

Tears welled up as I tore open the packaging, recalling Freddie's words as he handed me the sketches, "Amy, if you're certain about leaving, then don't look back."

I wiped away my tears, took photos of all the sketches and sent them in an email to a journalist I knew in Paris.

Then I hurried to the Paris DNA testing center, where I obtained the fake paternity test results Kevin had used back then. Since my passport had been used for the records, it was easy to retrieve all the evidence I needed.

With everything secured, I took a cab to the venue. By the time I arrived, Kevin's patience had clearly worn thin.

"She's here!" someone in the crowd called out and all eyes turned toward me.

Kevin visibly relaxed, though his face still held traces of anger. He grabbed the design drafts on the table and threw them in my direction.

"Amy, you're impressive! Making everyone wait for you! Hurry and get changed!" The entire venue echoed with his angry shouts and the staff, visibly uneasy, ushered me backstage.

In the dressing room, my eyes immediately landed on the wedding gown at the center of the room.

This gown, inspired by me, was Freddie's design, with tens of thousands of pearl-white gems delicately adorning the hem.

Three years ago, when Kevin said he would give me this wedding dress, I was stunned and urged him not to plagiarize. But he didn't listen, even naming the dress 'Moonlight Garden.'

Back then, he wanted nothing more than to declare his love for me to the world. Over time, even I began looking forward to wearing it. But something that came into being dishonestly wasn't meant for me in the end.

As I traced the gown's intricate embroidery, a mixture of bitterness and sorrow filled me. My gaze lingered on the cuffs. "Who altered this dress?" I asked.

Everyone looked at each other and then Wendy stepped forward and said, "It was me. Kevin told me to try it on, just in case you didn't show up." She smiled, pride and satisfaction evident in her voice. "He even adjusted the waistline for me himself."

Kevin entered just then, pushing me to the ground. My elbow hit the floor and fresh blood began to seep through my bandages.

He stood over me, his eyes cold and distant while he said, "Amy, are you really going to keep nitpicking and causing trouble for me? If you don't change, I'll get another model!"

Kevin loved to threaten me, knowing I'd usually back down. But this time, he didn't know, I no longer cared.

Enduring the pain, I got up and looked at Wendy, who was eagerly anticipating her moment. I let out a small, defiant laugh, "Fine. Go ahead and change the model. Your fake cousin must be dying to wear this dress to marry you." The hall fell silent, everyone inhaled sharply.

"Is Wendy not Kevin's cousin?"

"Is that true?"

"She's not his real cousin?"

Just then, the door swung open again and the head of the exhibit hurried inside and said, "Mr. Beacon, something's wrong. There's a large group of reporters outside …"

"What's going on? The interview isn't until 4 PM." Kevin's composure faltered as he noticed everyone's concerned faces, but he had no choice but to go out and manage the situation.

With the show starting soon, he couldn't risk any slip-ups. The show was scheduled for 6.30 PM, but it was only 3 PM, meaning the press was an hour early.

The exhibit manager wiped the sweat from his brow. "The reporters outside aren't the ones we arranged. They're here … about the plagiarism allegations." The hall buzzed with tension.

Kevin hurried outside to deal with the press and as the crowd grew chaotic, I took the chance to slip out the back.

By the time I reached the airport and settled into the waiting lounge, I checked the news about Kevin. There he was, frantically trying to explain himself in front of the cameras.

His eyes darted around, as if searching for someone. I knew he was looking for me, because only I could clear his name. But he'd never suspect that I was the one who had orchestrated this.

"If you're not guilty of plagiarism, why isn't your wife standing by your side?" One simple question hit right at the heart of the matter.

Kevin's show was canceled and within minutes, the headlines about his downfall dominated national and international news sites.

After the interview ended and the show was abandoned, my phone began to light up with calls from him. I sat in the airport lounge, watching my phone screen flash on and off.

Five minutes before boarding, I finally picked up.

"Where are you?" Unexpectedly, there was no shouting, no anger, just a quiet question.