Canvas of a New Life

Joe had not come home for days.

I learned everything about his life from Ivy's social media posts.

There he was, spending the night with her in the library, helping her search through piles of reference books.

At dawn, he draped his jacket over her shoulders.

On the track field, he crouched down to tie her shoelaces after she finished her run.

In another photo, Ivy was bent over a microscope, focused intently. Joe stood beside her, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Every picture looked so tender, so perfect.

I stared at them in silence before shutting off my phone.

Then I opened my wardrobe. One by one, I pulled out my clothes, folded them carefully, and placed them neatly into a suitcase.

Just as I was almost finished, the door opened.

Joe was back.

He looked tired but oddly satisfied.

"Belle, what are you doing, packing?" His tone was calm, like nothing had happened. "I want to show you something. Our new home."

He did not bother explaining where he had been all this time.

My heart felt nothing—not anger, not sorrow. Just numbness.

Wordlessly, I followed him into the car. He drove us to a luxury villa community in the suburbs.

At the grand entrance, we ran into Ivy.

She pulled up in a sleek red sports car, rolled down her window, and flashed a dazzling smile.

"Joe, Belle—what a coincidence! I just moved in too. Right next door."

I trailed after Joe into the so-called 'new home.'

The place was decorated in his usual minimalist style, all cold tones and sharp lines—just like him.

Through the massive floor-to-ceiling windows, I could see Ivy's villa next door. The layout, the colors, even the furniture—it was practically identical.

Catching my pause, Ivy laughed lightly.

"Looks like we should knock down the wall between our houses. That way we'll be like one big family."

To celebrate the move, Ivy suggested dinner at a nearby high-end French restaurant.

Joe agreed without hesitation.

When the waiter handed me the menu, I stared blankly at the French words I could not read, clutching the corner of the paper nervously.

Joe ordered for me—a steak, exactly what he was having.

Across the table, Ivy elegantly twirled a piece of asparagus with her fork. She glanced at Joe, her voice soft but deliberate.

"Joe, you remember my favorite, don't you? Filet mignon, medium well. No pepper sauce."

His hand paused mid-air. Then he nodded.

I felt like a clown at someone else's show.

I stood too quickly, muttering something about the restroom. In my haste, I knocked over a plate.

The porcelain shattered on the floor, sauce splattering everywhere.

Laughter—restrained but mocking—rose from the next table.

"So clumsy. How did she even get in here?"

My face burned with humiliation. I crouched down to clean the mess, hands trembling.

However, before I could touch the shards, smoke suddenly billowed out from the kitchen. The fire alarm shrieked.

"Fire!" someone screamed.

Panic erupted. People shoved and stumbled toward the exit.

In that chaos, I saw Joe's first instinct.

He spun around, scooped Ivy into his arms, and shielded her with his body as he pushed his way toward safety.

I was knocked to the ground by the rushing crowd.

My arm slammed into a broken plate, and a sharp shard sliced open my skin, leaving a long gash. Blood gushed out immediately.

I watched Joe carry Ivy right past me. He never looked back. Not once.

Gritting my teeth, I dragged myself to my feet and struggled out of the restaurant alone.

At the nearest community hospital, the doctor cleaned the wound, bandaged it, and stitched it up—five stitches in total.

I never made a sound.

When I finally returned to the empty villa, I booked the earliest ticket out of this city for the next morning.

By dusk, Joe came home.

He reeked faintly of smoke—and women's perfume.

His eyes landed on the suitcase by my side. His brows furrowed.

He walked over, opened it, and immediately spotted the glaring slip of paper inside.

The ticket.

His voice was sharp, each word heavy as a hammer.

"Belle. Where do you think you're going?"