Chapter 1

In the fourth month of my cold war with my fiancé Lysander, the movie star, we were dragged along to a live-streamed interview. When the host cheerfully introduced the segment about "calling the person you love most," the cameras swiveled to focus on us. Lysander's knuckles were white as he gripped his phone. A few seconds later, he tilted his head back with a careless smile and tapped out a number on the screen. The moment the call connected, a sweet, clear female voice came through: "Lysander?" It was Olivia, the younger girl next door who always presented herself as his 'childhood sweetheart'. The live chat exploded instantly, flooded with comments like "So sweet!" and "They're meant to be!" Lysander leaned back in his chair, fingers tracing the edge of his phone, his tone softer than I'd heard in a long time: "Nothing much, just wanted to ask if you've had dinner yet." I looked at the gentle curve of his profile and suddenly felt a lump in my throat. When it was my turn, I didn't hesitate, dialing Ethan's number. Ethan was a rapidly rising star in the investment world, and also the boyhood sweetheart I'd grown up with since we were in diapers. The phone rang twice before he answered, his low voice coming through the receiver: "Isadora?" "Nothing important," I said to the camera, curling my lips into a smile, my tone as casual as if I were discussing the weather. "Just wanted to tell you, that restaurant you recommended last time was really good." After the live stream ended, Lysander cornered me backstage. His suit jacket was tossed casually on a sofa, his tie hanging loose around his neck. "Isadora," his eyes blazed with anger, "Shouldn't the person you love most be me?" I smoothed the stray hairs ruffled by the wind, looked at the reddening corners of his eyes from anger, and suddenly laughed. "Lysander, I can love you today, and naturally, I can love someone else tomorrow. It's not like you're the only man in the world." His pupils constricted sharply, as if he hadn't expected me to say such a thing. I stepped around him and walked out. The click of my high heels against the floor was especially clear in the quiet corridor. On the drive home, the rain was pouring down. The wipers swept back and forth tirelessly, but couldn't clear the condensation from the glass. I stared at the blurry taillights ahead, my mind replaying Lysander's shocked face and the possessiveness Olivia couldn't hide every time she looked at him. Distracted, the steering wheel suddenly malfunctioned. The tires screeched against the wet pavement. I instinctively closed my eyes, hearing only a loud "bang." The violent impact made my vision go black, and I completely lost consciousness. When I woke up again, the strong smell of disinfectant filled my nose. I struggled to open my eyes. An IV bag hung from the ceiling, its contents dripping down one drop at a time. Before I could gather my thoughts, a familiar voice, sharp as ice, hit me: "Isadora, what game are you playing now?" Lysander sat in a chair beside the hospital bed, his shirt sleeves rolled up to his forearms, revealing prominent veins on his wrists. "Was it just because I called Olivia during the interview? Or because I ignored you for these four months? Do you really need to threaten me with your life?" His voice grew colder, like a poisoned ice pick. "If you really wanted to die, wouldn't jumping from a tall building be quicker? Why choose the highway? Did you want everyone to see me as a joke?" I opened my mouth, my throat too dry and painful to utter a single word. Just then, the hospital room door pushed open softly, and Olivia walked in carrying a thermal lunchbox. She wore a white dress, her long hair falling softly over her shoulders, her eyes as red as a frightened rabbit's. "Isadora, I'm sorry." She walked to the bedside, cautiously taking my hand that had the IV, her fingertips cold. "Lysander was just acting out of spite that day; the person he loves has always been you. Please don't blame him, and don't scare him by harming yourself..." She paused, tears finally rolling down her cheeks, landing on the back of my hand, scalding. "I won't appear in front of you two anymore. Please get better, and don't fight with Lysander anymore, okay?" After saying this, she withdrew her hand and turned to leave, but Lysander grabbed her shoulder. "Who asked you to apologize?" His voice held an undeniable protectiveness. "This has nothing to do with you." Olivia bit her lip, looking at him with a gaze full of dependence and reluctance that pricked at my heart like needles. Lysander turned his head, his gaze commanding as he looked at me: "Right now, people online are spreading rumors that Olivia is the other woman. You need to issue a statement to clarify." I stared at him for a few seconds, suddenly feeling incredibly tired. I fumbled for my phone on the bedside table, unlocked it, and threw it to him. "Write whatever you want yourself." He clearly hadn't expected me to be so compliant, hesitating for a moment before catching the phone. His fingers tapped quickly on the screen. After posting the statement, he handed the phone back to me, his expression complex. The phone screen was still lit, the wallpaper was a photo of us from my birthday last year. In the photo, I was on my tiptoes kissing his cheek; he had tilted his head slightly, the smile in his eyes so tender it could drown a person. But looking at it now, it just felt ironic. The sweetness of the past had turned bitter and sour. I turned my head away, looking out the window at the gloomy, gray sky. The rain was still falling, just like the endless tug-of-war between us, with no sign of stopping.