Chapter 2
In the morning, I chose a corner seat at the coffee shop.
I took out my phone and looked at the anonymous text I received last night again. Those words were still on the screen: "He's not who you think he is. Watch carefully."
"Excuse me, do you mind if I sit here? All the other tables are taken."
I looked up to see a young man standing by the table, with brown hair, gentle green eyes, holding a cup of coffee.
"Of course." I put away my phone and pointed to the chair across from me.
"Thank you." After he sat down, he noticed the crutch beside my table. "Accident?"
"Car accident." I usually don't like talking about this topic, but he asked naturally, without that uncomfortable sympathy.
"The recovery process must not be easy." He took a sip of coffee. "I'm Orion, an art therapist. My job is to help people who have experienced trauma recover through art."
"Art therapist? That sounds interesting."
"Yes, I believe art can heal spiritual trauma." Orion's eyes flashed with genuine light. "Sometimes physical injuries heal easily, but psychological trauma takes longer. Painting, sculpture, music—these can all help people express feelings that are difficult to put into words."
"You're right."
"How do you feel now? Besides physical recovery, psychological adaptation is also important."
"To be honest? A bit confused." I found myself willing to be honest with this stranger, a feeling I hadn't had in a long time. "Sometimes I feel like everything around me isn't real, as if everyone is acting."
Orion nodded. "Trauma can make people question many things they used to take for granted. That's normal. The important thing is to trust your instincts."
We chatted for a while longer. When Orion was about to leave, he took a strawberry candy from his pocket.
"Sweet things can bring good moods." He placed the candy in front of me. "I hope your recovery goes well."
I took the candy and showed a genuine smile for the first time in a long while. "Thank you, Orion."
Watching him walk out of the coffee shop, I felt the oppressive feeling in my chest ease slightly.
When I returned to the apartment, I had just sat down to rest when my phone vibrated. It was that anonymous number again.
This time it wasn't text, but several photos.
My heart almost stopped beating.
The first photo showed Blake having an intimate dinner with a woman in a restaurant. The woman had dark hair, with a build similar to Raven's, but the photo angle made it impossible to see her face clearly. The second photo captured the moment they were holding hands, Blake's expression on his face... that wasn't the expression of a business dinner.
I quickly typed a reply: "Who are you? Why are you telling me this?"
The response was almost instant: "These were taken last week. Still think he loves you? Tomorrow's charity gala, watch carefully."
Last week Blake said he was on a business trip, saying it was an important business meeting and he couldn't take me along.
I was about to continue asking when I suddenly heard the sound of keys outside the door. Blake was back?
I quickly deleted the conversation record, but my fingers weren't very cooperative due to nervousness. The sound of the door lock turning became clearer and clearer.
"Baby, I forgot an important document." Blake's voice came from outside the door.
I tried to make myself look natural, pretending to watch the TV news. When Blake came in, I felt his gaze linger on me longer than usual.
"What are you watching?" He walked to the desk and picked up a file folder.
"Just looking at the arrangements for the evening gala." I tried to make my voice sound calm. "Wanted to confirm the dress coordination."
Blake nodded, but I could feel him observing me. "That's good. There will be many important people at tomorrow night's event, we need to make a good impression."
When he took the documents and was about to leave, his phone rang.
Blake glanced at the screen, and I caught a glimpse of the caller ID: Raven.
"I should take this," he said.
Blake answered the call, turning slightly away from me. "Hey, what's up?"
I couldn't hear the other side of the conversation, but I watched Blake's body language.
The photos on my phone flashed through my mind. The intimate dinner. The hand-holding. Blake's expression that definitely wasn't business-like.
"Blake?" I called softly. "Everything okay?"
He turned back to me with that practiced smile, covering the phone's microphone. "Just work stuff. You know how it is."
"I have to go," he said into the phone. "We'll discuss this later." He ended the call.
"Logistics. Boring stuff." Blake pocketed his phone quickly. "I really need to get back to the office now."
He kissed my forehead—again, that brief, almost clinical contact—and headed for the door.
"Blake," I called after him. "That was Raven, wasn't it?"
He froze with his hand on the doorknob. For a moment, just a moment, his mask slipped completely.
"Why would you think that?" he asked, not turning around.
"I saw the name on your phone."
"It was a conference call. Raven was just one of several people on the line." The lie came so smoothly, so practiced.
"I'll see you tonight," he said, finally turning to face me with that perfect smile back in place. "Don't wait up if I'm late."
After the door closed behind him, I sat in the silence of my apartment, staring at my phone. The anonymous photos, the mysterious warnings, Blake's nervous phone call with Raven...
Tomorrow's charity gala, watch carefully.
I gripped my phone tightly, my heart racing. Less than 24 hours until the gala, and I was beginning to realize that everything I thought I knew about my life might be a lie.
