Chapter 3

3.

"Sean, you really only see me as a sister?"

Meadow's voice suddenly cut in from behind, her gaze locked onto me with an intense sharpness.

Perhaps it was just my imagination, but a flicker of hurt crossed her eyes.

"Yeah, obviously. What else would you be?"

Without giving her another second of my time, I pulled Jenna toward the court.

Soon after, Meadow and Logan took the court right next to ours.

"Nice shot, Meadow! You're amazing, keep it up!" Logan cheered, showering her with praise.

A bright, genuine smile bloomed across Meadow's face.

In my past life, I had rarely ever seen her smile like that.

Whenever she was with me, she had always been distant, quiet, and cold.

I pulled my eyes away from them and focused entirely on the shuttlecock, laughing along with Jenna.

During an intense rally, I accidentally collided with Logan as we both backed up for a shot, sending us tumbling hard onto the turf.

"Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?"

Jenna was the first to rush over, her eyes full of genuine worry.

Meadow glanced at me and took half a step forward as if to check on me, but she quickly changed direction and hurried to Logan's side instead.

I wasn't surprised. Her heart had always belonged to Logan.

In my previous life, she had guarded her laptop with obsessive secrecy.

One evening while she was in the shower, I used her computer to save some work files and noticed a hidden folder titled "My True Love."

At that moment, my heart had fluttered, foolishly hoping it was a digital scrapbook of our relationship.

I had clicked it open with trembling excitement, only for the blood in my veins to freeze solid.

There were eighty high-resolution photos inside. Even from the thumbnails, it was blatantly obvious she was intimately tangled with another man.

My hands shook violently as I clicked through them one by one.

Every picture was taken in the exact same bedroom, captured in various raw, passionate poses.

Meadow looked radiant in every single frame, flushed with genuine pleasure and bliss.

I couldn't comprehend how the woman who had acted frigid toward me for eight years could be so wild and receptive beneath another man.

Worse, the timestamps revealed a pattern of exactly one photo every month.

Eighty photos meant eighty months.

She had been cheating on me for over six straight years.

She had shared her body with him while forcing me to live in celibacy, hiding behind the excuse of a non-existent medical condition.

When I confronted her, she was drying her hair in the living room. She calmly switched off the blow dryer.

There was no remorse, no guilt, and not even a sliver of shame.

She had simply looked at me and said, "Well, now that you know, let's get a divorce."

Her chilling apathy had triggered a screaming match between us.

In the end, she lost her temper, shoved me into the sharp glass table, and ended my life.

I could never forgive her for what she did. Not in a million lifetimes.