It took Julia three hours to gather every last pearl from the floor.
Three hours spent on her knees, collecting the shattered remnants of what was once precious.
When the mess was finally cleaned up, she hailed a taxi to the cemetery.
Seven years ago, her parents had died in an accident while on an archaeological survey in Italy. She never got to say goodbye. By the time she arrived, their bodies had already been laid to rest in this quiet, elegant cemetery.
She was only sixteen then.
She met Francis for the first time at their funeral.
Francis' father had worked closely with hers, and at the time, his grief seemed genuine. He had treated Julia with kindness, and Francis extended that kindness even after his father’s passing.
Now, that kindness was gone.
Julia placed fresh flowers before their gravestone, tracing the engraved names with her fingertips.
Her professor once told her she had inherited her mother’s sharp mind and her father’s calm rationality.
But standing here now, she felt like a fool.
Seven years of her life were wasted. Seven years devoted to a man who never truly loved her. A man she had given everything to whether it was her heart, her trust, or even a part of her body.
She clenched her fists.
Why did Francis pretend for so long? Why go from living in a penthouse to squeezing into a tiny apartment with her?
It might be because of Valerie's gangster boyfriend. Maybe Francis was bitter over losing his childhood sweetheart and clung to Julia because she was convenient, because she asked for so little.
If her mother were alive, she would’ve scolded her for being so blind.
Julia knelt before the tombstone, just as she had seven years ago in the rain.
“Mom, your proud daughter was deceived by a hypocritical man for seven years,” she whispered.
“But it doesn’t matter. I’ve decided to leave him. I want to follow in your footsteps—to Italy, to archaeology.”
For years, the circumstances of her parents' deaths had haunted her.
The official report said they fell from a cliff at night. But why would two experienced archaeologists take such a reckless risk?
Something didn’t add up.
And Julia wouldn’t find answers unless she returned to the place where it all happened.
Back at her apartment, she started packing.
This tiny 50-square-meter space held too many memories of Francis.
One by one, she took out the gifts he had given her over the years. Using a shopping app’s price-check feature, she scanned each item.
The results stung.
None of them were worth more than £50.
She had treasured them. And yet, they were nothing.
She scribbled the prices onto sticky notes and tossed everything into a cardboard box, treating them as carelessly as Francis had treated her.
Then, she sat down and wrote a short, emotionless farewell letter.
Her phone buzzed.
A message from Valerie.
Julia hesitated before opening it.
[Valerie: Francis feels so bad for me. Did it hurt when you hit the floor?]
Attached was a picture where Francis holding Valerie’s hand. His wedding ring was still on his finger.
Julia’s stomach twisted, but before she could block her, another message came in.
This time, a video.
The camera focused on Francis’ bare chest, his toned muscles on full display. Valerie’s voice cooed in the background.
“Francis, I’m already four months pregnant. Is it really okay to do it?”
His voice was a deep murmur.
“Just a little rubbing… it’s okay…”
Then came the sounds. Heavy breathing, soft moans, his husky whispers.
Julia felt bile rise in her throat.
She shut off the video immediately and blocked Valerie’s number.
‘I wish the scum couple a happy marriage and eight bastard children.’
Her eyes drifted to the ring on her finger.
The only thing Francis ever gave her that had any real value.
Without hesitation, she listed it online and sold it.
With that money, she went straight to her friend’s tattoo shop.
She wanted a permanent reminder. Not of Francis, but of what she had survived.
On the left side of her lower back, right over the scar from her stolen kidney, she inked a single line of text.
‘Boy Only Wants Love If It Is Torture.’
