During my senior year, I participated in a confidential research project with my mother’s team. During that time, I was completely cut off from the outside world and could only receive one letter per month.
For two whole years, Dorian wrote me twenty-four heartfelt letters without missing a single month.
In each letter, I could feel how deeply he missed me.
When he graduated from college, he wrote:
“Serena, I wish I could take a graduation photo with you in our bachelor’s gowns and frame it for our wedding day. I want us to walk from the university steps straight into the wedding hall.”
When he started his company, he wrote:
“Serena, the project you helped initiate is progressing smoothly. Everything’s going well on paper… but I feel so tired. I miss you so much. I just want to hold you.”
At a classmate’s wedding, he wrote:
“Serena, once you return, we’ll register our marriage immediately! Our wedding has to be even more beautiful than theirs.”
But in the final letters, I could sense something shifting—his pain growing heavier.
“Serena, without you, even the air tastes bitter. I can’t take it anymore…”
Those words made my heart ache. I decided to leave the project team early. I wanted to return to him.
I thought I was doing something romantic — preparing a surprise.
For an entire month, I worked overtime and pulled all-nighters to hand over my responsibilities quickly. Once I was cleared to leave the research base, I didn’t even call him. I rushed straight to see him.
That was the surprise I had planned — but instead of joy, I was greeted with heartbreak.
I saw him with Liora, holding her closely, smiling as though the world belonged to just the two of them.
Someone nearby joked, “Brother Dorian and sister-in-law are so sweet! Hasn’t it been two years? You two are still so in love, always glued to each other!”
Dorian’s expression darkened. “Don’t talk nonsense. Liora isn’t your sister-in-law.”
The atmosphere turned awkward. Liora looked embarrassed, but Dorian didn’t seem to care at all.
A friend who knew the truth tried to smooth things over: “Isn’t your fiancée coming back next year? What will happen with you and Liora then?”
Dorian casually twirled a strand of Liora’s hair. “Of course it’ll end. We agreed from the start — Liora is just a stand-in for Serena. Serena will never find out. Once she’s back, things will go back to normal.”
But reality didn’t follow his script. I did find out. And nothing went back to normal.
Over the past three years, every time he left me for Liora, I placed one of his gifts in the box.
Before I knew it, the box was nearly full.
The engagement ring on my finger is the last item.
No more, no less — exactly the 99th.
Dorian has left me for Liora ninety-nine times.
I looked at the ring, feeling a quiet sense of closure. “I’ve returned everything you gave me. Let me give you one last gift.”
I placed the signed resignation letter inside the box and gently closed the lid.
That made a hundred gifts.
A fitting number to wish him and Liora a lifetime of happiness.
In one week, I will be gone.
I — my news, my presence, every trace of me — would vanish from Dorian’s world.
And I would return every memory to him, one by one.
Suddenly, my phone vibrated nonstop. I glanced at the screen.
All the messages were from Liora.
[Sister, do you like any of these wedding dresses?]
She had sent me photos of her trying on gowns — every style is different, but every photo features the same people: her and Dorian.
The images are stung. My vision blurred. I randomly chose one.
The chat box quickly updated: “The other party is typing...” Liora had been waiting for my reply and soon sent another barrage of texts.
[Oh no! I didn’t pick that one!]
[Dorian told me to decide. He said I look like you, so whatever I choose would suit you best.]
[I picked the second dress. Do you think I look better at it?]
[It’s already finalized based on my choice... what should I do now?]
I thought I had grown numb. But pain still surged from deep inside me, flooding every nerve in my body.
Because she looked like me, Dorian used her as my substitute during the two years I was away.
And when I finally came back, I found my place had already been taken by the substitute.
What a cruel, ironic joke.
