I am Bella Beaumont, the top-ranked beauty professor at the Academy of Fine Arts. Tobias Dorne often boasts about having me as his wife.
The year I accompanied him on an artistic fieldwork, I slipped and fell off a cliff, leaving a two-inch scar on my right cheek. I was depressed over my disfigurement, but he claimed to love my soul more than my appearance. Isn't this what people call true love?
If I hadn't seen that scene in the studio, I would have continued to believe:
The delicate and beautiful model, Clara Chandler, straddling him, her moans like the rippling spring water, waves rising and falling. Tobias's voice was hoarse, his eyes infatuated, "Honey, you’re so beautiful."
He was facing away from the door, unaware that I witnessed the entire affair with tears in my eyes. He didn't know that the scar beneath my bandages had completely healed, and I came today to let him see for himself. But now, suddenly, I don't want to tell him.
The lustful sounds in the studio took long to cease. Tobias coldly said something to Clara, dressed, and left first. I’ve seen that girl before. Back when she interviewed as a model, Tobias repeatedly sought my opinion.
Now that I think about it, he wasn't seeking approval. He merely wanted his "disfigured" wife to admit verbally that the girl he found was beautiful.
After the artistic fieldwork incident, he threw away all the mirrors at home, claiming it was to protect me from sadness. He said doing things with the lights off created a better atmosphere, hugging from behind felt closer, and wearing masks during our walks was best due to air pollution.
I’ve struggled with this internal torment for two years. Now, looking at Clara’s flawless face, I suddenly realize that it wasn’t love torturing me but lies.
My heart ached, choking me. I curled up in the dark corner of the corridor, tears flooding. Through the chaos in my mind, I sensed the door to the studio open. Instinctively, I wanted to hide, but there was Clara, wrapped only in a blanket, stepping out.
The woman who had just pulled at Tobias’s shirt begging him to stay a little longer now stared at me with eyes like poison daggers. She approached and without a word slapped me across the face.
Meeting my furious gaze, she smirked and turned away. The blanket slipped, revealing her smooth back, marred by a myriad of red marks and an image Tobias meticulously drew with lipstick – my portrait!
Clara’s voice dripped with venom and self-mockery, “How does it look, Bella? Beautiful, right?”
She crouched down slowly, her gaze chilling, “Are you proud? Tobias despises me for being a bar girl. Even while he’s making love to me, he can’t forget about you!”
“I’ve been Tobias’s model for so long – to undress, to use, at his beck and call.”
“He says it’s been a long time since he touched you. So, I should be called Mrs. Dorne!”
“Why should I be a stand-in for you, the ugly monster?”
Her teeth ground loudly, her words deliberate, “He’s been waiting for your face to heal so he can kick me out! But you can forget about that; I will ruin you completely.”
I stared at her twisted face, speechless. I should have guessed long ago.
Tobias is an extreme perfectionist, seeking the union of spirit and flesh. Because my body was damaged, he found her; because her soul didn’t match, he couldn’t let me go.
Pain turns to clarity; rather than continuing this endless entanglement among the three of us, maybe it's best to let them have each other.
