In truth, I wasn't blind to Jameson's real feelings.
I had once overheard a conversation between him and a friend: "Bella is great in every way, but she's just so boring. Even in bed, it's always the same position. What I want is passion, that spark of love. Otherwise, how can I write good music?"
His friend teased him, "Then why not break up with her? I see you get along pretty well with your assistant Alice, don't you?"
Jameson chuckled lightly. "But Bella, she's marriage material."
So, in Jameson’s mind, marrying me was like walking into the grave of love.
Yet, he still couldn’t bring himself to let go of me as his perfect candidate for marriage, so he secretly plotted to chase after freedom while keeping it all hidden from me.
Or maybe he just believed that I loved him so much I would never leave him.
Lost in thought, I suddenly received a WhatsApp message.
It was a photo from Alice.
In the photo, the guitar Jameson had just taken was lying on the ground, its strings snapped and carelessly discarded.
A second later, Alice's provocative message appeared.
[It got a little too intense earlier, and I accidentally broke Jameson's guitar strings. He couldn't even get mad at me, just kept asking if my hand was okay. If I remember right, you wouldn't even dare to touch this guitar, would you?]
She wasn’t wrong.
I had given Jameson this guitar a few years ago for his birthday, spending a hefty 200,000 on it. He treated it like it was precious—he wouldn’t even let me touch it.
At first, I had felt proud, thinking it was because he cared so much about the gift I gave him. But now I realized—it was because, in his eyes, I wasn’t worthy of touching that guitar.
I didn’t reply to Alice's message; I just set my phone to "Do Not Disturb."
Later that evening, when Jameson came home, he didn’t have the guitar with him.
He noticed my probing gaze, and for a fleeting moment, guilt flashed across his face. But he quickly suppressed it.
"Bella, while I was practicing today, I missed you so much that I accidentally snapped a string. Can you buy me a new one?" he said, his tone too smooth to be believable.
His so-called flawless lie only made me want to laugh.
I looked at him coldly and said, "A 200,000-dollar guitar? I can't afford a second one."
His face turned pale with panic. "What are you talking about? You could buy me a guitar with the cost of just one of your bags! And don’t forget how much I’ve earned for you over the years!"
A bag? Those bags had long been sold to buy him equipment when the band first started. There were no bags to speak of.
I pointed at the shopping bag hanging by the door and sneered. "You mean this? Worth 200,000? Take it and exchange it for a guitar. Oh, and by the way, the band's earnings—I publicly disclose them every quarter. I make sure the payments to you are made in full. If you have a problem with that, feel free to take me to court."
Jameson hadn’t expected me to take things this far. His tone softened instantly as he tried to smooth things over. "I was just joking! Why are you taking it so seriously? Oh, by the way, the band is having a dinner tonight. Do you want to come?"
