Five years after our divorce, I crossed paths with Silas Thorne in a tattoo parlor. He was there to touch up the color on his lover's name, etched across his chest. I was there to mask old scars on my wrist. Years had passed, and for a long moment, we just stared at each other in silence. Silas was finally about to speak when a pair of small hands grabbed the hem of his shirt. "Daddy," a little boy piped up, looking at me with undisguised curiosity. "Who is she?" A gust of wind off the ocean set the wind chimes on the porch clinking, breaking the heavy quiet. "I'm a customer," I said, keeping my voice even. "Just like your dad. Here for a tattoo." The little boy tilted his head. "Do you know my daddy?" "Leo." Silas's tone held a sharp edge of warning. The little boy puffed out his cheeks and fell silent. "No, I don't," I answered him anyway. "We're strangers." Silas’s expression darkened perceptibly. The shop owner tapped the counter, his gaze shifting between us. "Who’s first?" Silas had been leaning casually against the bar, but now he stood up straight, locking eyes with me. "Her." He was wearing a white linen button-down paired with silver-gray dress pants. The top buttons were undone, revealing a good portion of his fit chest. Over his left pectoral, there was a tattoo in English script. It was partially obscured, but I knew exactly whose name it was. Even though that name hadn't been written over Silas’s heart when we divorced. "First come, first served," I said with polite formality. "This gentleman should go first." Before Silas could reply, his phone vibrated on the counter. In a fleeting second, I saw the screen display "Wife." He slammed his hand down on the phone to kill the screen, his first instinct to look at me. I simply turned and walked toward the lounge area. Behind me, I heard the boy’s excited query: "Was that Mommy?" Silas had a naturally cool voice, but he tended to lower his register when he was coaxing someone. It was soft and low now, blending with the cello music playing in the shop. I looked down, gently stirring my coffee, when a childish voice right beside my ear chirped, "Excuse me, ma'am." I turned to find the little boy leaning over the armrest of my chair, watching me. He was fair-skinned and delicate-looking, with a scholarly air about him. He was truly adorable. So adorable that, even knowing whose child he was, I couldn't bring myself to feel any resentment toward him. "I have to tell you, you look a lot like my mommy," the boy said, whispering like he was sharing a massive secret. "She's a super famous, super pretty movie star." "Then you must look a lot like her." The boy’s eyes lit up instantly, and he seemed about to climb into the chair with me, but a large hand pressed down on the top of his head. Silas patted the boy’s head. "Go wait in the car with Mr. Miller." I raised an eyebrow and turned to see the middle-aged man standing behind Silas—someone who had been with him for years. Our eyes met, and he looked utterly shocked, with an undercurrent of awkwardness. "...Ms. Vance." I nodded calmly, feeling a slight pang of nostalgia at the reunion. "Mr. Miller." Silas scooped the boy up into his arms. As he stood, a silver gleam flashed from his wrist. It was his watch—a Patek Philippe, a style he never would have chosen in the past. On his ring finger, he wore a simple band—understated luxury. In our two years of marriage, Silas had never worn a wedding ring. True love really is true love. I took a sip of my coffee. All these years later, she still hadn't become just another scar. Mr. Miller led the boy away, but Silas remained standing in front of my booth. "Chloe," he said. It was the first time he'd used my first name. "How have you been all these years?" My coffee was half finished. I set the cup down. "Quite well, thank you for asking." After a long silence, the shadow over me vanished as Silas followed the owner upstairs to the second floor. The cello music faded out, replaced by a slow, calm piano melody—much like my heart in that moment. The studio owner was an internationally renowned tattoo artist. His custom hand-drawn designs were nearly impossible to get, and he only accepted two clients a day. What a striking coincidence this was. My gaze scanned the designs lining the walls, stopping abruptly on the central piece. It depicted a red lip tattoo on the inside of a man's thigh. The man in the design was sitting on the floor with one leg bent, wearing a black silk robe over black boxer briefs. A light pink lip print was seductively placed in that intimate area. The shape of the lips was beautiful, the lines clean, creating a dark, tension-filled contrast against the bronze skin. It was a mark left by a woman between a man’s legs. "Ms. Vance." The owner's voice behind me snapped me back to reality. "Right this way, please." I turned to see Silas coming down the spiral staircase, the collar of his shirt now buttoned all the way up. I asked, "That fast?" "He's being erratic. Decided not to get the touch-up after all." The owner was clearly well-acquainted with Silas. He told me, "You go on upstairs." Silas walked to the foot of the stairs and stopped. He jammed one hand into his pocket, his face expressionless. He stood over me, his gaze heavy and dark. We stared at each other in silence, but all I could think about was the last time we were intimate. After kissing, we got into bed, and I saw that red lip tattoo on his inner thigh. The clock on the wall chimed. I grabbed my bag and headed for the stairs. As I brushed past Silas, he gripped my wrist. He squeezed hard, his watch pressing painfully into my skin. "Chloe," Silas said, his voice raspy. "Are you determined to pretend we're strangers?" I didn't struggle against his grip. I looked into his eyes, and there was absolutely nothing there. "Being able to pretend we're strangers is me showing you respect." He froze, then slowly let go of my hand, rubbing his fingertips together, his emotions seemingly cooling. "I know you still hate me." Silas always had this knack for holding onto control, for never letting himself be embarrassed, no matter the situation. Just like back then, when the photo of him kissing Maya Sterling became the top trending topic, he faced me with this exact same composure. Except back then, I was hysterical. Faced with my husband’s calm demeanor, I looked like a raving lunatic. "You overestimate yourself." I took a few steps up the stairs, my tone detached and cold. "Our relationship now isn't significant enough for hate." Silas seemed about to say something else, but I didn't care. I turned and continued upstairs. The studio's decor was highly unique—post-modern, empty, and quiet. The owner was at his computer confirming my tattoo design, and an assistant was preparing my skin. I took off the leather strap watch on my right wrist, looping it off in three rotations. The fleshy pink, yet gruesome, scar on my wrist was revealed. "This spot on the wrist hurts a lot," the owner said, unfazed by the sight. "Just so you're mentally prepared." I smiled slightly. "It shouldn't hurt as much as when I first slit it." Two scars, one deeper than the other. When the numbing agent wore off, the owner confirmed the design with me one last time before transferring the stencil lines. It was a clear, clean-cut image of a blue butterfly with outstretched wings. "Because of the location, you might need a touch-up later on." The owner put on a face mask. "But I guarantee I can mask the scar perfectly for you." "Do all tattoos need touch-ups?" "No. In Silas’s case, it's because of his skin type." The owner didn't hide the fact that he knew Silas. "Giving him a tattoo is actually kind of bad for my reputation." I didn't say anything. Having been in a real marriage with Silas for two years, I obviously knew he had a sensitive skin type. Back then, Silas didn't really like me leaving marks on him during intimacy. Now, however, even though it was tedious enough to require frequent touch-ups, he still had Maya's name tattooed over his heart. And he had Maya's kiss mark tattooed on his inner thigh. As the first needle pricked my wrist, I inevitably flinched from the sharp pain, knitting my brows. The owner suddenly said, "Tell me the story behind your scar." I was slightly taken aback, then laughed. "What, do tattoo artists have a hobby of collecting stories now?" In the court of public opinion today, Silas Thorne was seen as having won at life. In business, he had caught the right wind and expanded his territory, rising steadily. In love, he was perfectly matched with a popular starlet, living a picture-perfect, happy family life. "When I met Silas, he was already married to Maya Sterling," the owner said. "And Maya looks incredibly similar to you." I smiled, pulling a cigarette case from my bag. "Mind if I smoke?" The owner shook his head. I blew a smoke ring, thought for a moment, and said slowly, "I’m Silas’s ex-wife." Silas and I met in college. He was a year ahead of me in the same major, and when he started his own company, he recruited me. While Advanced Tech is practically an industry giant now, at the very beginning, there were only two people. Silas had incredibly high standards. He was a prominent figure on campus, and countless people submitted resumes. "But I was the only one who stayed." I squinted through the smoke. "Silas was extremely arrogant back then, walked around with his nose in the air. I was the very last person he interviewed." Nobody held out much hope. I thought he was way too full of himself, and he spent the whole day interviewing, thinking everyone was an idiot—including me. "But that day, we talked all night, right until dawn. He stuck his hand out to me and said, 'Pleasure doing business with you.'" "We shared the same philosophy, the same goals. Silas had massive ambition." I tapped the ash from my cigarette. "And as it turns out, my ambition wasn't small either." For those first two years as Advanced Tech was getting off the ground, Silas and I rented an apartment off-campus. We pounded the pavement for business together, pulled in investments together. Silas was my mentor; he taught me everything about interpersonal skills and professional knowledge, without holding anything back. On the night of my twenty-second birthday, Silas and I pulled an all-nighter writing code. As dawn broke, he leaned against the windowsill and lit a cigarette. "He asked me," I took a drag, "if I knew how to smoke." I leaned in, curious, and immediately choked, tears streaming down my face. Silas started laughing, pulled me to him, pressed me against his chest, and kissed me. After the kiss ended, he asked me another question: Did I want to marry him? The vibration on my wrist stopped for a second. The owner said, "That’s an odd way to put it. Shouldn't he have asked if you wanted to be his girlfriend?" I laughed, too, as if I were telling someone else's story, watching it with the detached calm of a bystander. "I said yes. And that same day, we secured our very first round of investment." "Riding the high wave of artificial intelligence, Advanced Tech soared, making a name for itself in the industry within just one short year." "The day Advanced Tech's core team was established, I was appointed Chief Operating Officer, and Silas took me home to meet his family." "That was when I found out that the 'Thorne' in his name was that Thorne family—the shipping magnates." The Thorne family made their fortune in shipping, and with three generations of accumulated wealth, they were a deeply entrenched, top-tier dynasty in the city. Naturally, the marriage was met with opposition, but since Silas had the courage to break away from the family and start his own business, he wasn't about to be controlled regarding his marriage. "Silas fought them for two years. He was so stubborn his father beat him bad enough to put him in the hospital, and he didn't cave even under immense pressure from countless relatives." The ash fell silently from my cigarette. I watched it for a long moment before whispering, "When Advanced Tech got its first major round of financing, we got married." "The wedding was simple, held on a small island that Silas later bought and put in my name, calling it 'Haven Isle'." The owner completely stopped outlining the tattoo. I nodded. "The very island we're on now." "Before the wedding, Silas signed an agreement. Putting aside the founding shares I had in Advanced Tech, he transferred every bit of liquid cash he could move into a trust for me." "He said he wanted Advanced Tech to be my biggest support system." "Back then, everyone marveled at how deeply Silas loved me. The financial entanglement was so deep that it left absolutely no room for a clean divorce." "I used to think so, too." My cigarette had mostly burned down. I extinguished it in the ashtray. "Until the first year of our marriage, when he personally selected Maya Sterling to be the face of Advanced Tech." I had once asked Silas why he had chosen a completely obscure actress. "Don’t you think," Silas had said back then, pointing at Maya’s massive billboard, "that she looks exactly like you did back in college?" "She captures eighty percent of your essence," Silas had said, laughing before I could answer, "but her head is empty—a total airhead." "Maya shot to fame very quickly." The owner's voice pulled me from my memories. "If I recall correctly, she became famous at nineteen." "Yes." I remembered something. "Less than a year after becoming the spokesperson, she was famous across the country." "The day she won the Best Newcomer Award was Silas’s twenty-fifth birthday. We had plans for dinner." "But I waited two hours, and he never came back. His phone was off, and I couldn't reach Mr. Miller either." "Until 8:00 PM, when a trending topic exploded out of nowhere: Maya Sterling caught in a passionate kiss with a mystery man." "I clicked on it." I looked up at the owner and smiled. "The mystery man was my husband." They were kissing so passionately, pressing Maya up against the car front, making the car shake. Silas, usually so calm and arrogant, his first instinct upon spotting the camera was to press the slender Maya into his embrace. The video froze on the moment Silas stared at the camera with chillingly cold eyes. I masochistically watched it over and over again, my tears dripping onto the screen, landing right on Maya's profile as she buried her face in Silas's chest. It was almost identical to me in my college days. I found out the whole story. Maya had been harassed at a dinner party, and Silas had stepped in to help. From then on, Maya’s career skyrocketed, with countless top-tier industry resources being handed to her. When I slammed the documentation down in front of Silas, he didn't offer an explanation, nor did he panic. He lit a cigarette and asked me, "What do you want to do?" "Shares, or a new project?" Silas had said. "We can negotiate anything, as long as we keep Maya out of it. It wasn’t easy for her to get to where she is today." Silas’s calm attitude turned me into a lunatic. I had grown up without a father figure, so Silas represented a father figure substitute for me. He was my mentor first, and only later became my husband. During those years Advanced Tech was expanding, I was stretched thin and lacked experience; it was Silas who was behind me, teaching me step-by-step. To ensure I was secure in marrying him, he had built a solid wall around me using the most practical financial interests. I never imagined this wall would come crashing down, and in such a repulsive manner. "So you used all the connections you had to get Maya blacklisted," the owner said. "But you failed." "And the failure was particularly devastating," I said, laughing at myself. "Back then, I actually still held onto a shred of hope, thinking it was just a fling, or that Silas had temporarily lost his mind." "Don’t look at me like that." I looked at the owner. "I was too young back then." But Silas’s subsequent counterattack slapped me in the face. He used the most aggressive stance to suppress the trending topic and saved Maya’s career. A week later, the blacklisted Maya was spectacularly announced as the lead actress in a major director’s film. The first pink scar became the outline of the butterfly’s lower wing—so blue. The sharp pain in my wrist turned numb. I watched it for a long moment. "That’s how the first scar came about." "Maya came to find me, using the exact same face I had in college, begging me to let her and Silas be together." "You see, being loved can make someone stupid." I sighed. "She actually said the one who isn't loved is the real interloper." So I launched a second wave of retaliation against Maya, hiring countless marketing accounts to expose her true colors as a home-wrecker. The atmosphere grew silent, with only the vibration of the tattoo gun. It had already been five years. All the love and hate had been worn down by the river of time, but this one thing— "Silas used Advanced Tech to threaten me." My voice went rigid. "He used the blood and sweat we had poured into building it together to control me." When Advanced Tech was first established, it was because of Silas’s inherent arrogance; he wasn't willing to rely on his family's support for everything. Advanced Tech went from nothing to something, and only he and I truly knew the hardships involved. I controlled the core product technical team, yet for Maya, Silas was willing to let Advanced Tech fall apart. "You only have Advanced Tech. But I still have the Thorne family empire." Silas was still calm even during the ugliest parts of the fight. "Chloe, everything you’ve achieved today was given to you by me. Including Advanced Tech." "I really was too young back then." I don’t know how many times I had marveled at this. "When the trending topic about Silas and Maya checking into a hotel exploded, it was exactly on our first wedding anniversary." "I saw that red lip tattoo on Silas’s inner thigh, and that’s when I got the first scar on my wrist." When I woke up in the hospital, Silas was at my side, holding me in his arms with red eyes. For the first time, I chose to compromise. Because I was pregnant—three months along. "If that child had been able to be born back then, they would probably be about the same age as that boy just now." I felt a slight trace of melancholy, laughing at myself, controlling the urge to take out another cigarette. I paused for a small moment before gathering the courage to continue. "Because of the pregnancy, I gave up on the divorce. This child could not only inherit Advanced Tech but would also have the Thorne empire." "The marriage was already a total mess. Silas had destroyed all my fantasies about love, but this was indeed a safe bet with no chance of loss." Silas had perfectly achieved a balance between the two women. I became magnanimous, swallowing the grievances and swallowing blood, handling my husband’s scandals with the popular female star over and over again. Maya’s career was going from strength to strength, and a group of crazy 'shippers' for her and Silas had even been born. Until the seventh month. On my way home from Advanced Tech, I was rear-ended by a car driven by a fanatical Maya Sterling 'shipper'. "...The child was born prematurely. When I woke up," I went silent for a long moment before producing a sound, "only I survived."
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