Part 2We Won’t Take Photos Together Anymore

Dwade never captured Hannah’s full face. Every photo only showed a part of her.

One showed her hand feeding him medicine when he was sick.

Another showed her back against a sky full of fireworks on New Year’s Eve.

Yet another showed her eyes fixed on him across the glow of birthday candles, tender and adoring.

His photography skills were actually quite ordinary. Even so, she let him photograph her.

She once told me that because she was born out of wedlock, she spent her childhood enduring endless bullying and humiliation.

Every time she was bullied, they would take photos of the scars on her body. That was why she developed psychological trauma and hated being photographed ever since.

My heart broke when I heard what she had been through.

For her sake, I even gave up my career as a photographer after we got married.

In just three short years, she made an exception for another man.

She let Dwade photograph her, calm and unguarded, her eyes full of love.

A message suddenly popped up.

[Mr. Bourne, Hannah’s had too much to drink tonight. I live closer, so I brought her back to my place to take care of her.]

Dwade sent the message using Hannah’s phone.

[I’ll send you a few pictures to keep you posted!]

For some reason, he sent a live photo.

The moment I opened it, I saw her lying on the couch. Her gaze was hazy and unfocused.

“Dwade,” she said, gazing at the camera, and at him. “Come here.”

“Hannah!”

The screen went black because Dwade had been pulled away by her hand.

“Sorry, Mr. Bourne. Hannah was just drunk and grabbed me by mistake. Nothing happened, I swear,” Dwade said smugly afterward.

For some reason, I felt indifferent.

I thought back to our wedding night.

She had also been drunk that night.

I had picked up my phone and smiled as I tried to sneak a photo of her.

But she had grabbed me by the throat and pinned me hard into the couch.

I would never forget the wariness and disgust in her eyes that night.

Nor would I forget the deep infatuation in that photo of her from that live photo.

I took a deep breath, opened my laptop, and sent out an email.

I did not want to stay in that villa any longer.

Hannah returned home the next day with Dwade.

“I got drunk last night, so I crashed at Dwade’s place—”

She explained herself calmly to me, but I calmly cut her off.

“Yeah, I know.”

She looked at me and froze for a moment.

She frowned irritably, but she quickly returned to that cold, indifferent look.

“Good. I’m glad you didn’t take it the wrong way.

“I brought Dwade here today because I need to ask you a favor.

“He wants to put on a photography exhibition. You used to be a photographer, right? Give him some pointers.”

My fingers dug straight into my palm, and the pain made me hold my breath.

I had given up my photography career for her, and she wanted to hold a photography exhibition for another man.

“I quit photography a long time ago. I’ve got nothing to teach him,” I said coldly and turned to leave.

“Mr. Bourne, wait!”

Dwade caught up and grabbed me, then placed a stack of photos in my hands.

“I genuinely want to learn from you!”

I looked down at the photos in my hands.

The one on top was a photo of him on top of Hannah on a bed.

His innocent, harmless facade faded away as he leaned in and provoked me, saying, “Mr. Bourne, if you’re a smart man, you’ll know when to let go.”

He shoved the photos hard into my hands.

When I shoved him back with a grunt of pain, he tumbled backward.

“Dwade!”

Hannah rushed over in an instant and caught Dwade, who had fallen down a few steps.

Then, she stood up and slapped me across the face.

“Lucas, don’t push your luck!”

She was about to scold me further, but she paused when she saw my gaze looking blank and lifeless.

Dwade let out a cry of pain in her arms, and she shielded him and left.

I laughed bitterly at myself and let my hand fall open. Blood dripped freely from my palm.

Dwade had hidden a razor blade inside that stack of photos.

But nothing mattered any longer.

Just then, my phone rang.

I answered the call I had been waiting for.