Chapter 1

In the guesthouse in northern Iceland, the aurora had just faded.

I clutched my aching stomach and pushed open the bedroom door. Ten hours of aurora photography had left me exhausted, while Noah Cross was still outside discussing tomorrow's shoot with the new model, Lily Morgan.

"That 19-year-old girl again..." I muttered, casually opening Noah's MacBook.

As co-founder of "Wanderlust Souls," I needed to upload today's footage. The account now had millions of followers—eight years of memories between Noah and me, a business we'd built together from scratch.

I clicked into the footage folder when suddenly, a folder labeled "Personal Project" popped up.

"Personal project?" I frowned. Noah had never mentioned any personal project. Curiosity drove me to click it open.

The screen suddenly filled with photos—Noah and Lily kissing in the camper van. My world collapsed in an instant.

Blood rushed backward. My heart felt like it was being ripped apart. Eight years! Eight years of trust, trampled just like that!

"This can't be..."

My hands began to shake. Photo after photo: Lily wearing my pajamas, taking selfies in the camper van. Noah hugging Lily by the hot springs. The two of them embracing when I wasn't around...

Each photo was a knife to my heart. Eight years. I thought nothing between us would ever change.

"When were these even taken?" My voice sounded so helpless in the empty room.

But I didn't stop there. I quickly opened WhatsApp and checked Noah's chat history with sponsors.

The latest message completely shattered me:

Noah: Yes, Lily's image better fits the brand's younger demographic. Ella and I are together more out of habit than anything else now. We need fresh blood.

Sponsor: What about Ella?

Noah: Eight years—people get tired of the same look. Lily makes me rediscover creative passion. She's so much younger and fresher than Ella.

Out of habit? Tired of the same look?

My hand clenched into a fist, nails digging into my palm. So that's all I was to him—a worn-out tool! Eight years of my youth, eight years of love, reduced to him being "tired of the same look"!

I almost smashed the laptop, but reason told me to stay calm.

I kept scrolling and found transfer records from Noah to Lily: luxury bags, jewelry, even a down payment on a sports car.

All that money came from our joint account.

Footsteps echoed from the hallway. Noah was coming back.

I quickly took screenshots of all the evidence, then closed everything and pretended to sleep. I needed time to calm down, to plan the perfect counterattack.

"Babe, you asleep?" Noah tiptoed in, looking exhausted. "Today's shoot was exhausting, but Lily was great to work with. Though you're still more professional, of course."

He still dared to mention her name in front of me.

"Mm..." I bit down hard, the sound barely squeezing through my teeth.

Inside, I was screaming: You bastard! Still playing innocent! Still saying Lily was great to work with! I want to rip off your mask of hypocrisy right now!

Noah sat on the edge of the bed, stroking my hair. "Tomorrow we're shooting sunrise. If you're not feeling well, get more rest. Lily and I will scout the location first."

How thoughtful—arranging more alone time for them.

Listening to Noah's steady breathing, I opened my eyes. Moonlight spilled through the window onto my face. I knew my expression must look terrifyingly cold right now.

I got up and reopened the laptop.

"Noah."

He jolted awake instantly. "What's wrong, babe?"

I turned the screen toward him, those shameful photos displayed prominently. "Want to explain these?"

Noah's face went deathly pale. He jumped up, trying to grab the laptop. "Ella! Let me explain! This is all a misunderstanding! It's all for content creation!"

"Content creation?" My voice was ice-cold. "Requires her to wear my pajamas and sleep in our bed? Requires you to say you're tired of the same look—my look? Requires you to use our money to buy your mistress a sports car?

Noah, you've really opened my eyes. Eight years, and this is the piece of trash I've been loving."

Each sentence was a bullet. I watched them hit their mark with precision.

"No! Ella, you're the one I love! Lily is just..."

"Just what? Just the fresh blood that makes you rediscover creative passion?" I stood up, displaying the chat screenshots one by one. "Noah, these are your exact words."

He completely panicked, kneeling and trying to grab my legs. "I was wrong! I was so wrong! Give me one chance! I can explain!"

I pushed him away contemptuously and walked to the computer. Eight years, gone in this instant.

"Explain? Eight years of love—what's there to explain?"

My fingers flew across the keyboard, opening the "Wanderlust Souls" backend management interface.

"Ella! What are you doing?!" Noah watched my actions in horror.

"Doing what I should do."

Right in front of Noah, I deleted my admin privileges, then posted the final update:

"Eight years of wandering, journey's end. Thank you to all our followers for your companionship and support. Wanderlust Souls, from now on, has only one soul left. — Ella's Goodbye"

Send.

"No! Ella! Don't do this!" Noah frantically tried to stop me, but it was too late.

I grabbed my work phone—the device that had recorded countless beautiful memories—and smashed it on the floor.

Crash!

The screen cracked into pieces, just like my broken heart.

"Eight years, Noah." I walked to the closet and started packing, moving efficiently like a stranger. "You were right. We do need fresh blood. Now, as you wished."

"Ella! Please! Don't leave! We can start over!" Noah crawled after me on his knees. "I swear, I'll never see Lily again! I only want you!"

The sound of the suitcase zipper closing was especially harsh in the quiet night.

"Start over?" I turned around, feeling no warmth in my eyes. "Noah, some things, once broken, can never be repaired. Like trust. Like love."

I dragged my suitcase toward the door. Noah sobbed hysterically behind me. "Give me one chance! I was wrong! I really know I was wrong!"

The moment my hand touched the doorknob, I paused but didn't turn back.

"Noah, thank you for these eight years. Thank you for showing me what a scumbag looks like."

I paused for a second, my voice cold as if from hell:

"Oh, and have a happy life with your little mistress. After all, she's so much younger and fresher than my 'tired old look,' isn't she?"

The door opened, then closed.

Only a man's desperate cries remained in the hallway, along with the dream of a million-follower empire, shattered together on this Icelandic night.

3 AM. I sat in the airport waiting room, having booked the earliest flight out of this place. I looked down at my phone screen showing constant notification pops—fans went wild. The goodbye post from "Wanderlust Souls" had garnered hundreds of thousands of comments and shares in just a few hours.

But none of it mattered to me anymore.

My stomach started aching again. I frowned and pressed on my abdomen. There was a secret there that Noah would never know.

Outside the window, the aurora bloomed again—brilliant and fleeting.

Just like my eight years with Noah.