My Perfect Fiancé Was Living a Second Life in Messages Chapter 10

My Perfect Fiancé Was Living a Second Life in Messages Chapter 10

One month later, I became a full-time employee at the design studio.

I created a series of ocean creature illustrations that were picked up by an independent publisher. I signed a

contract.

My coworkers brought a cake to celebrate.

One of my coworkers flipped through my old sketchbook.

“Veronica, this sketch of the flower petal brooch is so beautiful. Did you design wedding favors before?”

I paused for a moment, then smiled. “I did. But I gave that design away.”

On the weekend, I went to the beach.

I took off my shoes and walked barefoot in the sand.

I sat on a rock, the wind tangling my hair.

My phone buzzed. A message from Amanda arrived.

[Veronica. James resigned. He left on his own and transferred all his projects.]

[Chloe was fired too. The company found out she falsified her expense reports. James didn’t say a single

word in her defense.]

[He moved and put the house up for sale. No one knows where he went.]

I read it and typed one letter. “K.”

Then I put my phone in my pocket and went back to watching the ocean.

Two more months passed.

On an ordinary weekday afternoon, a message appeared on my studio computer.

The sender was a scrambled, anonymous string of letters.

There was no subject line, and the body had only one line and a link.

[This is yours. It always was only yours.]

I hesitated, then clicked.

In the center of the page was a 3D rotatable model of the flower petal brooch. The curve of the petals, the

veins of the leaves, the hidden initials on the back, exactly my original design.

Beside it was a copyright registration certificate.

Rights holder: Veronica Hart.

Further down were the design patent transfer documents.

Original registrant: James Sterling.

All rights had been transferred back to me after the legal process was complete.

At the very bottom of the page, in tiny gray type that was almost unreadable, was a line.

[You drew this flower. It never should have bloomed anywhere else.]

I looked at it for a very long time.

Then I closed the page.

I went back to my drawing tablet, picked up my stylus, and started a new illustration.

The image showed a window, completely open.

Beyond it, a deep blue ocean; on the windowsill, a sea glass wind chime.

In the wind, the chime let out a soft, clear sound.

I named the illustration: [My Place. My Rules.]

That night, I went home.

When I opened the door, the wind chime was ringing in the breeze.

The ocean air drifted through the white curtain.

I made myself a bowl of spaghetti with marinara and meatballs and sat by the window, eating slowly.

The bowl was one I had chosen myself, with an irregular, uneven glaze, and the mug too.

In this apartment, every single object was in a place I had chosen.

No one rearranged the coaster. No one told me the wind chime was too loud.

I finished my pasta, washed the dishes, and leaned against the window, listening to the chime and the

rhythmic crash of the distant waves.

The moon was full and bright tonight.

I picked up my phone and opened Instagram.

I typed a few words: [It’s a beautiful night.]

I paused for a moment, then deleted them one by one.

Some quiet happiness is better kept to yourself.

Much later, on a design forum, I came across a post.

Someone had unboxed an officially licensed production run of the flower petal brooch.

In the comments, someone asked who the designer was.

The original poster replied: [A freelance designer named Veronica Hart. I heard someone almost stole her copyright, but someone else helped her get it back.]

I kept scrolling. Among hundreds of comments, there was one from an anonymous account with no profile

picture.

The comment had only four words: [She deserved every bit.]

I looked at that comment and felt the corner of my mouth lift, just slightly.

Then I closed the page.

The wind chime on the windowsill rang again.

I turned my head and looked out at the ocean.

There was light on the water.