Fading Ink, Rising Tides

Chapter 1 In the spring of my fifth year postdivorce. I ran into Julian Vance again at a tattoo parlor.

He was there to touch up his lover’s name on his chest. I was there to cover up the old scars on my wrist.

After years apart, we looked at each other in utter silence. Just as the heavy quiet was about to break and Julian opened his mouth to speak, a pair of small hands grabbed the hem of his shirt. "Daddy," the little boy said, looking up at me with wide, curious eyes. "Who is she?"

1 The ocean breeze drifted through the coastal island air, ringing the wind chimes on the porch and shattering the long silence.

"I'm a customer," I said. "Just like your daddy, I'm here to get a tattoo."

The little boy tilted his head. "Do you know my daddy?"

"Leo." Julian's tone carried a heavy warning. The boy pouted and immediately went quiet.

"No, we don't know each other," I answered the boy anyway. "Just strangers."

Julian's face instantly darkened.

The parlor owner tapped his knuckles against the counter, his gaze bouncing between the two of us. "Who’s going first?"

Julian, who had been leaning casually against the bar, stood up straight, his eyes locked dead on me. "She is."

He was wearing a white linen shirt paired with silvergrey slacks. The top buttons were casually undone, exposing a large portion of his sculpted chest. Over his left pectoral, there was a script tattoo. It was halfhidden beneath the fabric, making it hard to read, but I knew exactly whose name it was. Even though that name wasn't etched over his heart when we divorced.

"First come, first served," I said, maintaining polite, distant courtesy. "You go ahead, sir."

Before Julian could reply, his phone buzzed. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught a glimpse of the caller ID: Wife.

The screen went black as Julian hit the power button, his eyes immediately shooting toward me. I simply turned and walked over to the waiting area. From behind, I heard the little boy ask excitedly, "Was that Mommy calling?"

2 Julian’s voice naturally ran cold, but when he coaxed someone, he tended to lower it into a soft, gravelly murmur. Gentle and low, it blended perfectly with the cello music playing softly in the parlor.

I kept my eyes down, gently stirring my coffee. Suddenly, a childish voice piped up beside my ear. "Miss?"

I turned my head. The little boy from earlier was leaning over the armrest of the sofa, staring at me. He was a beautiful child, with delicate features that gave him a refined, almost literary charm. He was undeniably adorable. So adorable that, even knowing exactly whose child he was, I couldn't bring myself to feel any resentment toward him.

"I have to tell you a secret. You look a lot like my mommy," the boy whispered, as if sharing confidential intel. "She's a super pretty, famous movie star, you know."

"Then you must look a lot like her."

The boy's eyes lit up instantly. He looked like he wanted to climb over and get closer to me, but a pair of large hands firmly clamped down on his head.

Julian patted the boy's hair. "Go back to the car with Uncle Chris for a bit."

I raised an eyebrow. Turning my head, I saw a middleaged man standing behind Julian—the executive assistant who had followed him for years. When our eyes met, his widened in sheer shock, though he quickly tried to mask the awkwardness. "...Ms. Hayes."

I nodded calmly, my tone carrying a hint of nostalgia for an old acquaintance. "Mr. Evans."

Julian scooped the boy up into his arms. As he stood, a flash of silver caught my eye from his wrist. It was a Patek Philippe. A style he would absolutely never have chosen in the past. And on his long, elegant ring finger sat a simple, understated, yet luxurious wedding band.

In the two years Julian and I were married, he never once wore a wedding ring.

True love really is true love, I thought, taking a sip of my coffee. Married all these years, and she still hasn't become just a smudge of mosquito blood on the wall.

3 Assistant Evans led the boy away, but Julian remained standing in front of my booth.

"Evelyn," the man finally spoke. "How have you been these past few years?"

My coffee was halfempty. I set the cup down. "I've been quite well. Thanks for asking."

A long silence followed. Eventually, the shadow looming over me shifted away as Julian followed the owner upstairs. The cello music faded out, replaced by a slow, tranquil piano melody—perfectly mirroring my current state of mind.

The owner of the studio was an internationally renowned tattoo artist. His custom designs were priceless, and he only accepted two clients a day. It was just pure coincidence that we booked the same day.

My gaze drifted across the flash art on the wall and suddenly stopped, landing on the centerpiece. It was an illustration of a red lipstick mark tattooed on the inner thigh of a man. The man in the drawing sat on the floor, one leg bent. Beneath a silk robe, he wore black briefs. In that highly suggestive, intimate zone, rested a light pink lip print. The lips were beautifully shaped, the lines clean, creating a simmering, erotic tension against the bronze skin.

It was a mark left by a woman between a man's legs.

"Ms. Hayes," the owner's voice pulled me out of my thoughts. "Right this way, please."

I turned and saw Julian descending the spiral staircase, his shirt buttoned all the way to his collar. "Done already?" I asked.

"He’s being neurotic. Said he doesn't want the touchup anymore," the owner said, clearly familiar with Julian. "You can head upstairs."

Julian stopped at the base of the stairs, standing completely still, one hand tucked into the pocket of his slacks, his face expressionless. Looking down from above, his eyes were incredibly heavy.

We stared at each other in total silence. All I could think of was the very last time we slept together. After a kiss led us to bed, I saw the red lip tattoo on his inner thigh.

4 The wall clock chimed. I grabbed my purse and walked toward the stairs. As I brushed past Julian, he grabbed my wrist. His grip was brutal, the metal of his watch digging into my bone, sending a sharp spike of pain up my arm.

"Evelyn," Julian’s voice was hoarse. "Do you really have to pretend we're strangers?"

I didn't struggle. I looked into his eyes with absolute deadcalm detachment. "Treating you like a stranger is the absolute maximum amount of dignity I am willing to afford you."

He froze. Slowly, his grip loosened, and he rubbed his thumb across his fingertips, his emotional spike receding. "I know you still hate me."

Julian always had this terrifying ability. No matter the situation, he could seize control of the narrative without ever breaking a sweat or looking awkward. Just like when the paparazzi photos of him making out with Chloe Stewart broke the internet. He faced me with this exact same expression. The only difference was that back then, I was hysterical. Next to my husband’s icy composure, I looked like a deranged lunatic who had lost her mind.

"You flatter yourself," I said, stepping up onto the next stair, my tone completely aloof. "With the relationship we have now, 'hate' is far too strong a word."

Julian seemed like he wanted to say something else, but I didn't care. I turned and walked up the stairs.

The studio's interior was highly stylized—postmodern, cavernous, and quiet. While the owner sat at his computer finalizing my stencil, his assistant prepped my skin. I unclasped the watch from my right wrist. It was a unique leather wraparound strap. As I unwound the three loops, the scarred, jagged, pinkish flesh on my wrist was exposed to the air.

"Tattoos on the wrist hurt like hell," the owner noted casually, clearly having seen it all before. "You better prepare yourself."

I smiled. "Probably won't hurt as much as it did when I slit my wrist."

5 Two scars. One deeper than the other.

Once the numbing cream set in, right before transferring the stencil, the owner confirmed the design with me one last time. A blue butterfly, wings spread in midflight. Clean and sharp.

"This is a tricky spot. It'll definitely require a touchup later," the owner said, pulling his mask up. "But I can guarantee it'll cover the scars perfectly."

"Do all tattoos need touchups?"

"No. Julian comes in because of his specific skin type," the owner said, making no effort to hide his acquaintance with him. "Honestly, doing tattoos on him is bad for my brand."

I didn't say a word. After a twoyear marriage that actually meant something, I obviously knew he had a unique skin condition. Back then, Julian absolutely hated it when I left any marks on him during sex. Yet now, even knowing it meant the hassle of constant, painful touchups, he still tattooed Chloe's name over his heart. And tattooed her lip print on his inner thigh.

As the needle pierced my wrist for the first time, I couldn't help but wince at the sharp sting. The owner suddenly spoke. "Tell me the story behind your scars."

I paused for a moment, then chuckled. "Since when do tattoo artists double as therapists?"

In the public eye, Julian was the ultimate winner in life. Professionally, he had ridden the wave of the tech boom, expanding his empire and climbing higher every year. Romantically, he was madly in love with an Alist actress, living a pictureperfect family life.

"When I first met Julian, he was already married to Chloe," the owner said. "And Chloe looks exactly like you."

I gave a small smile and pulled a pack of cigarettes from my purse. "Do you mind?" He shook his head. I blew out a ring of smoke, thought for a moment, and said slowly, "I'm Julian's exwife."

6 Julian and I met in college. He was a senior in my department. When he decided to launch his startup, he recruited me. Today, Zenith Tech is an absolute titan in the industry, but when it started, it was just the two of us.

Julian had impossibly high standards. He was a legend on campus, and hundreds of people submitted their resumes when he announced he was hiring. "But I was the only one who stayed." Smoke curled into the air as I narrowed my eyes at the memory. "The Julian back then was insanely arrogant. Looked down his nose at everyone. I was the very last person to interview."

Neither of us had high hopes. I thought he was a pretentious snob playing CEO; he had spent the whole day interviewing people and concluded that everyone was a moron, including me. "But we ended up talking the entire night. When the sun came up, he reached out his hand and said, 'Let's get to work.'"

"We shared the same vision and the same goals. Julian was fiercely ambitious." I flicked the ash off my cigarette. "And as it turned out, so was I."

During the first two years of Zenith Tech, Julian and I rented a cheap apartment offcampus. We hustled for clients together. We pitched to investors together. Julian was my mentor. He taught me everything he knew—networking, industry secrets, technical knowledge—holding absolutely nothing back.

On my twentysecond birthday, Julian and I stayed up all night writing code. When the first light of dawn broke, he leaned against the window and lit a cigarette. "He asked me," I took a drag of my own cigarette, "if I knew how to smoke."

Curious, I leaned in to try, only to end up coughing until tears streamed down my face. Julian started laughing. He pulled me into his arms, pressed me against his chest, tilted his head down, and kissed me. When the kiss ended, he asked me if I wanted to marry him.

The buzzing of the tattoo machine paused for a second. The owner said, "Usually, the question is 'Do you want to be my girlfriend?'"

I laughed too. It felt like I was telling a story about someone else, watching a fire burn from safely across the river. "I said yes. And that very same day, we secured our first round of seed funding." "Riding the AI boom, Zenith Tech skyrocketed. In just one year, we became the rising star of the industry." "The day Zenith established its core executive team, I took over as CEO, and Julian took me home to meet his family."

"That was the day I found out that 'Julian' was Julian Vance of the Vance shipping empire. One of the oldest, wealthiest money families in the state."

7 The Vance family built their fortune on shipping. With three generations of old money, they were absolute royalty. Naturally, our marriage faced massive opposition. But Julian had the guts to break away from his family to start his own business; he certainly wasn't going to let them dictate his marriage.

"Julian fought them for two years. He was so stubborn that his grandfather actually beat him until he ended up in the hospital. Countless family elders pressured him, but he never compromised."

The ash from my cigarette fell silently to the floor. I watched it for a moment before speaking softly. "When Zenith secured its Series A funding, we finally got married." "We kept the wedding simple. Just a small ceremony on an island. He later bought the island, put it in my name, and called it Serenity."

The owner completely stopped tracing the lines. I nodded. "Yes. The exact island we're on right now."

"Julian signed a prenup. Aside from my founder's shares in Zenith, he liquidated every cent of cash he could touch and set up an ironclad trust fund for me." "He said he wanted Zenith Tech to be my ultimate safety net." "Back then, everyone sighed and said Julian loved me so much it was terrifying. The financial entanglement was so deep it left absolutely zero room for divorce."

"I used to believe that too." The cigarette had burned down halfway. I crushed it into the ashtray. "Until the first year of our marriage, when he personally handpicked Chloe Stewart to be the global brand ambassador for Zenith."

I had asked Julian why he chose a completely unknown, Dlist actress. "Don't you think," Julian had said, pointing at a massive billboard of Chloe, "she looks exactly like you did in college?" "She's got about 80% of your aura," he chuckled before I could even respond. "But she's completely emptyheaded. An absolute airhead."

"Chloe blew up overnight." The owner's voice pulled me out of the past. "If I remember correctly, she became a household name at nineteen."

"Yeah," I recalled. "Less than a year after becoming the ambassador, she was famous across the entire country." "The day she won Best New Actress was Julian's twentyfifth birthday. We had dinner reservations." "I waited for two hours, but he never showed. His phone went straight to voicemail, and even Assistant Evans couldn't reach him." "Until 8:00 PM, when a headline exploded onto the internet: Chloe Stewart Caught in Passionate Kiss with Mystery Man."

"I clicked on it." I looked up at the owner and smiled. "The mystery man was my husband."

8 They kissed with such desperate passion, he had her pinned against the hood of a car. The car was literally shaking. Julian, who was always so cold and composed, noticed the paparazzi camera. His immediate first reaction was to shove the fragile Chloe protectively into his chest to hide her face.

The video froze on the frame of Julian glaring lethally into the lens.

I tortured myself by watching it over, and over, and over again. My tears fell onto the screen, landing right on the side profile of Chloe's face as it was buried in Julian's chest. It looked almost exactly like I had in college.

I dug into the story and found out the whole truth. Chloe had been backed into a corner by sleazy executives at a dinner party, and Julian had stepped in to save her. From that night on, Chloe's career was a golden paved road. The absolute best resources in the industry were handed to her on a silver platter.

When I slammed the dossier of evidence onto the table in front of him, Julian didn't try to explain, nor did he panic. He just lit a cigarette and asked me: "What do you want to do?" "Company shares? A new project lead?" Julian said. "We can negotiate whatever you want. Just keep Chloe out of this. It hasn't been easy for her to get where she is."

Julian's freezing, robotic detachment turned me into a lunatic.

I grew up without a father. To me, Julian wasn't just a partner; he filled the void of an older, protective figure in my life. First, he was my mentor. Only later did he become my husband. During Zenith's volatile growth phase, when I was drowning in stress and lacked experience, Julian was the one standing behind me, guiding my hand through every single crisis. To make sure I felt secure marrying him, he used brutal, tangible financial leverage to build an indestructible fortress around me.

I never, ever imagined that fortress would collapse. And definitely not in such a disgusting, humiliating way.

"So you used every connection you had to blackball Chloe from the industry," the owner said. "But you failed."

"And failed spectacularly," I said, laughing at my own expense. "At the time, deep down, I still held onto a tiny shred of delusional hope." "I thought Julian was just playing around, or that he had a moment of weakness and made a mistake." "Don't look at me like that," I told the owner. "I was way too young back then."

But Julian's counterattack slapped me right across the face. He used ruthless, overwhelming force to bury the trending topics and save Chloe's career. A week later, the supposedly "blackballed" Chloe was triumphantly announced as the female lead in a blockbuster movie by a legendary director.

9 The first raised pink scar became the bottom wingline of the butterfly. It was a piercing blue. The stinging in my wrist had turned to a dull throb. I stared at it for a moment. "That's how the first scar got there."

"Chloe came to me. Using a face that looked exactly like I did in college, she begged me to let her and Julian be together." "You see? Being loved makes people stupid." I sighed. "She actually had the nerve to look me in the eye and say, 'The one who isn't loved is the real third wheel.'"

So I launched a second wave of retaliation against Chloe. I bought off massive armies of social media influencers to expose her true colors as a homewrecker who knew exactly what she was doing.

The room grew quiet, save for the buzzing of the tattoo gun. It had been five years. No matter how intense the love or the hate had been, the river of time had eroded most of it away. Except for this one thing.

"Julian used Zenith Tech to threaten me." My voice went hard. "He used the empire we bled to build together to hold me hostage."

Julian had founded Zenith because of his innate arrogance. He refused to rely on his family's money or influence for everything. Building Zenith from nothing... only he and I truly knew how agonizing it was. I controlled the core product and the engineering teams. But for Chloe, Julian was willing to let Zenith Tech burn to the ground.

"You only have Zenith. I still have the Vance empire." When things got their ugliest, Julian remained terrifyingly cold. "Evelyn, the only reason you are where you are today is because I gave it to you. Including Zenith."

"I was really just too young," I sighed for what felt like the hundredth time. "The day the paparazzi photos of Julian and Chloe at the hotel broke... it was exactly our oneyear wedding anniversary." "I saw the red lip tattoo on his inner thigh. And that's how I got the first scar on my wrist."

When I woke up in the hospital, Julian was sitting by my bed. With red, bloodshot eyes, he pulled me into his arms. And for the first time, I chose to compromise.

Because I was pregnant. Three months.

10 "If that baby had been born, he'd probably be about the same age as that little boy today."

I felt a wave of melancholy wash over me and offered a selfdeprecating smile. I fought back the urge to reach for another cigarette, pausing for a long moment before I finally found the courage to continue.

"Because of the pregnancy, I gave up on the divorce. That child wouldn't just inherit Zenith, he would eventually inherit the Vance empire." "My marriage was already a complete disaster, and Julian had destroyed every single fantasy I ever had about love. But realistically... it was an incredibly lucrative business deal."

Julian flawlessly achieved a balancing act between two women. I became the "magnanimous" wife, swallowing my pride and vomiting blood in secret, cleaning up the constant PR messes of my husband's affairs with the Alist star over and over again. Chloe's career skyrocketed. There was even a legion of psychotic fans entirely devoted to "shipping" her and Julian.

Until my seventh month. On my way home from Zenith Tech, my car was rammed off the road by one of Chloe's deranged superfans.

"...I went into premature labor. When I woke up," I went dead silent for a long, long time before I could finally force the words out. "I was the only one who survived."

Julian's solution? He buried the story. Once again, he protected Chloe's glittering, untouchable stardom. Even though that car crash put me in a hospital bed for six months. Even though I lost our child.

"The divorce proceedings dragged on for six months. Fueled by pure, vicious hatred over losing my baby, I ripped away more than half of Julian's net worth in Zenith."

The buzzing of the tattoo machine finally stopped. The owner gently wiped away the excess ink with a cloth. A stunning blue butterfly looked ready to take flight off my skin.

"And that is the story behind the second scar." I reached out and gently traced the tattoo. "Six months after the divorce, Julian remarried. Chloe got exactly what she wanted and married into the billionaire dynasty." "They got their fairytale, happilyeverafter ending."

"I moved down south. The psychological backlash was brutal. There were countless nights I woke up screaming, hearing a baby crying." "When it got really bad, I drank in the bathtub and took a razor blade to my wrist again. That was the stupidest thing I ever did." "But everything passes." I looked up at the owner and smiled. "We're already in the spring of our fifth year apart."

By the time I left the studio, it was midafternoon. The island sky was a blinding, vibrant blue, and the sea breeze carried a salty, humid dampness. As I strapped my watch over the bandage and stepped out of the building, I looked up—almost as if I sensed it coming—and saw the black RollsRoyce Cullinan parked a short distance away.

The rear window rolled down. Julian looked at me.

11 "Where is your hotel?" Julian's tone was entirely casual. "I'll give you a ride."

The little boy was leaning over his shoulder, looking at me with big, innocent, watery eyes. Maybe it was just my imagination, or maybe Chloe really did look too much like me, but I felt an inexplicable fondness for the child.

Because of that fleeting connection, I paused for a second before answering. "Mr. Vance, there's no need." "Given the circumstances, it's best we keep our distance." My voice was polite and calm. "Goodbye."

Serenity wasn't a massive island, but the scenery was breathtaking. The sky and the ocean bled into a brilliant blue spring canvas. It looked exactly the same as it did on the day we got married.

I sped down the coastal road. Glancing in my rearview mirror, I noticed a white sedan tailgating me aggressively. My heart hammered against my ribs. I slammed on the gas, trying to put distance between us.

During a sharp turn, I caught a glimpse of the driver. It was Julian.

The man’s face was completely devoid of emotion as he violently cranked the steering wheel. With the deafening screech of burning rubber, the sedan drifted wildly, cutting directly across my path and forcing me to slam on the brakes to avoid Tboning him.

The violent jolt of the brakes slammed my back hard against the seat. I took a deep breath, spent a few seconds steadying my racing heart, grabbed my purse, and stepped out of the car.

Julian had just slammed his car door shut. His attitude was terrifyingly relaxed. "Evy. You hate me. We can never be strangers."

I stared at him. Even after five years, the absolute shamelessness and psycho energy radiating from this man hadn't changed a bit.

"You're mistaken, Mr. Vance. I don't hate you." I remained perfectly composed. "Given the relationship we have now, 'hate' is far too heavy a word. I genuinely don't care enough to hate you."

Julian offered a faint smile and looked down. "I know you started a new tech firm down in the south a few years ago. If—" He held a business card out to me. "If you ever need any help, you can always reach out. I never changed my number."

"I was too young back then. I was ruthless and burned every bridge." Julian's eyes dropped to the fresh bandage on my wrist. His voice went hoarse. "I regret..."

His sentence was violently cut short as I swung my heavy leather handbag and smashed it directly across his face. Caught completely off guard, Julian's head snapped to the side. The metal clasp slashed a bloody cut across his cheekbone.

"Don't say you regret it," I said, letting out a soft laugh and shaking out my stinging hand. "It makes you look incredibly pathetic."