He Made Me His Wedding Painter, I Save Our Kid

Chapter 2 The Boy I Saved

I looked up—and crashed straight into Lucien's furious gaze.

But the second he shouted those words, he froze too.

Because once upon a time, before everything between us fell apart, this had been the sentence he used most whenever he got angry with me.

The day I cut my finger trying to make him fruit after work. The day I got burned by splattering oil while working a shift at a burger place.

Every single time, he would grab my hand with that same frightening expression and scold me harshly.

"Mara, are you trying to ruin your hands?"

Back then, Lucien treated my hands like treasure.

He always said they were made for holding paintbrushes, not for suffering through cheap jobs and kitchen burns.

And honestly, Lucien had always treasured every part of me that way—my hands, my paintings, my dreams... even me.

That was probably because our story had started with a painting.

We met at an art exhibition during college. At the time, we belonged to completely different worlds on campus. He was a year above me, quiet and withdrawn, while I was the type who could talk to anyone.

Before that exhibition, we had never spoken once.

But that day, while crowds passed through the gallery laughing and chatting, Lucien stood alone in front of one of my paintings for nearly an hour.

He neither moved nor spoke.

He just stood there looking at it as though the entire world around him had disappeared.

I still remembered how happy I felt afterward.

I chased after him the moment the exhibition ended, talking nonstop beside him like an i***t. I explained my inspiration, my techniques, the meaning behind every color choice.

Then I eagerly asked him what he thought. Whether he liked it. Whether he had any suggestions.

But Lucien barely answered. Most of the time, he simply listened quietly beside me.

It wasn't until much later that I learned the truth. Back then, Lucien had been suffering from severe depression.

The day we met happened to be the first day after he recovered from another suicide attempt.

But strangely, that knowledge never scared me away. If anything, it only made me stay closer to him.

Before long, we became friends.

And somewhere along the line... friends became lovers.

After that, Lucien started appearing outside my classroom almost every day.

Sometimes he leaned silently against the back wall while I painted for hours. Sometimes he sat beside me until the studio lights shut off at night.

No matter how much I rambled, he always listened patiently.

Even when I talked nonsense. Even when I repeated the same thing over and over. He never looked annoyed.

And little by little, the darkness trapped inside him began to fade. The gloom in those eyes that always looked half-dead slowly softened over time.

Eventually, whenever he looked at me, there was even the faintest trace of a smile. I stayed beside him while he slowly learned how to live like a normal person again.

Then graduation arrived. And reality followed right behind it.

His family found out about us and immediately demanded that we end things.

To them, someone like me was nothing more than an embarrassment standing beside the heir to the Mercer family.

But Lucien didn't hesitate even for a second. He grabbed my hand and ran away with me overseas.

Back then, he held me tightly and promised me over and over again—

"No matter how hard things get, I'll make you the greatest painter in the world."

Then he smiled at me and said something I would never forget.

"It was your paintings that saved me. So no matter what I do for you, you never have to feel guilty."

At the time, Lucien truly believed I was the light that pulled him out of hell. The sun that gave him a reason to keep living.

And in the end... I betrayed him without hesitation.

Because love alone wasn't enough for me. I got tired of struggling. Tired of waiting for a future built one dirty plate at a time.

"So why are you doing this kind of work now?" Lucien's voice suddenly pulled me back to reality.

The memories shattered instantly.

He seemed to have recovered from that brief moment of emotional collapse and slowly released my wrist.

"Since when do waitresses have to wash dishes too?"

His tone had flattened completely again, leaving him sounding distant and almost eerily emotionless.

Just like the version of him I met years ago—the Lucien who looked more like a hollow puppet than a living person.

"I'm just trying to make a little more money," I said awkwardly.

I hurriedly hid my injured hands behind my back before instinctively glancing around the kitchen.

Thankfully, everyone else had already gone home. No one saw us standing together.

"I made some bad investments over the years," I continued with a self-deprecating laugh. "Lost a lot of money. Now I'm stuck working random jobs to pay off debt."

I crouched down to pick up the broken plate pieces scattered across the floor, not daring to look him in the eye anymore.

"Honestly, it's a good thing I ran into you tonight. You were generous enough to—"

Before I could finish, Lucien gently brushed my hand aside.

Without saying a word, he lowered himself and picked up the sharp ceramic shards himself instead. One by one, he tossed them into the nearby trash can.

Then he stood up slowly, his shadow falling over me as he looked down at me.

"So," he asked quietly, "are you still painting?"

I froze there on the floor with empty hands.

For a brief second, even my breathing stopped.

Then I forced myself to look up calmly.

"Of course. Painting's still my real career."

Lucien stared at me silently.

My heartbeat instantly turned chaotic.

I was terrified he would realize I was lying. Terrified he would suddenly decide not to hire me as the wedding painter anymore.

Thankfully, the suffocating silence was interrupted by a phone call.

"Lucien, are you almost home? I made hangover soup for you."

The woman's voice drifting through the phone was gentle and beautiful. Warm enough to make someone instinctively imagine a perfect life.

I unconsciously stepped backward, then silently repeated that name in my heart.

Estelle. The fiancée everyone said suited Lucien perfectly.

"I'll be home soon," Lucien replied softly.

Then after a brief pause, his tone became even gentler.

"You've still got a cold. Stop waiting up for me and get some sleep."

I kept my head lowered the entire time. But I could still feel it clearly.

He was looking at me while saying those words. As if every sentence was meant for me to hear.

A dull ache spread slowly through my chest.

Before he finished the call, I quietly turned around, planning to disappear before things became any more humiliating.

"Mara."

The second I took a step away, Lucien hung up immediately.

I stopped instinctively.

Behind me, his voice sounded low and exhausted.

"You've been hiding from me for seven years already." A brief silence followed.

Then he said quietly,

"Are you really planning to keep hiding forever?"

I clenched my fingers tightly. Before I could answer, Lucien spoke again.

"See you tomorrow."