Contract Marriage: The President's Stand-in Lover - Extra Chapter/ Chapter 31

Gu Chen: The Unfinished Painting

Seven years had passed.

Spring came early to C City. Outside the new headquarters of the Gu Group,

the ginkgo trees were budding, tender green against the glass walls of steel and light.

Gu Chen stood by the window, a letter in his hand.

The envelope was postmarked from Paris.

You are cordially invited to the international art exhibition

“Light and Shadow.”

Featured Artist: L. Wei-An.

His fingers trembled slightly.

He didn’t need to read the name twice.

He remembered her back that day—walking away with light on her shoulders.

And the words she once said to him:

Maybe one day, I’ll paint a piece called “Goodbye.”

Now, she had done it.

Paris, Louvre Art Center.

The exhibition hall was crowded, the air warm with murmurs and camera flashes.

Gu Chen stood among the visitors, silent, his gaze fixed on the far wall.

There it was her new painting.

Dawn.

On the canvas, a man and a woman stood at opposite banks of the Seine.

The light came from a distance, soft and endless. They faced each other across the river,

their worlds apart.

It was beautiful.

And it hurt.

Beside the painting, a placard read:

Some people teach you how to love.

Some teach you how to be yourself.

When dawn arrives, I no longer fear the night.

His eyes softened as he read.

He thought of the last thing she’d said to him at the airport years ago

Love doesn’t always need an ending.

Only now did he truly understand.

She had forgiven him long ago.

She just didn’t need him anymore.

Behind the gallery, he overheard two curators whispering.

They said the artist, L. Wei-An, would personally unveil the final painting of the exhibition.

He hadn’t expected to see her again.

Yet when the crowd parted, there she was.

Lin Vianne.

She wore a pale shirt, her hair loosely tied, her presence calm as moonlight.

She stood under the spotlight, her smile serene, her eyes carrying the quiet grace of time.

Gu Chen hesitated.

Seven years had taught him restraint and the delicate art of keeping distance.

Then she turned.

Her gaze swept across the room until it found him.

For a moment, surprise flickered in her eyes. Then came a smile gentle, peaceful.

The kind reserved for an old friend one no longer aches for.

He stepped closer.

His voice was soft. It’s been a long time.

She nodded slightly. Seven years.

You’ve changed, he said.

So have you, she replied, smiling. You’re quieter now.

He lowered his eyes. I’ve seen all your paintings.

She blinked once, lightly. Good. There are no regrets left in them.

A few words.

Enough to close a story seven years in the making.

The unveiling began.

As the curtain fell, the final painting appeared.

The Unfinished.

On the canvas, two hands reached toward each other through a pane of glass.

Light streamed from both sides, meeting softly at their fingertips.

Beneath it, her handwritten note read:

Some love doesn’t need to continue.

Its existence is enough.

Applause rippled through the hall.

Gu Chen did not move.

He only stood there, eyes tender beyond words.

He knew.

That painting was for him.

When the exhibition ended, Lin Vianne walked toward the exit.

Behind her came the quiet rhythm of footsteps.

Gu Chen stood at the bottom of the steps, under the rain, without an umbrella.

He didn’t speak.

She looked at him and smiled.

Gu Chen, before goodbye, we both did well.

He nodded, returning her smile.

After goodbye, I hope you’ll be happy.

She turned and walked away.

Raindrops shimmered in the light, like fragments of the story they never finished.

Gu Chen lifted his gaze to the skyline of Paris,

and for the first time, his heart did not ache.

He simply thought, quietly, gently

She had finally become herself.

And he had finally learned what it meant to love someone

without needing to keep them.

The End.