No wonder Tim could be so utterly deranged as to dig up his mother’s grave just to frame me. As it turned out, the whole “death” was a lie.

I sent Sarah a message.

“Tim’s mother isn’t dead. The truth is in the email I sent you.”

Whether she chose to read it or not was no longer my concern. My flight was booked for three days later. Summer had done the booking.

When Sarah returned home, she saw me packing. Half my clothes had been thrown away, and a small portion had been boxed up and shipped to South City.

“Why are you packing?” she asked, her expression uncertain.

I brushed it off by replying, “Moving.”

She paused briefly but didn’t sense anything wrong. Instead, she continued on her own.

“The Grants’ business is in South City. After we get married, we’ll be moving there anyway. It makes sense to start packing early.”

Then, her gaze sharpened as she looked straight at me.

“About Tim’s mother, you need to apologize as soon as possible. Don’t put me in a difficult position. Why don’t you do it on the wedding day? What do you think?”

After saying that, she tossed her phone aside and went to look for her ID. Today was the day she and Tim were registering their marriage, so she didn’t come back all evening.

When I picked up my phone, a message from Tim popped up immediately. It was a dimly lit photo of a woman. In the picture, Sarah was wearing a maid's outfit, looking straight into the camera. I closed my eyes. Despite myself, a sharp pain pierced my heart. I forced that feeling down and turned off the screen.

Late at night, the phone beside my pillow vibrated once every hour. Each time it buzzed, it was another video from Tim—videos of him and Sarah, sent deliberately to provoke me.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Summer sent me a message.

“Mr. Grant, the flowers have bloomed. You may return at your leisure.”

Attached was a photo of two marriage certificates and a pot of vibrant red peonies. I hadn’t expected that the flower I had casually given her years ago was still being kept alive. For some reason, a strange feeling rose quietly in my chest.

I replied, “Okay.”

I put my phone down and started organizing my laptop and work files, only to realize at some point that Sarah had returned.

She was packing her daily necessities as she spoke. “I’m going to stay with Tim for a few days. He can’t handle preparing the wedding alone. Don’t forget to attend the wedding the day after tomorrow. Be on time. Don’t be late.”

After that, she launched into a long explanation—nothing more than insisting she was just helping out and warning me not to cause trouble again.

“I won’t be going,” I said quietly, my eyes lowered.

After everything that happened last night, the last trace of affection I had for her was gone.

Seeing how calm I was, an inexplicable sense of panic swept over Sarah. She hesitated, but then she thought of Tim’s clingy behavior, and the hand gripping her phone slowly relaxed. She knew I loved her so much. What could possibly go wrong?

With that thought, she let out a breath, and walked out of my sight. I watched as she walked out and dialed a number.

That very night, a helicopter landed in the city plaza.

A man stepped forward. “Mr. Grant, the helicopter you booked has arrived. It will safely deliver you to South City in thirty minutes.”

I nodded, then handed him a sealed document envelope.

“Deliver this to the wedding tomorrow,” I said calmly. “It’s my wedding gift to the bride and groom.”