"If James hadn’t told me, I wouldn’t have known you were actually with someone like that!”

Logan had just been hit and turned his head slightly, but a trace of a smile crept onto his lips.

“Grace, you still say you don’t care about me?”

Grace froze, her eyes reddening with anger.

“Logan, you’re absolutely unbelievable!”

She stepped forward again, raising her hand for another slap.

But her wrist was caught easily by Logan and pulled into his arms.

He wrapped his arm around her waist, resting his chin on her delicate shoulder.

“It’s good to have you back.”

“Don’t be mad, I’ll handle everything.”

Grace struggled gently for a moment but didn’t pull away.

The two of them looked like they belonged in some romantic TV drama.

I still went to the west side of the city to buy the little carton of coconut milk and by the time I got back to the rental house, it was already late.

Logan hadn’t brought a key and stood outside waiting for me.

When he saw me, he paused.

“I went to the apartment before I realized you moved back here again.”

I nodded and unlocked the door.

“The lease ran out. I came back here.”

The place was old and worn, with dim lighting, dirty stair rails and dust everywhere.

It wasn’t like the apartment that cost three grand a month.

“I’m being discharged today. I shouldn’t keep dragging you down.”

Logan wrapped his arms around me from behind.

“The doctor said there’s only about a month left. I don’t want treatment anymore.”

I looked down.

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to be cured. He’d had enough fun and was ready to cut ties. Ready to step into his new life with Grace.

I gave a faint smile.

“Alright.”

“Logan, let’s go visit the cemetery.”

The cemeteries in the city were mostly in the southern suburbs.

I’d searched for days and finally found a spot.

It had mountains at its back, water in front, a southern exposure and was lush and green. It looked peaceful.

I kind of liked it.

I signed the contract and put down a deposit of twenty thousand.

“Emily...” Logan pursed his lips, about to say something, when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

He glanced at the caller ID and quickly hid his expression.

“Emily, a friend needs to see me. I’ll go meet them.”

I nodded without asking questions.

Turning back toward the headstone, I knelt and took out a tissue, wiping off the dust little by little.

My parents died young. I had no relatives, no close friends.

And the only love I ever had… was never truly mine.

I was deep in thought when my phone buzzed.

It was a photo from an unknown number.

A shot of two hands intertwined. No message.

But the hand in the photo—I recognized it instantly.

That hand with its strong fingers, the one I’d held almost every day.

The back of the hand was broad. The palm was always warm.

So Logan had gone to see Grace.

I thought I could accept it. I thought I could smile through it.

But the moment I saw that photo, the breath caught in my chest. My heart felt like it had been carved open.

It reminded me that everything—the last three years—had been nothing but a lie.

The love was fake.

The next few days, Logan went out every day. At night, he came back and curled up with me on our small bed.

I stopped eating.

I was getting lighter and lighter.

Not long ago, I still weighed eighty pounds.

Now I was down to seventy-five.

Logan held me close and frowned.

“How did you get so thin?”

I answered vaguely.

“I’ve been cutting back. Trying to lose weight.”

“You’re too skinny. Don’t lose any more. You’re easier to hold when you’re soft.”

Logan spoke casually, his breath behind my ear gradually settling.

I couldn’t sleep. My stomach ached and my heart twisted with pain.

Lately, Grace had been sending me photos from different numbers.

They started with simple shots of her holding hands with someone.

Then came a kissing photo, Logan’s profile barely visible as if he were some cherished treasure being kissed.

After that, Grace appeared half-undressed, holding Logan in a mirror selfie. His broad shoulders were unmistakable.

Later still, the photos were just a pile of tangled clothes. The message was obvious.

A wave of nausea rolled through me.

I rushed to the bathroom and vomited violently into the toilet.

There had only been a few spoonfuls of porridge for dinner. My stomach was empty. All I could throw up was yellow bile.

My throat burned painfully.

"Emily, what’s wrong?" Logan wandered in sleepily. "Is your stomach upset?"

The light was dim and his loose shirt hung long over him.

He handed me a cup of warm water. I rinsed my mouth and answered hoarsely.

"I think I ate something bad. I’m fine."

"You didn’t eat much again today? Don’t starve yourself because of me." His frown deepened, worried. "If you’re like this, I really don’t feel good about leaving you alone."

He moved over and gently rubbed my back.

I wiped my lips and smiled bitterly to myself.

Another performance.

My stomach twisted again. I couldn’t hold it back and started retching over the toilet once more.

Logan’s expression grew more serious. He grabbed a coat and headed toward the door.

"I’m going to get you some medicine."

The door creaked shut behind him.

I was alone in the room.

The soundproofing in the old building was poor. While I was still vomiting, I could vaguely hear his voice on the phone downstairs through the window.

"James, Emily just started vomiting in the middle of the night. What do you think is going on?"

"Damn, she didn’t use protection three months ago, right? Don’t tell me she’s actually pregnant."

"Of course I can’t let her keep it. How would I explain that to Grace? No way someone like her is going to carry the heir to the Walker family."