“Packing,” I said quietly.

He stepped closer, and the scent of cologne reached me. My stomach sank. It was the same one I had smelled on Yvette earlier today.

His hand shot out, gripping my wrist. “So you’re leaving me because I had lunch with Yvette? You hurt her, Dahlia, and she didn’t even hold it against you. Yet you’re the one sulking?”

I looked up at him. His eyes were not cold, not soft, but full of something worse—irritation.

“Our families go back generations,” he said. “Her parents asked me to take care of her now that she’s back from abroad. Can’t you, for once, be more understanding?”

The word cut through me. Understanding. As if I hadn’t already given up everything for him once. As if I hadn’t already died for him.

How much more understanding did he expect from me?

“Say something!” he barked.

I stayed silent. My silence was the only shield I had left.

His grip tightened, then dropped. Anger darkened his face. “Fine. Stay stubborn. Let’s see how long you can keep this up. You have nowhere else to go. I owned half of the New York City.”

He slammed the door so hard the floor trembled.

I sat there staring at the half-filled suitcase. In my past life, I would have cried until my throat was raw. I would have run after him, begging him to choose over me... but this time, I bit my lip and kept packing.

The next morning, I came downstairs and froze.

Yvette was seated comfortably on the sofa, chatting sweetly with Mrs. Wilma Livingston. She wore a white dress, her smile radiant, her presence polished like she already belonged here.

When she saw me, her lips curved even brighter. “Miss Calloway, you’re up. My parents insisted Austin take me to the auction today. Don’t misunderstand, please.”

I glanced at Austin. He was fixing his cufflinks, expression unreadable. Not once did he look at me.

“I’m not misunderstanding,” I said softly. “What you do has nothing to do with me.”

For a moment, he paused, frowning faintly, but he said nothing.

Yvette laughed lightly. “Why don’t you come too, Miss Calloway? You’re free, aren’t you?”

Before I could refuse, she linked her hand through mine and pulled me along, her nails digging lightly into my skin as though reminding me who truly had the upper hand.

--

The auction hall glittered like a palace. Men in tailored suits, women draped in diamonds, all of them people who belonged in Austin’s world.

He sat in the front row, paddle in hand, bidding without hesitation. Each time, the items won were handed to Yvette, her smile growing brighter as she leaned close to whisper in his ear.

They looked like a pair of newlyweds. I sat on the side, invisible, like a slave.

At one point, Yvette’s voice rose, sweet as honey. “Austin babe, maybe buy something for Miss Calloway too?”

His reply was flat, dismissive. “She wouldn’t know how to use them.”

The words dropped heavy, stripping me raw.

Yvette gave me a look of satisfaction, as though she had won a battle without lifting a weapon.

My fingers brushed the glossy catalogue on my lap. He was wrong. It wasn’t that I didn’t know how to use these things. It was that in his eyes, I didn’t deserve them.

No matter how much I had once meant to him, no matter how many nights I had stayed by his side, to him I was still just a girl from the slums. A woman he could discard without regret.

I sat in silence, watching Austin spend money like water on Yvette, every item handed to her as though I didn’t even exist.

Then the final piece appeared.

An ivory comb, its teeth delicately carved, the spine inlaid with gemstones that shimmered under the lights.

My breath hitched, and my hand clenched around the paddle.

It was my grandmother’s heirloom!

Three years ago, when Austin had been delivering food late into the night just to save for my birthday, he was hit by a car and nearly lost his life. The hospital bill was so high that I sold the comb, my last memory of my grandmother, just to save him. I had promised myself I would get it back one day.

But by the time I scraped together the money, it was gone. Vanished into someone else’s hands. I had searched every antique shop, begged every dealer, but it never appeared again.

Until now.

Without thinking, I lifted the paddle. “One million.”

Heads turned. Yvette looked back at me, startled, before her lips curved. She raised her own paddle. “Three million.”

“Four million,” I said.

“Ten million,” she countered smoothly, almost like she enjoyed watching me bleed.

The bids climbed, sharp as daggers. I didn’t care. I would bleed myself dry if it meant holding that comb again.

Austin’s brows furrowed. His gaze flicked between us before he finally raised his own paddle.

The gavel came down. “Sold! To Mr. Livingston.”

Applause broke out around us, hollow and mocking in my ears.

Then he turned, not to me, but to her. “You like it? It’s yours.”

My fingers went numb. The paddle slipped from my hand, clattering loudly against the marble floor.

I watched helplessly as the comb—my grandmother’s comb—was placed into Yvette’s hands. She beamed, cradling it as if it were a treasure, before gasping suddenly. “Oh no!”

The comb slipped.

I lunged forward, but it was too late.

It hit the ground and snapped cleanly in two, gemstones scattering like tiny stars across the floor. The sound of it breaking tore through me louder than the applause ever could.

My body moved on its own. I shoved Yvette aside and dropped to the floor, gathering the shattered pieces in trembling hands.

“Dahlia!”

Austin’s voice cracked like a whip, cold and sharp. He rushed to steady Yvette, shielding her behind him. “What the hell are you doing?!”

My vision blurred with tears. “What am I doing? This was my grandmother’s! You promised me… You promised that if you ever saw it again, you would buy it back for me. You don’t even remember, do you?”

For a moment, something flickered in his eyes. Recognition. Guilt.

Then it was gone, buried under ice.

“That was years ago,” he said flatly. “How could you expect me to remember something like that? And Yvette didn’t drop it on purpose. How could you just shove her like that?”

Yvette clung to his sleeve, her eyes shimmering with tears that seemed rehearsed. “It’s my fault… I was careless.”

He turned to her, “It’s not your fault. Don’t cry.” He reached up, brushing her tears away with the gentleness he once reserved for me.

Then his gaze cut back to me, cold and unforgiving. “I’ll have it repaired. Stop embarrassing yourself.”

With that, he led her away, her hand in his, the broken comb still clutched in his other palm. He didn’t spare me a single glance.

---

Outside, rain began to fall. The sound bled through the walls, steady and merciless, washing over me like a reminder.

In my past life, this moment destroyed me.

But now, nothing.

I stood at the entrance, watching as Austin’s black Maybach pulled away with Yvette in the front seat.

The venue was far from the city. No taxis came. I waited half an hour before giving up and walking through the rain.

By the time I got home, my feet were screaming. When I peeled off my heels, the blisters had already burst, sticking to my stockings. Pain shot up my legs and dragged a hiss from my lips.

I collapsed onto the sofa, staring up at the ceiling, empty and numb.

And then I remembered.

That winter years ago, he carried me three kilometers through the rain to get me to the hospital. He had no money for a taxi, but he would not let me take a single step.

“Dahlia, hold on a little longer, we’re almost there,” he had said.

His back had been so warm that the rain felt sweet against my skin.

Now? He had a car worth hundreds of millions, yet couldn’t wait five minutes for me.

After cleaning my wounds, I buried myself in bed. Sleep was safer than thinking, because if I thought for even a second, grief would crush me.

No one knew the truth. I never wanted the heir of the Livingston family. I only wanted the man who once whispered my name in a tiny apartment, holding me close with nothing but love.

But that man disappeared the day Austin regained his memory.

Tears slipped free as I closed my eyes.

---

The next day, the sound of the bedroom door opening jolted me awake.

Austin stood there, perfect as ever in his suit. “There’s a family banquet tonight. You’re coming with me.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want him to notice I was preparing to leave. After a pause, I nodded.

Pain flared in my ankle with every step as I dressed.

Half an hour later, we arrived at the Livingston villa, its windows glowing with light.

The moment we stepped in, I saw Yvette on the sofa. She was dressed in Chanel, chatting warmly with Austin's Grandma, Mrs. Livingston. Mr. Livingston sat nearby, smiling proudly, as though looking at the family he wished he had.

“Austin is here!” Mrs. Livingston rose quickly, her face lighting up. She went straight to her grandson and took his arm. She didn’t even glance my way. “Yvette has been waiting for you.”

Austin’s eyes flicked toward me, as if expecting to catch pain on my face, or at least a crack in my mask. But I had nothing left to show him. My face stayed calm, as though none of it mattered.

Yvette turned her head with a look of surprise that I knew was fake. “Miss Calloway is here too? Please, sit. Don’t be shy.”

Only then did Mrs. Livingston spared me a glance. “Since you’re here, behave yourself! Do not embarrass my family.”

I said nothing.

At dinner, Mrs. Livingston and Yvette laughed together, trading stories about the social circle. Mr. Livingston and Austin discussed business.

Not a single word was spoken to me.

I sat quietly, eating my food, pretending to be invisible. Still, I couldn’t block out Mrs. Livingston’s barbs drifting across the table.

“Family background really matters.”

“Some girls just don’t know their place.”

“Yvette and Austin grew up together. They suit each other perfectly.”

I had heard it all before.

At the beginning, Austin would snap at her, telling her to stop. Later, he only frowned and said, “Enough, Grandma.”

Now? He didn’t even frown.

I sipped my soup, letting the warmth slide down my throat, though my chest stayed cold.

After dinner, Austin drove us back. Naturally, Yvette claimed the passenger seat, leaving me in the back like extra baggage.

The music playing was Yvette’s favorite. She and Austin chatted casually, laughing sometimes, their voices blending with the melody.

I leaned against the window, staring at the neon lights blurred by rain. Another winter came back to me. Austin, on a second-hand bicycle, pedaling through the freezing night. My arms around his waist, my frozen hands stuffed inside his coat pocket.

“Dahlia, when I have money, I’ll buy a good car. You’ll never be cold again,” he had promised.

Now he had money. But the passenger seat wasn’t mine.

The blare of a horn snapped me out of my thoughts. Headlights cut across the road. A truck swerved toward us.

CRASH!

In that split second, I saw Austin move. Not toward me. Toward Yvette. He threw his body across hers, shielding her from the impact.

I was flung forward, my forehead slamming into the windshield. Warm blood trickled down, blurring my vision.

In my past life, I had survived this.

But survival was the cruelest part, because even on the edge of life and death, Austin’s choice was clear.

He didn’t choose me.

And I heard it then. The sound of my heart breaking for the last time.

When I woke up again, I was lying in a hospital bed.

My forehead throbbed under a bandage, and my ankle wasn’t the only thing hurting anymore. New cuts, bruises, aches that flared with the slightest movement—I felt like my body had been chewed up and spit back out.

I tried to push myself up, but the door opened before I could manage.

The sharp sound of heels filled the room.

Mrs. Livingston walked in, towering in her silence.

“I told you to leave this country! Why are you still here? Still clinging to this ridiculous dream of marrying into the Livingston family?! Is a hundred million not enough?”

Her words sliced straight through me, but I kept my voice even. “It’s not that. The papers aren’t finished yet, Mrs. Livingston. Once my visa comes through, I’ll go. Somewhere far. Somewhere he’ll never find me.”

Her lips curved, amused, like she was already watching me disappear. “See that you do, or else I'll hire someone to shut you off… this is a warning. Leave while you still can.”

The door swung open again, and Austin stepped inside. He was limping but he looked okay.

His presence filled the room in an instant, dark, commanding, the kind of weight that made the air feel smaller.

“Leave? Who’s leaving?” His eyes cut between us, suspicious.

I lowered my gaze, forcing my voice into something steady. “Your grandmother came to check on me. I told her I’m fine. She can go.”

Mrs. Livingston, quick to change her mask, murmured a few empty words about hoping I’d recover, then left with her heels clicking like gunshots.

Now it was just the two of us.

Austin stood there, tense, like he didn’t know where to put his hands. “The accident earlier… It happened so fast. I couldn’t react in time.”

I gave a small nod. “I know. It’s alright.”

“You’re not angry?”

“No.”

His eyes searched mine, restless, almost desperate to find anger that wasn’t there. But I had nothing left to give him. My gaze stayed flat, hollow, like water that had already drowned.

He stepped closer, fingers lifting toward my cheek. “Don’t look at me like that, I—”

“I’m not angry,” I said softly, turning my face away. My voice was calm but final. “I just want to rest. Miss McKinsey is injured too. You should stay with her.”

The silence stretched. Finally, he left.

---

Days blurred after that. He came every morning, every evening, carrying his work into my ward. He’d ask if I was in pain, and I’d always shake my head.

But at night, when the halls were quiet and my eyes opened to the dark, his side of the room was always empty. And from the nurses’ whispers outside, I heard what I was never supposed to hear.

“The girl in the VIP room… her fiancee stayed all night.”

“They say he’s the Livingston heir. Handsome. Devoted.”

I closed my eyes and pretended to sleep. Pretended I couldn’t hear. Pretended I didn’t care.

When the day came for me to leave the hospital, Austin came to take me home.

I limped toward the car, only to stop short at the open door.

Yvette was already there, settled in the passenger seat like she belonged. She wore a beautiful dress like they're going to a party. Her lips curled into a polite smile. “Miss Callaway, I hope you don’t mind me joining. I get carsick, so I can only sit in the front.”

Austin’s jaw tightened, as if he wanted to explain something.

But before he could, I spoke first. “It’s fine.”

I slipped into the back seat, small and silent, like a shadow trailing them.

Austin looked at me through the mirror, words hanging at the edge of his mouth. But nothing came.

Only silence.

---

The car stopped in front of a massive villa, its gates glowing with gold light. My stomach sank. This wasn’t home. He hadn’t brought me back to his estate. He had brought me to a wedding banquet. A golden anniversary of Mr and Mrs. Livingston. His grandparents.

As soon as we stepped out, the whispers started.

“Isn’t that Young Master Livingston? Why did he bring two women?”

“The one in white… that’s Dahlia, right? I heard she crawled out of the slums. No family, no name, nothing. Look at her outfit. Too poor."

“Miss McKinsey and Young Master Livingston… now that is a perfect match.”

The voices weren’t hushed. They wanted me to hear. I stood off to the side, as if I were invisible, as if the words didn’t pierce my skin.

Austin stayed with Yvette the whole time. Pouring her drinks, draping his coat over her shoulders, looking at her like she was the only thing that mattered in the room. His eyes softened when he looked at her—soft enough to drown in.

Then Yvette turned to me with her perfect smile and slipped her arm through mine. “Miss Callaway, come, let me introduce you to some friends.”

Before I could protest, she pulled me into a circle of well-dressed women.

“This is Dahlia,” she said sweetly, her voice carrying far enough for everyone to hear. “Austin’s… poor girlfriend.”

The word tasted false on her tongue, and before I could catch my breath, she switched into flawless Spanish, laughing and chatting as though I weren’t there.

The women caught on quickly, responding in German too. Their laughter rose around me, a language I couldn’t climb into. I stood there, stranded, an island with no bridge.

Then, out of nowhere, Yvette turned to me, “What do you think, Miss Callaway?”

“What?”

“Oh, right.” She gave an apologetic smile. “I forgot you don’t speak French.” Then she turned back to the others. “Miss Callaway hasn’t studied any foreign languages. Don’t mind her.”

Laughter rippled through the group. Soft, delicate, and cruel.

“It’s alright,” Yvette added, “You can always learn.”

Their eyes cut into me, mocking, pitying. My nails bit into my palm… until I lifted my head.

“Actually,” I said smoothly in flawless French, my accent crisp and effortless, “Je comprends très bien tout ce que vous dites.”

(I understand perfectly well everything you’re saying.)

Their laughter faltered. Yvette’s smile froze.