Sylvie's face turned deathly pale. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed her phone, booked the earliest ticket, and rushed to the hospital without stopping.

Along the way, she clutched her phone tightly, her fingers trembling as she silently prayed.

Please, let Mom be okay.

But when she arrived and saw her mother lying motionless on the hospital bed, tubes attached to her frail body, tears spilled uncontrollably down her cheeks.

"How… how did this happen?" Her voice cracked as she turned to her mother’s best friend, who stood anxiously by the bedside. "The nursing home said her blood pressure was stable! Why did she suddenly—?"

The woman hesitated, her face pale with fear.

"I… I don’t know! Rosalie was looking at her phone when she suddenly fainted! We struggled to carry her here in time!"

Sylvie’s heart pounded. She spun around, frantically searching.

Her mother’s phone—where was it?

Finally, she spotted it amidst a pile of medicines.

Her hands shook as she picked it up, her mind racing.

The passcode.

Her birthday.

With a trembling breath, she unlocked the screen.

A video was still playing.

Sylvie hesitated, her pulse erratic, before pressing play.

The moment the footage resumed, her entire body froze.

The screen revealed that nightmare—the day she was assaulted.

The man in black. The struggle. Her cries.

A choked sob escaped her lips as her vision blurred with fresh tears.

Her mother… had seen this?

Had this been the reason for her collapse?

Sylvie’s grip tightened around the phone, her nails digging into her palm.

There was only one person who could have leaked this.

Ivy.

Blood rushed to her head. Her chest heaved as she let out a gut-wrenching scream, her pain echoing through the cold, sterile hospital walls.

—

After her mother’s condition stabilized, Sylvie returned home.

But with every step closer, a searing pain tore through her chest.

It hurt.

Every breath, every movement felt like a blade slicing through her soul.

By the time she reached her doorstep, her feet felt like lead. It took everything in her to move forward.

Then, laughter drifted from inside.

A familiar voice rang out, light and joyful, shattering what was left of her sanity.

"Really? Am I really pregnant?"

Gideon’s eyes shone with uncontainable excitement, like twin suns burning with joy.

"It’s true! I just found out today," Ivy said softly, a faint blush tinting her cheeks.

Gideon ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth, his thoughts racing. "I have to tell my parents. How should I even start?"

His excitement was so overwhelming that he almost didn’t notice the figure standing in the doorway.

Sylvie.

"Sylvie, come in!" Gideon beamed, grabbing her hand as if eager to share his happiness. "Ivy is pregnant! I’m going to be a father!"

His joy was radiant, infectious. But Sylvie didn’t feel warmth—only an unbearable cold creeping into her bones.

She stared at him, numb, her fingers icy in his grip.

After what felt like an eternity, she finally whispered, "Congratulations."

The words tasted bitter on her tongue.

Her vision blurred as tears welled up, yet all she saw was emptiness. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, as if trying to contain the unbearable pain threatening to shatter her from within.

That night, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Ivy moved into Gideon’s bedroom.

Sylvie lay alone in her cold, empty bed. Her lips were pale, her body curled tightly, and silent tears soaked into the pillow beneath her.

She had lost.

In the dead of night, a sharp knock shattered the silence.

"Sylvie, are you awake? Get up!" Gideon’s urgent voice echoed through the door.

Sylvie forced herself up, her body heavy with exhaustion, and dragged herself to open it.

Before she could speak, Gideon cut in impatiently.

"Ivy is hungry. She wants shrimp wontons. Go make some."

Sylvie froze.

She looked at him, disbelief flickering in her weary eyes.

"It’s the middle of the night," she murmured, her voice hoarse. "Where am I supposed to find shrimp wontons at this hour?"

"If you don’t have them, go buy them! Hurry up!"

Gideon's voice was sharp with impatience, his irritation barely concealed. Without waiting for Sylvie’s response, he grabbed her wrist and half-dragged, half-shoved her out the door—still in her thin pajamas.

The door slammed shut behind her with a resounding bang.

Sylvie stood there, staring at the closed door, her expression unreadable. She lowered her gaze, her thoughts a tangled mess.

The Scottish Highlands winter was unforgiving, its icy winds slicing through her thin clothing, but nothing was colder than the hollow ache inside her.

Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and stepped into the darkness.

Fortunately, Sylvie had always been kind to those around her. The local farmers, moved by her past kindness, welcomed her and sold her the ingredients she needed.

When she returned home, the kitchen was silent except for the steady rhythm of her knife against the chopping board.

She was chopping shrimp, her hands moving mechanically. In the pot, a big bone soup simmered, filling the air with warmth she couldn't feel.

She stood there, motionless apart from her hands, staring at the minced shrimp paste with empty eyes.

There was no crying. No anger. Just silence.

When the wontons were ready, she carried them to Ivy’s bedside.

Gideon immediately took the bowl, scooped up a dumpling, blew on it gently, and brought it to Ivy’s lips with the utmost care.

Ivy, wrapped in the quilt, had tears glistening in her eyes, her lips pushed into a pout like a child who had been wronged. She took a tiny bite, then instantly frowned.

"It’s not delicious! I don’t want it!" she whined, her voice sharp with dissatisfaction, her tears threatening to spill over.

"Ivy, just have a bite. It’s the middle of the night—there’s nothing else to eat," Gideon coaxed, his voice soft, his patience boundless.

But Ivy refused to yield. Her emotions flared, and in a burst of petulance, she knocked the bowl from Gideon’s hands.

The bowl shattered against the floor with a loud crack, its pieces scattering in the silence of the night.

The steaming soup splattered across the floor—some of it landing on Sylvie.

She flinched slightly at the sudden heat against her skin.

Sylvie stood motionless, as if she no longer felt pain—the scalding soup on her skin, the sharp ceramic shards beneath her feet. She was like a hollow shell, drained of emotions, staring blankly ahead.

Then, suddenly, Ivy covered her mouth, her face twisting in discomfort.

"Ivy, are you okay?" Gideon immediately stepped forward, his voice filled with concern.

"Gideon, I feel dizzy… and nauseous. Could there be something wrong with the food?" Ivy hesitated, her gaze flickering between the spilled wontons and Sylvie.

Gideon's expression darkened. In an instant, he turned, his sharp, accusing eyes locking onto Sylvie.

"I know you don’t like Ivy. But if anything happens to her, I will never forgive you!"

Without waiting for a response, he scooped Ivy into his arms and strode out.

As they passed, Ivy tilted her head slightly, just enough for Sylvie to see the smug, contemptuous smirk on her lips. Hidden in Gideon’s embrace, she subtly raised her middle finger—mocking, victorious.

Sylvie clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, trying to suppress the pain welling up inside her. But no matter how much she tried to hold it in, tears slipped past her defenses, streaming down her face uncontrollably.

Just because of her words, you doubt me?

After everything… am I really so worthless in your heart?

Her silent cries soaked her clothes, and the crushing weight in her chest made it hard to breathe. Every beat of her heart felt like it was being torn apart.

That night, Gideon didn’t come back.

Sylvie lay alone in bed, her sleep restless.

She dreamed of suffocating darkness, of something gnawing at her insides, twisting and grinding like rusted gears. As her consciousness sharpened, the pain in her body intensified.

A searing, wrenching agony gripped her chest. Her limbs spasmed involuntarily, cold sweat drenching her back. It felt as if every last ounce of strength was draining from her, leaving her barely able to move.

By morning, the pain had dulled into a numb, empty ache.

Gideon finally returned, Ivy nestled beside him.

He walked in to find Sylvie sitting by the window, her figure bathed in the pale morning light.

She wasn’t crying.

She wasn’t screaming.

She simply sat there, staring into the distance, her eyes hollow and unreadable.

For the first time, a flicker of guilt crossed Gideon’s face.

Maybe… what he said last night had been too harsh.

A flicker of guilt crossed Gideon’s heart as he cautiously approached Sylvie.

"Sylvie, I'm sorry. I was too harsh last night. I was just worried about the baby in Ivy’s belly. Don’t take it to heart."

Sylvie turned to look at him, her gaze light and indifferent.

Her voice was as soft as the wind. "Forget it. No matter how much I suffer, in your eyes, it's just hypocrisy."

But instead of remorse, her words only seemed to ignite Gideon’s anger.

"What suffering?" His voice sharpened. "I just asked you to make a bowl of wontons! Was it really that serious? You're just being petty!"

Sylvie stared at him in disbelief.

The man in front of her… was he really the same person she had once loved?

Something inside her cracked. A storm of emotions—hatred, grief, and disbelief—rose in her eyes.

Then, after a long pause, she forced out a smile. A smile more painful than crying. It felt as if a thousand shards of glass had pierced her fragile heart all at once.

Gideon’s expression darkened further. "What’s with that look? If you don’t want to stay, then get out!"

His voice was laced with impatience, his anger seething just beneath the surface.

Just as he was about to explode again, his phone rang.

"Gideon! When are you bringing that girl back? Your dad and I can start discussing the marriage proposal. Your grandma even bought her a big golden bowl! That’s money she saved from her teeth!"

Naomi Clarke’s excited voice boomed through the speaker.

Gideon’s brows furrowed. "Mom, I told you—"

Before he could finish, Ivy snatched the phone and spoke sweetly, her voice filled with obedience.

"Auntie, I’ll discuss it with Gideon first. Mm-hmm… Thank you for your concern!"

Sylvie’s body trembled violently.

Her lips curled into a miserable, bitter smile.

"So… you’re going to marry her?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her gaze bore into Gideon, searching—begging—for a different answer.

A simple no would have been enough.

Even if he just turned around and looked at her, she might still have had hope.

But—

"I can't let the child in Ivy’s belly be without a father, so..."

Gideon lowered his eyes, his tone unnervingly calm, as if he were talking about something ordinary.

But to Sylvie, his words were like a thunderclap.

A deafening buzz filled her ears. Her mind went blank. It was as if the world had suddenly collapsed around her.

Her face turned deathly pale. Her entire body began to tremble.

"Okay… okay… congratulations, Mr. Clarke."

Her voice was so weak, so fragile, it was almost inaudible.

She closed her eyes, trying to suppress the overwhelming grief surging through her. But her lashes wouldn’t stop quivering, and her chest felt as if it were being crushed.

She could hardly breathe.

Three years ago, she had brought up marriage to Gideon so many times.

After all… she wasn’t young anymore.

Every time she brought up marriage, Gideon would always change the subject, hiding behind his so-called faith.

With unwavering confidence, he had once told her, "Sylvie, when my spiritual practice bears fruit, it won’t be too late for us to talk about it. You’ll support me, right?"

But now, those words felt like a cruel joke.

It was as if a sharp blade had carved countless scars into Sylvie’s heart, each one deeper than the last.

She allowed herself to drown in the pain, unable to resist, unable to escape.

Her entire being—her soul—plunged into an endless abyss of darkness, swallowing her whole.

Gideon opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could—

"Gideon, aren’t we going for a prenatal check-up later? Let’s go now," Ivy interrupted sweetly.

Without hesitation, she took his hand and led him out.

Sylvie’s world turned deathly still.

All the color drained from her face in an instant.

It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over her, freezing her to the core.

Her fingertips trembled.

She instinctively raised her hand—just a little—wanting to reach out, wanting to stop him.

But all she could do was watch his back disappear from her sight.

The swaying trees outside the window seemed to mock her, their rustling leaves whispering tales of her helplessness and cowardice.

At that moment, the last shred of hope she had been holding onto vanished.

Sylvie stared blankly at the open door, her eyes empty, her body motionless—like a lifeless husk, a shell abandoned by its soul.

She had no idea how long she stood there until the sharp ring of her phone jolted her back to reality.

"Ms. Harrington, don’t forget to arrive at the operating room on the third floor of the hospital at 2 o’clock this afternoon," the doctor’s voice from the plastic surgery hospital reminded her.

"Okay," she replied without hesitation.

Without a second thought, Sylvie booked her ticket, packed her things, and left.

She chose a sleeper train. The journey from the Scottish Highlands region to Westport took over ten hours.

Outside the window, the scenery transformed—majestic, snow-capped mountains giving way to endless rolling grasslands, rivers weaving through valleys, and the world shifting before her eyes.

But Sylvie barely noticed.

Memories of the past eight years—of meeting, of falling in love, of everything—played in her mind like an old, faded film.

Her tears had long since dried.

She sat still, watching the ever-changing landscape blur past, her gaze empty.

"It doesn’t matter anymore… Forget it."

After countless hours and a restless journey, Sylvie finally arrived at the entrance of the plastic surgery hospital.

She took a firm step, as if walking toward a new life…

Meanwhile, Gideon returned home with Ivy, assuming Sylvie had gone to work.

After settling Ivy down, he made his way to the chapel, seeking solace in chanting.

Midway through his prayers, a fellow practitioner approached him.

"I saw your girlfriend at the station today. Where is she going?"

The rhythmic tapping of the wooden fish stopped abruptly. Gideon sat frozen, his back rigid.

Then—snap.

The string of the rosary in his hand suddenly broke.