Gianna and Vince had known each other since childhood, growing up together, attending the same university, and eventually being driven apart by Roxan’s interference. Their relationship soured into mutual resentment, and their forced marriage was now a bitter entanglement.

She had endured enough and no longer wished to suffer any longer.

Gianna was a light sleeper. When she heard knocking on her door, she chose to ignore it, pretending not to hear.

The doorknob rattled with clumsy and heavy movements, irritating her.

She opened her eyes to see Roxan entering with a tray, carrying a cup of warm milk.

Roxan's tone was gentle. "Gianna, you must not have had dinner yet. Have some warm milk before going to sleep."

Gianna turned her gaze away, her voice icy. "Take it away. I don’t need it."

"Gianna, I know you’re upset with me, but please don’t take it out on your health," Roxan said earnestly, her tone laced with a hint of tears.

"Is playing dumb fun for you?" Gianna, tired of Roxan’s fake innocence, sat up and coldly glared at her. "Even kindergarteners know drinking milk on an empty stomach causes diarrhea. You, a grown adult in your twenties, don’t know such basic common sense?"

Despite being exposed, Roxan still clung to her pretense.

"I didn’t know that. Growing up, my family struggled, and milk was a luxury we only had during the New Year. It’s normal for me not to know."

After a few sentences, her eyes brimmed with tears again. "Gianna, I know you’ve always minded how close Vince and I are. But we’re just friends—he dotes on me like a little sister..."

"You know the truth better than anyone," Gianna interrupted sharply. "Since you’ve already crossed the line from friends to something more, don’t pretend to be innocent or pitiful. I’m not buying it."

Her blunt words tore away the last shred of pretense between them.

Roxan froze for a moment, tears streaming down her face.

"Yes, I admit you’ve known Vince ten years longer than I have. But the one he loves is me, and you’ve felt it too. Vince himself said that everything you have now—a marriage certificate and a place in his life—is only because your mother traded her life for it. Without her, you’re nothing."

Her words were light, but each one cut deep into Gianna’s heart.

Three years ago, after Vince's father, Antonio, suddenly passed away, TerraLink Group’s stock plummeted, and enemies within the boardroom sought to eliminate any remaining family influence. Assassins waited outside the Perkins family villa, targeting Vince. On that fateful day, Gianna’s mother happened to be with him and took the fatal blow meant for him.

That day, Gianna lost her only family.

To compensate for this, Michelle revived the childhood engagement between Gianna and Vince, forcing the two into marriage. The original intent was to have Vince care for her.

But Vince believed Gianna had used her mother’s sacrifice to break him and Roxan apart. For the next three years, he harbored resentment, treated her coldly, and caused her pain.

Perhaps she should have realized sooner and left before it came to this.

The sharp sound of glass shattering against tiled floors jolted her from her thoughts. Gianna turned to see the broken shards scattered across the floor, with Roxan slumping on the floor, her hands bleeding.

"Ah… it hurts so much," Roxan whimpered.

The scene was perfectly timed for Vince, who rushed in after hearing the commotion. He immediately helped Roxan up, his expression furious as he turned to Gianna.

"Roxan was kind enough to bring you some milk, and you made her get hurt?!"

Gianna didn’t defend herself. She merely stared back coldly.

There was no point in explaining herself. Vince’s bias had already condemned her. Why waste her breath?

"Don’t blame her, Vince," Roxan interrupted, her voice trembling as she clutched her injured hands. "I tripped over the chair leg myself. It has nothing to do with Gianna. Please don’t be angry with her."

Roxan tried to withdraw her hand, but Vince firmly held it in his grasp.

“Don’t move,” he commanded, carefully examining her injured hands. His face darkened upon seeing how deeply the glass shards were embedded. “There’s a first-aid kit in the living room. I’ll treat the wounds for now, but we’ll need to go to the hospital. Your body still hasn’t fully recovered since your bout with COVID; we can’t risk a bacterial infection.”

Tears welled up in Roxan’s eyes as she nodded obediently, like a frightened rabbit, allowing him to carry her out.

The door slammed shut behind them with a loud thud.

The room returned to silence, but Gianna’s pain surged with greater intensity after hearing Vince’s final words. She clutched her lower abdomen with trembling fingers, barely able to contain her anguish.

The obstetrician had explained that her baby’s miscarriage was primarily caused by the immune imbalance brought on by her high fever. Many similar cases had occurred in recent years due to the pandemic. Despite her cautiousness about her diet and surroundings, she had still been infected.

Now, she understood the source of that infection.

Half a month ago, Roxan had hosted Vince’s birthday dinner, preparing a spread of spicy dishes. Gianna, then in the throes of pregnancy nausea, stuck to plain rice.

“Gianna, why aren’t you eating? These dishes are really good,” Roxan had said, unusually enthusiastic, even placing a piece of spicy chicken in Gianna’s bowl.

Gianna didn’t want to eat it and was about to move it aside when Vince’s face darkened.

“It’s just one bite. You used to love spicy food. What now, have your tastes changed?”

She wanted to tell him about her pregnancy but froze under his cold, indifferent gaze.

She picked up the piece of chicken, took a bite, then spat it out. “Mediocre,” she said flatly before resuming her silent meal.

Roxan didn’t seem to mind. She and Vince chatted and laughed throughout dinner, as though Gianna were invisible.

During the meal, Roxan coughed several times, claiming her throat felt itchy and that she was “fighting poison with poison.” At the time, Gianna thought it was due to the spiciness of the food. In hindsight, it was likely the early stages of her illness.

Whether Roxan’s actions were deliberate or accidental, only she knew.

The warmth of postpartum bleeding now trickled down—a cruel farewell from her baby. Gianna’s heart felt as though it were being shredded. Her child could have been born healthy, but fate had other plans.

Both she and Vince were to blame.

They didn’t deserve to be parents, and that was why their child chose to leave.

That night, Gianna drifted into a restless, tearful sleep. In her dreams, she saw her mother.

Her mother stood in a beautiful estate, holding a tiny infant in her arms. She gently wiped away Gianna’s tears and said softly, “What happened with the baby was destiny. Some bonds can’t be forced. Perhaps he left early to save you from further suffering.”

“Gia, starting tomorrow, live for yourself.”

With those words, her mother, Evelyn, holding the baby, faded into the light and disappeared.

Gianna woke with a start in the middle of the night, her pillow soaked with tears. Yet her mind was clearer than it had been in a long time.

Life was about moving forward, not looking back.

She reached into her nightstand drawer and retrieved her diary, flipping through its pages. Inside were records of her life with Vince—how they met, fell in love, and the gradual accumulation of disappointment and heartbreak. Each entry felt like a stab to the heart, a torment akin to living in purgatory.

She threw the diary into the bottom drawer, slamming it shut as though that would bury the pain along with it.

At six o’clock the next morning, she rose from bed.

Her spirits felt steadier, and the ache in her lower abdomen had subsided to a manageable level. She began methodically packing her belongings.

Thankfully, Vince had refused to take wedding photos with her when they married. Otherwise, she’d have more to sort through.

After packing her everyday clothes, she hesitated when she turned to the back of her closet. There sat over a dozen luxury handbags, gifts from Michelle. All high-end designer pieces, their opulence didn’t match Gianna’s understated style, so she had barely used them.

Faced with so many bags, Gianna didn’t want to take them, nor did she want to leave them behind as a reminder of her presence. After some thought, she decided to sell them, convert them into cash, and use the money to purchase a parting gift for Michelle—a token of gratitude to conclude their so-called “mother-daughter” relationship over the years.

As she opened her phone to contact a friend about selling the bags, a message from Roxan popped up.

[Gianna, are you feeling better? I was wrong yesterday and shouldn’t have said those things. Will you forgive me?]

Gianna let out a cold laugh, ignoring the message.

A few minutes later, Roxan sent another one, this time with a photo.

It was of a man’s back, tall and straight, broad shoulders and a narrow waist. He was wearing a white T-shirt paired with black tailored slacks, the apron tied around his waist blending seamlessly with his refined appearance. He stood in the kitchen, meticulously preparing food.

Beneath the photo was a caption.

[Vince’s porridge is delicious. I asked him to bring you some—be sure to drink it while it’s hot!]

It was followed by a playful bunny emoji.

Gianna found herself at a loss for words to describe Roxan. The only thing she could do was marvel at her sheer audacity and composure.

She replied curtly. [If you like it so much, keep it for the New Year.]

Without waiting for a response, Gianna blocked and deleted all contact information for both Roxan and Vince.

The relief was instantaneous.

Her mood lifted, and her stomach growled in hunger—especially after she hadn’t eaten much the previous night. She headed to the kitchen and made herself a bowl of egg noodles.

As she was eating, the sound of the front door opening broke the silence. Vince walked in, and their eyes met across the living room.

He was holding a stainless steel thermos and smirked.

“So it really was an act. Only Roxan, that naïve girl, would believe you. She spent all night convincing me to make peace with you, despite you being the one who hurt her.”

Gianna didn’t reply, lowering her gaze and continuing to eat her noodles as though he didn’t exist.

Irritated by her indifference, Vince’s expression darkened. He changed his shoes and walked over to the dining table, placing the thermos down with a loud clank.

“What’s so great about this?” he sneered, glancing disdainfully at her bowl. “Here, eat the seafood porridge I made. At least that way you won’t have any excuse to run to my mother, complaining about how I treat you.”

Gianna didn’t even lift her gaze as she replied, “Take it or throw it away—I’m not eating it.”

Vince’s brows furrowed. “Do you even realize what you’re saying? Where did the kind, gentle girl who used to smile at everyone go? Gianna, the person you are now feels like a stranger.”

The faint trace of care in his words made Gianna chuckle coldly.

“Used to?” she repeated, putting down her spoon and standing up. Her eyes met his, and the warmth that once resided there was gone. Her gaze was as cold and lifeless as water at the bottom of a frozen pond.

“That Gianna is dead,” she intoned coldly.

She had died the moment her baby left her body, the moment her love and hope for him were crushed under the weight of countless disappointments.

Her words stunned Vince. His heart raced, his breath hitched, as if an icy hand was squeezing the life out of him. It was a feeling he had never experienced before—a deep unease that the woman before him might vanish from his world without a trace.

But that was impossible!

From childhood until now, Gianna had been his shadow, following him everywhere. Everyone could see her unwavering love for him. How could she possibly let it all go?

Before he could respond, Gianna was already clearing the table, her movements deliberate and methodical as she carried her dishes into the kitchen. The only sounds in the apartment were the clinking of porcelain and the rush of water from the faucet. Even her breathing seemed muted.

Vince stood there, staring at her. For the first time, he realized how much she had changed.

She used to have a healthy glow, her cheeks soft with a hint of baby fat. Her figure had been full of life, well-proportioned and vibrant. After her mother’s death, she had grown thinner, her smiles becoming rare. But now, her transformation was startling.

Her face was pallid and lifeless, her cheekbones and collarbones jutting out sharply. Her shoulder blades protruded like fragile wings, and her once-vibrant presence had diminished to nothing more than a shadow.