The next morning, Julia woke up to an empty bed.

Francis never came home.

He really spent the night with Valerie on their wedding anniversary.

Julia reached for her phone, but there was no message, no explanation from him. Instead, a single notification from her professor reminded her of the meeting she had almost forgotten.

When she arrived at the professor’s office, the room was already filled with quiet anticipation.

An older man with silver hair stood beside Valerie.

“This is Professor Andrew Harrington, the former director of our Institute of Archaeology,” her professor introduced. “And this is his granddaughter, Valerie.”

Julia’s gaze barely flickered.

The professor hesitated at her lack of reaction. “Valerie mentioned you two were already acquainted, so I’ll skip introductions. She’s very interested in your research and hopes to collaborate.”

As soon as the professor left, the friendly mask Valerie wore in front of others disappeared.

With slow, deliberate steps, she approached Julia, her smile brimming with malice.

“How does it feel to give up a kidney for Francis?”

Julia said nothing.

Valerie let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head in mock pity. “Did you really think he cared?”

Still, Julia remained silent, her expression unreadable.

Valerie scoffed. “I came here today to tell you the truth.”

She leaned in closer, voice dripping with cruelty.

“Francis never had uremia. And neither did I.”

Julia’s body stiffened.

“I sold your kidney on the black market,” Valerie whispered, delighting in the devastation she expected to see. “And made a fortune off it.”

Then, with exaggerated nonchalance, she pulled a thick stack of cash from her designer purse and tossed it at Julia’s face.

Banknotes fluttered to the floor like discarded scraps.

“I know you love money. Isn’t that why you stayed with Francis? Go ahead, pick it up.”

Julia clenched her fists, her breath steady despite the storm raging inside her.

Not satisfied with her lack of reaction, Valerie pressed on, circling Julia like a predator.

“Did you know that the marriage certificate Francis gave you was fake? I forged it myself.” She smirked, relishing the moment. “Francis never loved you. Next month, he’ll finally marry me legally.”

Valerie reached for Julia’s necklace, yanking it hard. The string snapped, sending pearls scattering to the floor.

“Broken pearls are worthless,” she sneered, grinding them under her heel. “Just like you.”

Something inside Julia snapped.

With a sharp crack, her palm met Valerie’s cheek, leaving a vivid red imprint.

“This was my mother’s,” Julia seethed.

“Who gave you the right to touch it?”

But Valerie wasn’t done. Smirking through the sting, she stomped harder on the pearls, as if grinding Julia’s last bit of hope into dust.

Julia lunged.

With one forceful push, she pinned Valerie against the wall.

Before she could land another hit, the door burst open.

Francis.

His hand grabbed Julia’s wrist and wrenched her back, shoving her to the floor.

Valerie’s whimper was immediate, her voice weak and trembling. “Francis…”

Francis wrapped his arms around her protectively, his expression dark with anger.

“Why did you hit Valerie? She’s still recovering!”

Julia stared up at him from the floor.

The pain in her waist flared violently from the impact, but the ache in her chest was worse.

Francis didn’t care. He didn’t even notice.

His cold gaze was unfamiliar, like he had never known her at all.

Without another word, he lifted Valerie into his arms and carried her out.

Julia watched them go, her body frozen but her mind finally clear.

It was over.

This time, she wouldn’t look back.

It took Julia three hours to gather every last pearl from the floor.

Three hours spent on her knees, collecting the shattered remnants of what was once precious.

When the mess was finally cleaned up, she hailed a taxi to the cemetery.

Seven years ago, her parents had died in an accident while on an archaeological survey in Italy. She never got to say goodbye. By the time she arrived, their bodies had already been laid to rest in this quiet, elegant cemetery.

She was only sixteen then.

She met Francis for the first time at their funeral.

Francis' father had worked closely with hers, and at the time, his grief seemed genuine. He had treated Julia with kindness, and Francis extended that kindness even after his father’s passing.

Now, that kindness was gone.

Julia placed fresh flowers before their gravestone, tracing the engraved names with her fingertips.

Her professor once told her she had inherited her mother’s sharp mind and her father’s calm rationality.

But standing here now, she felt like a fool.

Seven years of her life were wasted. Seven years devoted to a man who never truly loved her. A man she had given everything to whether it was her heart, her trust, or even a part of her body.

She clenched her fists.

Why did Francis pretend for so long? Why go from living in a penthouse to squeezing into a tiny apartment with her?

It might be because of Valerie's gangster boyfriend. Maybe Francis was bitter over losing his childhood sweetheart and clung to Julia because she was convenient, because she asked for so little.

If her mother were alive, she would’ve scolded her for being so blind.

Julia knelt before the tombstone, just as she had seven years ago in the rain.

“Mom, your proud daughter was deceived by a hypocritical man for seven years,” she whispered.

“But it doesn’t matter. I’ve decided to leave him. I want to follow in your footsteps—to Italy, to archaeology.”

For years, the circumstances of her parents' deaths had haunted her.

The official report said they fell from a cliff at night. But why would two experienced archaeologists take such a reckless risk?

Something didn’t add up.

And Julia wouldn’t find answers unless she returned to the place where it all happened.

Back at her apartment, she started packing.

This tiny 50-square-meter space held too many memories of Francis.

One by one, she took out the gifts he had given her over the years. Using a shopping app’s price-check feature, she scanned each item.

The results stung.

None of them were worth more than £50.

She had treasured them. And yet, they were nothing.

She scribbled the prices onto sticky notes and tossed everything into a cardboard box, treating them as carelessly as Francis had treated her.

Then, she sat down and wrote a short, emotionless farewell letter.

Her phone buzzed.

A message from Valerie.

Julia hesitated before opening it.

[Valerie: Francis feels so bad for me. Did it hurt when you hit the floor?]

Attached was a picture where Francis holding Valerie’s hand. His wedding ring was still on his finger.

Julia’s stomach twisted, but before she could block her, another message came in.

This time, a video.

The camera focused on Francis’ bare chest, his toned muscles on full display. Valerie’s voice cooed in the background.

“Francis, I’m already four months pregnant. Is it really okay to do it?”

His voice was a deep murmur.

“Just a little rubbing… it’s okay…”

Then came the sounds. Heavy breathing, soft moans, his husky whispers.

Julia felt bile rise in her throat.

She shut off the video immediately and blocked Valerie’s number.

‘I wish the scum couple a happy marriage and eight bastard children.’

Her eyes drifted to the ring on her finger.

The only thing Francis ever gave her that had any real value.

Without hesitation, she listed it online and sold it.

With that money, she went straight to her friend’s tattoo shop.

She wanted a permanent reminder. Not of Francis, but of what she had survived.

On the left side of her lower back, right over the scar from her stolen kidney, she inked a single line of text.

‘Boy Only Wants Love If It Is Torture.’

The next morning, Francis woke up in a strange bed.

He blinked, trying to make sense of his surroundings. His head throbbed from last night’s drinking, and his body felt sluggish.

He looked around.

No one was there.

Slowly, memories from the previous night surfaced. At a gathering with friends, he had ended up talking about Julia.

He had told them how much she had loved him—how she had given up a kidney for him and worked tirelessly by his side. He had even admitted, for a brief moment, that he felt guilty for how he had treated her.

Then, he had gotten drunk.

Francis vaguely remembered Valerie taking him back to the villa.

A sudden ringing broke the morning silence. His assistant’s panicked voice came through the phone.

"It's bad, Mr. Pendleton! Miss Valerie is bleeding heavily from a miscarriage! She’s in the hospital undergoing emergency treatment!"

Francis sat up abruptly, his mind racing.

"The doctor said Miss Valerie has a rare O-negative blood type, and the hospital is running out of supply. Her life is in danger!"

Was Valerie … in trouble?

Images from the previous night flashed in his mind. Valerie was in bed with him with her hands on his body.

This hadn’t been his plan, but under the influence of alcohol and desire, he hadn’t stopped himself.

Wasn’t it just a bit of fun? How could it have caused heavy bleeding and a miscarriage?

Then, a thought struck him.

Julia.

"Find Julia," he ordered. "She has the same blood type as Valerie. Valerie must be saved!"

Julia had already arrived at the airport, holding a one-way ticket to freedom.

Just as she was about to board, her phone rang.

"Is this Miss Julia Alderston?" a deep voice asked.

"This is Doctor Alex Harkinson from the London Blood Bank Center."

Julia froze.

During her kidney surgery a month ago, doctors had discovered her rare O-negative blood type and recorded it in the national database.

Doctor Harkinson continued, his voice urgent.

"A pregnant woman has suffered a miscarriage and is losing too much blood. Her blood type is extremely rare, like yours. The hospital's supply is critically low. Would you be willing to donate?"

Faced with a life-or-death situation, Julia didn’t hesitate.

She changed her flight and rushed to the hospital.

Due to her weakened condition, she was advised to donate only a small amount.

But she insisted on giving twice as much as recommended.

The dark red blood flowed out of her body, making her dizzy, but she didn’t regret it.

If she could save one—maybe even two—lives, it was worth it.

As Julia sat in the hospital, still weak from the blood loss, a familiar figure appeared in the corridor.

Francis.

He hurried toward her, his face filled with worry.

"Francis, what are you doing here?" Julia asked, her voice laced with doubt.

His lips tightened, as if he were hiding something.

"I… I came to see my cousin. She just gave birth," he said hesitantly.

Before Julia could respond, Henry, Francis' assistant, arrived, speaking in hurried French.

"Francis, Valerie is stable now. Luckily, Julia donated blood in time."

Francis let out a relieved sigh. "That’s good."

Julia’s breath caught.

So that was it.

First, he had used her love.

Now, he had used her kindness.

To him, she had never been a lover—just a walking blood bank, a disposable resource.

Without another word, she stood up and walked away.

Before boarding her flight, she removed her SIM card and threw it in the trash.

This time, she will leave this man behind forever. From now on, she will only pursue her own future and her own sun!