When I opened my eyes again, I was lying in the hospital ER.

The sterile white light blinded me, and a quick glance at the clock on the wall made my heart drop. I had been unconscious for an entire day and night.

The doctor told me the post-miscarriage infection was severe and that I had to be admitted immediately.

That night—the night I finally woke up— Damian called. His voice held a trace of exhausted tenderness. "Why aren't you home yet? I brought you those sweets you like."

He didn't even realize I had been missing for over thirty hours.

I lied without missing a beat. "I’m working late at the office. I won’t be back tonight."

Damian didn't push. He sighed, his tone shifting into a calm, matter-of-fact arrangement:

"Don't overwork yourself. Sophia needs someone around her 24/7 right now, so it’s probably better you’re not home anyway—keeps you two from getting into it again. Once this chaos settles, I’ll make sure to spend some real time with you."

In the past, if I worked late, he’d have a full squad of soldiers guarding the building downstairs.

Now, his head and heart were entirely occupied by his "dying" childhood sweetheart.

He didn't call again that night. I assumed he was pulled up next to Sophia’s hospital bed.

The following morning, as I was being discharged and picking up my meds, I ran into Damian and Sophia at the hospital entrance.

The girl was in a wheelchair, bundled under a thick blanket. Damian was meticulously tucking a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Damian froze when he saw me, then walked over to take my hand.

"Elena? What are you doing here? Why do you look so pale?"

The concern in his eyes looked genuine, like he actually felt for me.

I looked at him, my expression flat. "Just my period. Picking up some meds."

That finally jogged his memory of the desperate call I had made two days ago.. A flash of guilt crossed his face.

"I'm sorry. Sophia’s situation was too critical that day. When we get home, I’ll have the chef brew you some tonics. I’ll even feed you myself, alright?"

Sophia took that moment to let out a couple of coughs, speaking in a frail voice:

"Elena, don't be mad at Damian. It’s just this damn body of mine failing; I’m always dragging him down. If you’re angry, just take it out on me."

The second Damian heard that, he gripped her hand, his heart clearly aching for her.

"Don't talk like that. Just focus on getting better. Elena isn't that petty."

He turned back to me, his eyes filled with that "you need to be the bigger person here" expectation.

"Come on, let’s go. I’ll drop you at the office. We’ll grab dinner tonight—consider it my apology."

I turned him down flat, claiming I had an emergency at work.

He didn't take no for an answer and pulled me into the car.

Sophia sat in the passenger seat like a pampered little princess.

"Elena, Damian canceled several major international sit-downs just to stay with me. He really loves you most; it's just that with me like this, he can't bring himself to leave my side."

In our eight years together, Damian had never canceled a single meeting for me.

Yet Sophia’s "terminal illness" had made him break every rule in his book.

I stared out the window, only to be interrupted by Sophia’s gasp.

"Oh! Damian, I think I messed up your seat... I’m so sorry..."

On the passenger seat, there was a jarring smear of red.

Damian has always been a neat freak.

But now, facing Sophia, his gaze was soft. He pulled out a handkerchief and wiped it away without a second thought. "It’s fine. Seats can be replaced. Don't scare yourself. I’ll have someone get rid of this car later and get one in a color you actually like."

As the words left his mouth, he reflexively checked me in the rearview mirror.

Seeing my lack of reaction, a flicker of unease passed through his eyes, but Sophia’s voice quickly pulled him back.

When we reached my office, I ran into my mentor the moment I stepped out of the car.

He lowered his voice. "Elena, the paperwork is finished. You’re on a flight the morning after tomorrow. Are you really not going to tell him?"

I was about to answer when Damian rolled down the window. His tone was gentle but left no room for argument.

"Elena, Sophia wants to spend some time by the ocean before she goes. About the wedding next month—we’ll just do a small, simple ceremony for now. I’ll make up the honeymoon to you next spring, okay?"

I gave a calm nod. "Fine."

Damian actually froze.

He had a whole speech prepared to talk me down, probably even planned to offer me a seaside villa as a bribe for my silence, but my total compliance left him with a strange sense of emptiness.

He made a move to get out and hug me, but Sophia tugged on his sleeve, whispering about a pain in her chest.

Damian could only offer me an apologetic smile.

"Elena, you’re the best. When I get back, I’ve got a real surprise for you."

I didn't argue.

Surprise or shock—it didn't mean a damn thing to me anymore.

I watched the silhouette of the Rolls-Royce fade into the distance, then turned to my mentor.

"Don't wait until the day after tomorrow. If you can swing it, I want to leave tomorrow."

When work ended, Damian did something unprecedented—he showed up himself to pick me up.

The moment I got in, he handed me a sleek thermos, claiming he’d had a specialist brew some medicinal soup just for me.

Just as the words left his mouth, his phone lit up on the console.

A text from Sophia: [Big brother, the medicine is so bitter. I want one of those candies you peel for me by hand.] The silence in the car was deafening.

Damian cleared his throat awkwardly, trying to smooth it over. "She’s acting like a child right now, don't read into it. Elena, I’m already reaching out to the top specialists in the world. Once she’s cured, or... once she’s gone, there won’t be anything standing in our way."

He thought he was promising me a future. He had no idea he was busy killing our present.

"Take tomorrow off," he said, taking my hand with a look of conciliation. "I’ll take you to pick out the jewelry for the wedding. Whatever you want, it’s yours."

"No thanks. I don't have time tomorrow."

The truth was, he’d already taken Sophia to look at that jewelry set. The sales clerk had even mistaken Sophia for the bride-to-be.

Damian misread my tone, his voice gaining a sharp edge of irritation.

"Elena, what the hell else do you want from me? I’ve given you everything I can give. Why can't you just show a little understanding for the position I’m in?"

"I’m not angry," I said, looking at him calmly. "I just really don't have the time."

Damian stared at me for a long beat, searching my face for a crack in the armor. Finally, he let go of my hand, defeated.

"Fine. You’re busy. When you’ve cleared your head, come find me."

He dropped me at the front door but didn't bother getting out. Sophia was waiting for him at the hospital.

Back inside, I started clearing out the last of my things.

My phone rang. It was Damian, sounding agitated. "Elena, the bridal shop said you canceled the fitting? What the hell are you playing at?"

I’d been the one handling every single detail of this wedding.

Now that I’d dropped the reins, he was finally sensing that something was wrong.

Then, through the phone, I heard Sophia’s voice, thin as a thread.

"Damian... go be with Elena. I’ll be fine on my own. Don't let her be unhappy because of me. My life isn't worth much anyway; it’s not worth you missing time with her..."

Damian muttered a soft comfort to her: "Sophia, stop that. Just lay back down."

His voice was full of ache for her, but when he turned back to me, it turned to ice.

"Elena, you know Sophia is unstable right now, yet you choose this exact moment to cancel the fitting and refuse the jewelry? Are you doing this on purpose just to be spiteful?"

Listening to his petty accusations, I let out a jagged, self-deprecating laugh.

"The wedding’s being pushed back anyway. There’s no rush."

"Elena!" he growled. "If you keep acting this damn spoiled, maybe we shouldn't have a wedding at all!"

The line went dead.

A sharp throb hit my chest. The boy who once shielded me from a hail of bullets, promising me a home, had finally vanished under the weight of his own favoritism.

I picked up a photo of us and fed it into the shredder without a second thought.

I packed my bags in silence and left two things on the table.

One was my miscarriage report.

The other was the proof that Sophia’s terminal illness was a total fake.

With that finished, I called a cab for the airport.

Goodbye, Damian.

Actually—let's make it never again.