Your Love Once Burned Fiery

On the day of my twenty-first birthday, I posted online: [I want a lollipop.]

My childhood rival, who was overseas, dropped everything there and flew back. He showered and showed up at my doorstep.

I vowed to savor lollipops more carefully from then on—they were simply too sweet.

From that moment, even after I was exposed as a fake heiress, everyone in high society knew: Jonathan Chase wanted to marry me.

When the Sterling family carried out their harsh punishment, the hundred lashes meant for me were almost entirely taken by him—ninety-nine of them, borne by his own body.

When they locked me in the basement, with darkness closing in from all sides, his shouts each day became my only light.

"Chloe, don't be afraid. I'll get you out," he promised.

And he did. He really saved me.

He also made me witness, with my own eyes, his magnificent wedding to the true heiress.

The man who once couldn't bear to make me wait had, "for my sake", told me to wait three times.

The first time was on his wedding day. Pain was etched into every line of his face.

"Chloe, if I don't marry Eleanor, they'll never let you go. Wait for me for three years. Three years from now, I'll marry you."

The second time was three years later. He looked at Eleanor's rounded belly, hesitation written all over his face.

"Chloe… she's carrying my child. You'll have to wait a little longer."

The third time was just yesterday. I was just a step away from his kid. He pushed me violently to the floor, his face tight with warning.

"Chloe, can't you just wait? Why do you have to take it out on a kid?"

Sunlight fell across the face that once loved me, now stripped of all its former warmth.

"If that's how it is… then maybe it's time for me to leave too." I said inwardly.

"Grandpa, I've made up my mind. I'm leaving Jonathan."

On the other end of the line, my grandfather simply sighed. "Chloe, if you've truly thought this through, that's best. I'll make sure everything is arranged."

The call ended. Weak and unsteady, I walked downstairs, hoping to find something to eat in the kitchen.

That's when I saw Jonathan Chase holding his three-month-old second child, lifting the baby high with pure adoration.

Eleanor's voice was soft, teasing him to be careful, and both of them wore expressions of complete, unguarded happiness.

Time had passed so fast. He seemed completely immersed in the roles of husband and father.

When he caught sight of me from the corner of his eye, he quickly set the baby down, a faint awkwardness crossing his face.

"Chloe… you've suffered a lot this past year."

He knew. He really knew I had suffered.

Locked in that basement, denied even a sliver of sunlight, surviving only on the water and food they sent down… With no way to bathe, I could only save my drinking water to wipe myself down, ensuring I stayed clean and didn't decay throughout the year.

And yet, the moment they opened the basement door and saw me—dirty, ragged, unkempt—even the harshest light couldn't hide the look of disgust in Jonathan's eyes. And in that instant, my heart died completely.

He stepped closer, a flicker of concern in his gaze.

"Your complexion is awful… are you feeling unwell?"

He reached out, as if to brush the tangled strands of hair from my forehead. But I stepped back, keeping my distance.

His hand hung in the air for a beat. He frowned, then explained, "Chloe, back then… if I had stopped them from locking you in the basement, they would have torn up the agreement…

"I know you have claustrophobia, but my decision back then… was supposed to secure the rest of our lives. I did it for our future."

Such casual words—for our future. But he never once thought about what I endured in that year, trapped in a space that devoured every ounce of hope…