Chapter 1

"Clara, are you really leaving Damon behind and moving abroad?"

In the quiet café, Clara Rayner laid down her spoon and caught her best friend, Olivia Hyde's startled look from across the table.

"I'm already divorced from him," Clara said. Her voice was calm and steady.

"Divorced?" Olivia blurted out. She was clearly caught off guard.

A beat later, her shock gave way to outrage on Clara's behalf. "And Damon just went along with it? You've treated him so well these past three years. Anyone else would've come around by now. Does he really feel nothing at all?"

Clara smiled, and a flicker of emotion crossed her eyes. The truth was, she had no idea if Damon had actually agreed or not.

Half a month ago, she'd handed him the divorce agreement. He signed them while he was on the phone—barely listening to a word she said—then took off. He hadn't brought them up since.

Now, with just half a month left, she'd finally get the divorce decree and be free.

Clara was about to say something when a low voice came from behind them. "Are you done talking?"

Both she and Olivia turned to see Damon Croft approaching. He was dressed in a black overcoat.

Olivia was still fired up and was ready to call him out. "Damon, Clara just said she's di—"

"What brings you here?" Clara quickly reached over and gave Olivia's hand a light pat, signaling her to stop before she could finish.

"I saw the forecast. It's supposed to rain soon, so I came to pick you up," Damon said.

Smiling, Clara said goodbye to Olivia. Then, she grabbed her bag and headed out with him.

Rain tapped against the car windows on the drive home. It filled the silence inside the car.

As he sat next to the wife he'd practically married by accident years ago, Damon parted his lips a few times like he was about to say something. But each time, he stopped—probably remembering he hadn't even been home in half a month.

After a long, uneasy silence, he finally asked, "Clara, that document you had me sign half a month ago… what was it?"

It had been forever, and now he was finally asking her. Then again, he'd been wrapped up with Giselle Sutton this whole time. Why would he bother with something so insignificant?

Clara's lips curved into a bitter smile. She was about to answer when Damon's phone rang.

"Damon, I drank too much. My head hurts. Can you come get me?"

The sweet, lilting voice on the other end made Damon's grip tighten around the steering wheel. His knuckles turned white.

A shadow crossed his face as he said, "Giselle, I've told you over and over—I'm married."

Giselle went quiet for a second before saying, "So what? I was supposed to be the bride that day, anyway."

Her light, careless tone set Damon off.

In three years of marriage, Clara had only ever seen him calm and composed—never like this. He slammed on the brakes. The tires screeched as they gripped the road.

"Did you come?" Damon asked.

Giselle went quiet on the other end of the line.

A moment later, her voice wavered with unshed tears. "I'm sorry. I won't bother you again."

The call ended abruptly, leaving Damon in an even worse mood. He tapped the steering wheel a few times, then let out a resigned sigh and typed a quick reply.

"Send me the address."

When Giselle's location popped up, he glanced at Clara with a hint of an apology in his eyes.

Clara already knew what he was about to say and spoke first. "Go ahead if you need to take care of something. I'll grab a cab."

She pushed open the door and raised her umbrella. Damon felt a flicker of guilt.

"I'll come right back when I'm done," he said quietly.

Clara nodded. She stood in the rain and watched his car disappear. Her eyes clouded with emotions she couldn't quite untangle.

This was her seventh year in love with Damon.

She could still picture the moment she first saw him and fell for him instantly—on the basketball court, dressed in his uniform, sinking shot after shot, and single-handedly carrying his team to victory. He was a force of nature out there.

The young women erupted around her, some shouting his name, while others excitedly shared that Damon, a star from Aeloria College's Computer Science Department, was from the Croft family in Jeston.

But he, the campus heartthrob, had only ever had eyes for one person—his childhood sweetheart, Giselle. They had been together for years.

He once blew a ton of money renting out an entire amusement park just to surprise her on her birthday.

He had swallowed his pride and begged Giselle to take him back in front of the whole campus—just because she got jealous and blocked his contact after someone confessed to him.

He once waited out in the freezing snow until his hands were frostbitten, all because Giselle blew off their date to get her nails done with her roommate. He never said a word about it.

All through her four years in college, Clara heard story after story about their romance. She'd always believed she was just a side character in their happily-ever-after.

Then, two years ago, Damon rushed to marry Giselle right after graduation. Clara wasn't invited, but she showed up anyway as just another classmate at what everyone called the "wedding of the century".

But even after the ceremony started, Giselle was nowhere to be found. Panic set in as Damon kept calling her, only to get a message saying she wasn't ready for marriage yet. She had left the country.

That was the day his patience finally snapped.

He grabbed the microphone and said, "Today, I, Damon Croft, have decided to marry a different bride! Is any single woman here interested?"

Clara, who was usually invisible in a crowd, felt her heart pounding so hard it might burst. She knew plenty of women were in love with him, and the second those words left his mouth, she shot to her feet.

That day, she put on a wedding dress that didn't even fit and married a man who barely remembered her name.

For the next three years, they lived under the same roof as nothing more than polite strangers until a little over a month ago, when Giselle came back.

As she watched Damon push Giselle away one moment and get pulled right back in the next, Clara knew her dreamlike story was over.

It was time to let go of the title of Mrs. Croft. That way, he could follow his heart, and she could finally set herself free.

Standing in the pouring rain, Clara pulled out her phone and texted Damon.

"The document you asked about is in the glove compartment on the passenger side. If you're curious, just open it up."

Chapter 2

Clara had been home for a solid half hour before Damon finally texted back. "Don't worry about it. Since you're the one who wants me to sign, there's no way it'll do me any harm."

It was just his way of saying he wasn't going to read it at all.

Of course, he wasn't—he was too busy rushing off to pick up Giselle, who'd had too much to drink. How would he have time to go over any documents?

Even though the papers were sitting right there, well within arm's reach.

…

It had rained all day without letting up. It only eased up by dusk the next evening.

Clara stayed inside the whole time. She quietly deleted every post on every platform where she'd shared details of her married life.

The moment she finished clearing out her Instagram, she noticed a new post from Giselle. There were shots of her lounging on a yacht, each one perfectly framed, featuring a man's long, slender hand.

Clara knew that hand belonged to Damon—and she also knew Giselle had posted it on purpose. But none of that mattered to her anymore.

She turned off her phone, got up, and headed to the kitchen to make herself a salad. Just as she was finishing up, Damon came home.

When she saw the cake in his hands, she froze for a second. "You don't even like sweets. What's with the cake?"

Damon walked over, glanced at her dinner, and frowned. "It's your birthday. Did you forget? Why are you eating something so plain?"

Clara was stunned.

When she was four or five, her parents split up and left her with her grandmother. By the time she was 15 or 16, her grandmother passed away. After that, no one looked after her, and birthdays stopped being a thing.

But in the three years she'd been married to Damon, he never forgot. No matter how busy he was, he always made it back to spend her birthday with her.

If Clara were coming back from a trip, he'd worry about her safety and pick her up at the airport. He'd pull her close and hold her if it stormed because he knew she was afraid of thunder.

Clara figured that kind of effortless care had to mean he had feelings for her.

Everything changed a month ago on their wedding anniversary when Damon used "company matters" as an excuse to cancel the candlelit dinner he'd booked ahead of time.

Disappointed, Clara agreed when Olivia asked her to drop off a jacket at a bar. That was when she unexpectedly ran into Giselle, who was completely wasted.

She was hanging all over Damon—who was supposedly working late—and wouldn't let go.

He looked furious as he tried to pull her off. "Giselle! Seriously, knock it off! Let go! What do you think I am—something you can throw away and pick back up whenever you feel like it?"

Giselle wouldn't listen. Even after Damon pried her hands off, she just grabbed onto his waist again—over and over. She refused to let go.

In the end, he finally gave in. He stood there with his head lowered and stared at her. His eyes were filled with a love he was barely holding back.

His voice was quiet and resigned. "Giselle, what am I supposed to do with you?"

At that moment, the bag in Clara's hand slipped and hit the floor with a thud.

A flood of memories rushed through her mind—those hands clasped so tightly as Giselle and Damon wove through a crowded street, that tilted umbrella shielding Giselle from the pouring rain, Damon kneeling in a graduation gown, asking for forever…

Every single one of them proved Damon's love for Giselle had never wavered. Clara had seen it with her own eyes. There was no denying it now.

Not three years of marriage, not the fact that she was legally his wife, not even the moments of warmth he'd shown her could change that.

The truth was any affection Damon had ever given her wasn't really hers—it was just borrowed from Giselle, who happened to be out of the picture back then.

She had clung to that small taste of sweetness, foolishly believing it was hers to keep. But in reality, she had never truly had him—not even for a second.

So when Clara looked at the number 24 on the birthday cake, she felt nothing. She simply lowered her head politely and thanked him.

Damon lit the candles while giving her a soft smile. "Clara, we're married. You don't have to say 'thank you' like we're strangers. Make a wish."

She nodded. Just as she was about to stand, Damon's phone rang. She could guess who was calling from the slight hesitation in his eyes. So, she sat back down.

Sure enough, she was right. A minute later, he ended the call and walked out.

Clara let out a bitter smile as the sound of his car disappeared into the distance. She hadn't turned on any lights. The soft flicker of the candles cast her lone shadow against the wall.

Pressing her palms together, she made a wish for her 24th year. "This year, I'm done loving Damon Croft."

Chapter 3

Three days later was the reunion for the Computer Science Department's Class of 2021.

Clara walked in and immediately spotted Damon. He was right in the middle of a crowd, but the second he saw her, he made his way over and sat down next to her.

The whole mood in the private room shifted the moment they sat together. Everything was awkward and tense.

Clara knew she was the reason. To her former classmates, she had only married Damon to climb the social ladder. None of them had ever thought much of her.

But she didn't bother correcting their assumptions. She just sat there and stayed quiet and unreadable.

The class representative showed up late and walked in carrying a big cardboard box. Addressing everyone, the class representative said, "I wanted to get everyone together today partly to catch up and partly because it's finally time to open those 'letters to our future selves in five years' we wrote. I thought it'd be fun to read them together."

In an instant, the room buzzed with excitement as everyone crowded around.

"Let's make this interesting. Let's have everyone pick a random letter and read it out loud!"

"Great idea! I'm going first!" One of the most outgoing guys in the class elbowed his way into the crowd and grabbed an envelope.

Egged on by a few curious classmates who had no idea what he was about to read, he ripped it open, cleared his throat, and began, "'Clara, how are you five years from now? I'm writing this under the sunlight.

"Though I have no clue where you'll be or how you'll feel when you finally read this, I want to share what's on my mind right now.'"

The room went quiet the moment they heard the first line. Every eye shifted to Clara. Even Damon, who had been focused on his phone, looked at her in surprise.

Clara, who was usually calm and collected, felt her stomach drop. She knew exactly what she had written in that letter.

The guy reading it shot her a mischievous grin before continuing, "'This year, you're 19, a sophomore, and you've fallen for Damon Croft—even though he has no clue. And even if he did, it wouldn't make a difference, because he likes someone else.

"Your feelings were never going to lead anywhere. You might wonder why not move on if it was hopeless. Well, here's why.

"I love him for that fire in his eyes when the crowd cheers him on, for the small but unthinking kindness he showed me one night when he shielded me from a stray basketball, and for the way he's always unfailingly polite, even when turning someone down.

"I was the one craning my neck every week at the morning assembly just to sneak a glance at him. I was the one who heard he got hurt playing basketball and, despite the storm, slipped medicine into his desk. I was the one who filled an entire page in my diary with his name.

"He might never remember me for the rest of his life, but that's fine. A crush is chaos, but only in one person's head.'"

When the letter ended, the room was completely silent.

Damon froze. Out of nowhere, memories of that wedding—the one he'd rather forget—came rushing back. He remembered how Clara had stood there, facing all the skeptical stares as she walked straight to his side without hesitation.

And just like that, it all clicked. She hadn't married him for money or status, like everyone thought. She had loved him for years.

Damon's chest tightened. The walls he'd kept up for so long suddenly felt like they were cracking. His heartbeat was unsteady for reasons he couldn't explain.

On a whim, he had the urge to ask her everything—the things he'd kept buried for so long. But before he had the chance, Giselle's call came through.

"Damon, I'm stuck outside the club! Some thugs cornered me—"

She didn't even get to finish before Damon's expression darkened. He took off and sprinted downstairs. The second he spotted the group of bleach-haired punks, his fists flew.

Fueled by rage, he didn't hold back. His punches landed hard and fast, leaving them coughing up blood within seconds.

A crowd quickly formed. Some people rushed in to protect Giselle. She was in tears, saying one of the tattooed guys had grabbed her hand.

Hearing that, Damon seized an iron rod and swung it down onto the guy's hand. Then, a scream of excruciating pain cut through the night.

Clara hurried downstairs just in time to see it happen. She stopped dead in her tracks. Her eyes were locked on that hand. Blood was spilling out of it, and it was barely held together.

On instinct, she looked up at Damon—only to see his back as he led Giselle away while shielding her.

The same Damon who had been brutal just moments ago now wore a gentle expression. His voice was soft as he comforted Giselle. It was a kind of tenderness Clara had never known from him.

She dropped her gaze, masking the emotions in her eyes, and let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh. Then, without a word, she turned and headed home alone.

Damon didn't come back until after midnight. Seeing Clara sitting quietly on the couch, he remembered he owed her an explanation.

"Clara, about tonight… we're all classmates. I couldn't just ignore what happened to Giselle," he said.

Clara couldn't be bothered to call him out. She let out a quiet hum, grabbed her pajamas, and headed into the bathroom.

Half an hour later, she walked out with her hair still damp. Damon was holding her phone. His expression was slightly puzzled.

"Clara, why did you buy a plane ticket?" he asked.

Chapter 4

Clara froze for a second before quickly catching on and grabbing the phone from him. "I didn't buy anything. That's probably just a message about discounted airline tickets."

Damon was about to dig into it but held off when he saw she wasn't up for the conversation. Clara had never lied to him before, had she?

He set his phone down, gave a small nod, and was about to wash up when Clara stopped him and pulled a first-aid kit from the cabinet.

"A glass shard scratched your back. Let me help with that," she said.

Damon hesitated, then sat on the couch and shrugged off his jacket. A small cut came into view. It wasn't deep. No one had noticed since it was on his back, except Clara.

He observed her as she carefully cleaned the wound with a cotton swab, his mind slipping back to that letter. "Clara, about the letter today—"

She cut him off before he could finish. "Keep the wound dry when you shower later, or it might get infected. And be more careful next time you get in a fight. No one's going to be around to patch you up after this."

Damon missed her last words because his thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

He looked up. "What did you say?"

Clara shook her head, tied off the gauze, and headed to the bedroom.

By the time she finished blow-drying her hair, Damon had already showered and come out. He slipped his arms around her waist and leaned in for a kiss, but she turned her head, dodging the warmth of his lips.

Her tone was light. "I'm on my period. I want to get some rest."

Damon didn't push it. He tucked the blanket around her and switched off the light.

…

The next morning was bright and clear.

Clara was in the bathroom when she heard a commotion downstairs. After freshening up, she stepped out to find Giselle arriving with a group.

Damon leaned against the doorway, frowning. His tone held its usual impatience. "What are you doing here?"

Before Giselle could answer, a few of his friends jumped in with teasing grins. "Gigi said she just had to thank you in person for saving her yesterday!"

Right on cue, Giselle pulled out a huge bouquet and a neatly wrapped gift as if pulling off a magic trick. "Damon, I really appreciate what you did for me yesterday. I got you these as a little thank-you!"

Damon didn't reach for them, though his expression looked much better.

Seeing that, Giselle placed the flowers straight into Clara's hands. Her tone was anything but polite. "These are Damon's favorite Blue Moon roses. Mind putting them in a vase?"

Damon's brow furrowed at that. His voice turned cold. "Don't claim it's my favorite when it's really yours. And just so we're clear, Clara is my wife, not the housekeeper."

The room fell silent at his words, but Clara's face remained unreadable. She glanced down at the bouquet in her hands, realizing for the first time what they were.

Blue Moon roses? So these were the flowers Giselle was obsessed with. No wonder Damon had spent a fortune growing them in his greenhouse. But Clara didn't comment.

She handed the bouquet to the housekeeper and said, "Please bring down a few vases from the display cabinet on the second floor."

Giselle's gaze sharpened, but Clara ignored it and took her breakfast to the balcony. Only a window separated her from the living room, so she could hear their conversation loud and clear.

"Damon, aren't these the paper bunnies I used to fold back in middle school? You've kept them in a crystal box all this time? I could make you some more tomorrow if you like them that much.

"And what's this fashion doll set doing here? I remember tossing it in the trash. Did you actually dig it back out?

"Wait, are these the maple leaves we collected at Scented Hills? You really turned them into bookmarks and kept them all these years?"

As Giselle went on like she was uncovering hidden treasures, Clara thought back to the first time she had come to this villa. She had asked Damon about these things once.

"Oh, just some little gifts from my cousin in kindergarten. I figured I'd keep them," he'd explained.

Back then, she'd believed him without a second thought. She had completely missed how his eyes flickered with something far more complicated. His eyes, filled with love and hate, longing and frustration, clearly spoke of a love affair.

Chapter 5

After making noise all morning, Giselle offered to treat everyone to a meal.

Damon shot her down in an instant. "No, it's fine. You've caused enough trouble. Time to go."

Giselle acted like she didn't hear him and grabbed his hand, dragging him straight out the door. A few of his friends, who were worried he wouldn't come along, pulled Clara with them.

They all piled into cars and headed to a hot spring resort.

Clara didn't usually hang out with this group and had no interest in trying to fit in. Sitting off to the side, she watched them toast and lose themselves in the lively atmosphere.

Damon saw her sitting by herself, so he walked over, ready to hand her a glass of juice. But just as she reached for it, he suddenly got up and disappeared back into the crowd.

Giselle was about to take a sip of whiskey when Damon snatched it right out of her hand.

His sharp reprimand cut through the noise. "You're allergic to alcohol, and you're still drinking? What? Are you trying to get yourself killed?"

Giselle blinked and put on an innocent act. "I thought it was juice. I must've grabbed the wrong glass. Why are you so worked up?"

Then, without a care, she plucked the juice from Damon's right hand and flashed him a sweet smile. "Thanks."

His grip tightened for a split second, but he didn't say anything and went back to his seat while absentmindedly holding out the glass to Clara.

Noticing the amber liquid and the distracted look on his face, Clara didn't take it.

Instead, she got up, grabbed her bag, and said softly, "I don't drink. I'm going to the hot springs."

That was when it hit Damon. He'd handed her the wrong glass. Still caught up in his thoughts about Giselle, he hadn't realized he'd mixed up the liquor and the juice.

He wanted to explain, but Clara was already gone before he could get a word out.

Sinking into the warm, soothing water, Clara felt her exhaustion melt away. Leaning back against the wall, she watched the steam swirl and rise, and before she knew it, sleep crept up on her.

The knocking at the door went unnoticed, probably because she'd gotten so used to the noise outside. Damon called her name a few times, but she didn't respond.

His chest tightened, and without thinking, he shoved the door open. The sight of her dozing off in the hot spring made his heart skip a beat. Without hesitation, he jumped in and pulled her into his arms.

Clara's eyes fluttered open. She was still dazed. Her arms instinctively wrapped around his shoulders as he lifted her. Between the rising steam and the warmth of their bodies pressed together, the air between them shifted.

Damon found himself leaning in. Their breaths had barely mingled when footsteps suddenly echoed through the space.

A second later, Giselle stepped in. The moment she saw them, her smile froze. She bit her lip hard. Shock and disappointment showed on her face. Then, without a word, she turned and bolted.

Damon stood frozen for a moment. His first instinct was to set Clara down and go after Giselle.

Before he left, he muttered, "She's got it wrong. I'll explain it to her."

Got it wrong? They were legally married. Even if they were caught kissing, what was there to explain?

But Damon was still stuck in the past. He was always slipping back into the role of Giselle's boyfriend, which was why he felt compelled to explain himself all the time.

He was the kind of guy who had once given everything for love. It was hard for him to shake the habit of always needing to justify himself.

Watching him rush off, Clara chuckled, but tears welled up soon after. She wrapped a towel around herself and cracked open the window for some air.

Just then, she spotted Giselle storming outside. Giselle yanked the car door open, but Damon grabbed her hand before she could get in.

Their tense argument echoed loud and clear.

"Clara was asleep. I just didn't want her to catch a cold. Do you really have to blow this out of proportion?"

"Oh, absolutely. She's your wife, and I have no right to be upset! Why don't you go back to her and stop explaining everything to your ex?"

"Giselle, do you really have to put it that way?"

"What? I'm just stating facts!"

With that, their argument hit a dead end. Eyes red from tears, Giselle yanked her arm free, jumped into her car, and sped off. Damon hesitated for seconds before getting into his car and taking off after her.

Once the dust settled and the road went quiet again, Clara turned and headed to the changing room.

When she was done getting dressed and stepped out, Damon's friends pulled her aside. They looked panicked and desperate. "Clara, something bad happened! Damon and Giselle were in a car accident!"

Chapter 6

The group rushed to the hospital and found Damon waiting outside the operating room. He was covered in blood. Sweat glistened on his forehead, and his eyes filled with panic and helplessness.

It was the first time Clara had ever seen him look this shaken. His close friends crowded around him, pressing him for what had happened.

Damon yanked at his hair. His voice was heavy with regret and pain. "It's my fault. I never should've said those things and made Gigi mad. I shouldn't have let her leave by herself. She was speeding just to get back at me. That's why she crashed…"

Hearing him take all the blame, Clara's lashes fluttered.

If he'd said those words just to get under her skin, then what was the real story? Had he really been waiting for her to return, hoping they could patch things up?

Maybe, Clara thought. And with that, she decided not to think about it anymore.

Just then, a nurse walked out, looking especially serious. "The patient is losing a lot of blood, but the blood bank is running low. Is anyone here type O? We need an urgent donation."

Damon's friends exchanged looks. They were all type AB, so none of them spoke up.

Damon was the only one with type O. Without a second thought, he shrugged off his jacket, changed into sterile scrubs, and followed the nurse into the operating room.

Time dragged on, minute by minute. Half an hour later, the nurse returned while helping Damon, who looked ghostly pale. Who knew how much blood he had given?

He was barely staying on his feet. Dizzy and weak, he collapsed straight into Clara's arms.

Instead of leaving, the nurse said, "The patient's condition is slowly improving, but we still need another 400 ml of O-type blood. Do any of you have other friends with type O you can call?"

They had already reached out to everyone they could think of but still hadn't found anyone with O-type blood. Everyone went silent.

Restless and on edge, Damon forced himself to stand. "Only 400 ml more? I'll do it."

The nurse stared at him in shock. "You've already given 600 ml. Are you seriously going to continue donating?"

His friends' expressions shifted, and they rushed to stop him.

"Damon, don't. I'll have my assistant check at the office. There's got to be someone who can help."

But Damon shook his head. His voice was firm. "Gigi doesn't have time to wait."

With that, he rolled up his sleeve, revealing the fresh bruise where the needle had been.

Seeing him push himself this hard, Clara couldn't stay quiet any longer. "The doctors are doing everything they can. We can request blood from other hospitals. You don't have to do this."

Damon paused for a second but didn't say anything. He turned and walked back into the operating room. Everyone watched him go. His steps were firm. No one said a word.

His friends let out a heavy sigh, caught between frustration and helplessness.

"Anything involving Giselle makes Damon lose his mind! Remember when he got into that fight over her, messed up his leg, and ended up in the hospital for three months? The second he got out, he went straight after the guy who started it!"

"Exactly. Back in high school, he even made a bet and went skydiving from 16,000 feet just to win her that necklace she liked. Midway down, his equipment failed and he nearly died. And now, he is putting his life on the line for her again.

"I used to think he still had feelings for Gigi, so I tried to help them work things out. But this… this is just a disaster!"

They were so caught up in their conversation that they forgot Clara was standing there.

Hearing those stories for the first time, something finally clicked for her. Only now did she realize how foolish she'd been that day when she shot to her feet during the wedding.

Clara had always believed that even if she came into Damon's life late, she could still catch up and win his heart. But that was nothing more than wishful thinking.

If Damon had never loved her to begin with, he wasn't going to start now. She'd bet on the wrong person from the start. And now, standing in the ruins of it all, she had no choice but to accept it.

No one knew how much time had passed before the red light of the operating room finally shut off. The doctor came out, pushing two stretchers. Everyone tensed and rushed forward.

Wiping sweat from his brow, the doctor glanced at Damon, who was still unconscious, and sighed. "So, they're a couple, huh? You don't see many guys this devoted anymore."

Clara hung back in the crowd while staring at the glaring lights overhead. A helpless laugh escaped her.

Chapter 7

Damon didn't come to until noon the next day.

He was still groggy, but the first thing out of his mouth was about Giselle. "How'd her surgery go? Is she okay? Has she woken up?"

Seeing how anxious he was, Clara—who'd been up all night—gave a tired nod and rasped, "The doctor said she'll be fine. She just needs a few months to recover."

Relief washed over Damon, but he was still on edge. He shoved off his blanket and got out of bed. He was determined to see Giselle for himself.

No matter how much Clara tried to talk him down, he wouldn't listen—until a nurse came in to hook him up to an IV and physically stopped him.

He stared at the large bag of fluids as frustration flickered in his eyes. His mind was still on Giselle. After a moment, he spotted the fruit basket on the table and latched onto an excuse.

"Clara, I called Giselle's parents yesterday. They flew back overnight and should be at the hospital now. Can you take that fruit basket to them, say hi, and check on her for me?"

Clara looked at him for a long moment before finally humming in response. She picked up the basket and walked out of the ward. Giselle was on the floor above.

Just as Clara was about to knock, she noticed the door was slightly open. Through the narrow gap, she spotted Giselle nestled against a man she didn't recognize.

"Elias," Giselle said, her voice warm with affection. "Weren't you going to introduce me to your parents? Why'd you come alone?"

"I wanted to, but you're still recovering. It's not the best time. Once you're discharged, I'll take you home to meet them, okay?"

Clara's fists tightened at those words. Giselle was seeing someone else and was already talking about meeting his family.

Just then, the doctor making rounds pushed the door open, startling Giselle and Elias Anderson. She looked up and saw Clara. Her expression darkened instantly.

"What are you doing here?" she questioned.

Clara didn't say a word. She set the fruit basket on the floor and turned to head downstairs. Despite her injuries, Giselle hurried after her. She caught up to her at the stairwell.

She grabbed Clara's arm and demanded, "You're not going to run off and snitch to Damon, are you?"

Clara turned, catching a flicker of panic in Giselle's face.

"Why are you still hanging onto Damon if you already have a boyfriend?" she asked coldly.

Giselle arched an eyebrow and gathered herself right away. "Because I like keeping two men on the hook. I love having them wrapped around my finger, spoiling me in every way. Isn't it obvious?"

"Do you really have to stomp all over his feelings like that?" Clara asked.

Noticing the anger in Clara's eyes, Giselle let out a sarcastic laugh. Her voice was oozing with pride. "I've got the power to make them both fall for me—even a guy like Damon, who's got everything. Are you jealous, Clara? Maybe if you admit it, I'll be kind enough to show you how it's done someday."

Clara was at a loss for words. She was stunned by Giselle's arrogant, self-satisfied attitude.

But her silence only seemed to feed Giselle's smugness. She looked Clara over, and finally, her gaze settled on the wedding ring on Clara's finger.

"You were just the backup plan, Clara. What makes you think you have any right to call me out? Let me clue you in—I never actually left the country back then. I was just hungover after partying all night with two seniors. You never would’ve become Mrs. Croft if Damon hadn't been mad at me!"

All the anger Clara had been holding in finally boiled over. She slapped Giselle across the face.

Clara hadn't even hit her that hard, but Giselle made a show of it. She tumbled down the stairs like she'd been struck with full force.

Before Clara could process what had just happened, the elevator doors slid open, and Damon stepped out. He rushed over, shoving Clara aside before she could react.

Then, he bolted down the stairs and scooped Giselle into his arms. His face was stricken as he took in her bruised and battered state.

He shot Clara a furious glare while barely holding back his anger. "She never did anything to you. Why did you have to hurt her like this?"

Giselle made a show of the red mark on her cheek. Her tears streamed as she leaned pitifully against Damon. "Forget it, Damon. Clara's probably still holding a grudge because I used to be your ex. I can't blame her. Let's go."

Clara couldn't get a word out after what she said. The way Damon's expression darkened told her there was no point in trying to explain. Nothing she said would make a difference.

Her silence, to him, was as good as an admission of guilt. Without another word, he looked away with disappointment etched across his face.

Then, he carried Giselle off and never looked back.

Chapter 8

After leaving the hospital, Clara got a call from the staff letting her know her visa had been approved. She gathered all her documents and started packing.

Each day, she tore a page off her desk calendar, watching as the stack shrank to just a few sheets. The year was almost over. And soon, she'd be leaving the city she had called home for over 20 years.

For that entire week, Damon never came home once. Instead, Giselle flooded Clara's phone with one taunting message after another.

Seven days before Clara's departure, Giselle sent a video. In it, Damon was down on one knee. He was gently massaging her calf with painstaking care.

As Clara watched, she tossed every gift she had ever bought for him straight into the trash.

Five days before she left, Giselle sent photos of Damon handing her a box of jewelry and slipping a ring onto her finger himself.

Without a second thought, Clara smashed their wedding photo into pieces and threw it straight into the fire.

Three days before she left, she received an audio recording where Damon was murmuring Giselle's name in his sleep. His voice was full of longing.

Clara gathered every gift he had ever given her during their marriage and donated them. The villa she had once called home was slowly being emptied. Her small luggage was nearly packed and ready to go.

Noticing how thoroughly she was clearing out the house, the housekeeper grew concerned and asked her more than once what was going on.

Clara smiled, her tone light. "I'm just getting a divorce."

"Mr. Croft agreed to it?"

Agreed? Clara wasn't sure. But she figured Damon would probably be thrilled if he saw the divorce agreement. After all, Giselle occupied his every thought and had all his attention.

The day before she left, Giselle messaged Clara again. This time, it wasn't a photo of Damon. It was his parents. They stood around Giselle's hospital bed, all smiles, chatting like family.

Clara felt nothing. She still didn't reply. Instead, she opened her contacts and deleted Giselle, Damon, and everyone connected to them.

The day Clara left, the first snow of the season arrived. She carried the diaries and unsent love letters she had sorted through the night before into the garden.

The orange glow of the flames flickered across her face as those tender teenage memories turned to ash. She tipped her head back and watched the flurries swirl and drift down.

She wondered how much snow it would take to blanket the ashes. She was lost in her thoughts when, out of nowhere, the heavy front gates creaked open.

Damon, who hadn't shown up in what felt like forever, finally returned. He strode inside. He glanced at Clara, crouching on the ground, then headed straight into the living room.

When he came back out, he stopped beside her. His eyes fell on the stack of pale pink envelopes, and for the first time in days, the anger he'd been holding onto started to fade. It reminded him of that letter from the reunion.

"I've been busy lately," he said. "Let's sit down and talk once I get everything sorted out."

Clara wondered what he was going to talk about. The divorce? She gave a faint smile and looked up at him.

"There's nothing left to talk about. I already gave you the thing you wanted most a month ago," she said flatly.

Damon was confused about what she meant. He thought about asking, but his phone buzzed. He checked the messages, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

Clara saw the look on his face, tossed the last of the love letters into the fire, and got up. Her skirt swirled around her, hiding the flames.

By the time Damon finished replying to his messages, the letters had already burned to ash, and whatever he'd meant to ask was long forgotten.

Clara walked him to his car and even opened the door for him.

A sharp gust of wind blew past. Worried she wasn't dressed warmly enough, Damon urged her to go back inside before she froze. But Clara insisted on seeing him off at the gate.

Through the window, he saw her raise a hand in a slight wave. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't quite catch the words.

He figured it was just another gentle reminder—probably "Drive safe" or something along those lines. She'd said it so many times over the past three years that he barely gave it a second thought.

Damon's car rumbled to life and disappeared from Clara's sight in no time.

She stood in the snow for a long while before finally heading back to her room. She slipped on a coat and dragged her suitcase downstairs.

The snowfall was getting heavier, flakes landing in her hair until, from a distance, it looked almost white—like an old woman's.

A cab pulled up outside the villa. Before getting in, she took one last look back and quietly repeated those barely audible words.

"Never again, Jeston. Never again, Damon Croft."