The office door was slightly ajar. I stood there holding the bouquet of bellflowers I had specially arranged for him, my hand raised to knock. Then I heard it. A woman’s soft, breathless voice drifting through the gap. “Ethan… it hurts. Be gentle…” Through the narrow crack in the door, I saw the most bitter thing I had ever witnessed in my life. The man I had been married to for three years, the man who would tear off his own shirt and throw it in the trash if I so much as brushed his sleeve, was holding a woman in a white dress tightly in his arms. He was kissing her. He didn’t stop. “Easy now. It’ll only hurt for a second. You’ll feel better soon.” The bellflowers slipped from my hands. Petals scattered across the floor. He looked up. The moment he recognized me, every trace of warmth drained from his eyes. What replaced it was cold, pure contempt. “Who let you up here?” His first instinct was to straighten the woman’s clothes. I pulled the corners of my mouth into something that wasn’t quite a smile. “I’m just a flower delivery girl, right?”
Summer’s POV When the rose thorn pierced my finger, a bright bead of blood surfaced instantly, vivid red against pale skin, impossible to ignore. I didn’t give it much thought. I grabbed a paper towel, pressed it down, and kept working on the enormous floral arch in front of me. Today was the ten-year anniversary gala for Gordon Capital. As New York’s largest investment firm, the celebration was nothing short of lavish. I was a florist here, the one in charge of all the floral arrangements for tonight’s event. I also had a secret identity: the wife of Ethan Gordon, CEO of Gordon Capital. Three years of marriage. Five years of knowing each other. I stared at the lush red roses in front of me and felt my mind drift. For five years, I had spun like a top that never got to stop, always orbiting Ethan. Ethan had severe haphephobia. How severe? He wore gloves whenever he went outside. If anyone touched even the hem of his clothing, he’d strip it off on the spot and throw it away. Three years of marriage. Three years of sleeping in separate rooms. No hugs. No kisses. Certainly nothing more. I had tried not to believe it once. I tried approaching him. I got two weeks of silent treatment in return, plus the sight of him washing his hands until they were raw and peeling. After that, I stopped trying. As long as I could be near him, I told myself a platonic marriage was still something. Still enough. He was cool, untouchable, like a god on a pedestal. And gods were never meant to be stained by ordinary things. “Summer, did the exclusive bouquet for the top-floor executive suite get sent up yet?” My assistant Mia came jogging over. I snapped back to the present and wiped the blood from my fingertip. “I’ll take it up myself.” It was a bouquet of bellflowers I’d put together specifically for Ethan. The meaning of bellflowers: hopeless love. And eternal love. I wanted to give him a surprise on this special day. I took the private elevator to the top floor. The hallway was perfectly quiet. Ethan didn’t like crowds. His floor was always off-limits. I carried the flowers to the slightly open door of the executive suite. I was about to knock when a sound through the gap froze my hand in midair. “Ethan, I’m scared.” The woman’s voice was soft, thick with tears. My heart clenched. I peered through the gap. In front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, Ethan, who always kept everyone at arm’s length, who would frown if someone even breathed too close, was holding a woman tightly against his chest. She was wearing a white dress, slender and fragile, her whole body buried in him. And Ethan wasn’t wearing his gloves. His long, lean fingers moved slowly through her hair, stroking it over and over again with a gentleness I had never once seen from him. His chin rested on top of her head. His voice was low and soft in a way I didn’t recognize. “Don’t be afraid, Wendy. I’m here. As long as I’m here, no one can touch you.” Wendy Shaw. Something detonated inside my head. Like a bomb going off and leaving nothing behind. Wendy Shaw was Ethan’s first love. The girl he had supposedly loved to his bones, and who had left him behind to study abroad. I had always known that name. But I thought she was the past. Turns out the untouchable god could come down from his pedestal after all. His haphephobia was selective. He was allergic to the entire world. But not to Wendy. I stood outside that door as the blood slowly drained from every part of me. Like something vital was being pulled out all at once. The bellflowers in my arms turned impossibly heavy. I could barely breathe under the weight of them. It hit me then. Every version of myself over the past five years had been a complete joke. I’d folded in every sharp edge I had, terrified of touching him, terrified of annoying him. I’d kept the house spotless every single day. I’d been afraid to even breathe too loudly around him. I had told myself he was just a block of ice that hadn’t thawed yet. But right now, that block of ice was melting, pouring itself out for someone else. The bellflowers fell from my hands. Petals spread across the floor. The small sound was enough. Ethan raised his head. His sharp gaze cut straight to the doorway. The instant he recognized me, every drop of warmth left his eyes. What filled them instead was ice and suspicion. He instinctively moved Wendy behind him, like I was something dangerous. “Who let you up here?” Ethan’s voice was cold enough to cut. I watched that protective gesture. My heart felt like an invisible hand had reached in and crushed it. The pain was so complete I could almost taste blood. I opened my mouth. Nothing came out. My throat was too dry. Wendy peered out from behind him, eyes red-rimmed, like a startled doe. “Ethan, who is she…?” “The florist.” He cut her off without a second’s hesitation, his cold gaze fixed on me. “Drop off the flowers and get out. From now on, no one steps onto this floor without my permission.” The florist. I pulled the corners of my mouth up. I was trying to smile. Instead, tears fell first. Three years of marriage, and in his mouth, I was just the flower delivery girl. “Okay.” I heard my own voice, dry and hollow, echo down the hallway. I didn’t pick up the flowers. I didn’t look at either of them again. I turned and walked toward the elevator, one step at a time. Every step felt like walking on the edge of a blade. When the elevator doors closed, I finally gave out. I pressed my back against the cold metal wall and slid to the floor. So that’s how it is. No love means no love. No psychological condition. No haphephobia. The only reason was simple: I wasn’t her.
Summer’s POV By the time the gala ended, it was deep into the night. I was in the flower shop reconciling the last of the accounts when the rain outside picked up. Hard, driving rain. The kind New York gets in late autumn, cold straight through to the bone. A black Maybach pulled up in front of the shop. The window slid down, and there was Ethan: sharp jaw, frost-cut features, expression carved from stone. “Get in.” It was a command. No room for question. I stood under the awning, watching the car through the rain, and didn’t move. In the old days, I would have run to that car without a second thought. Just sitting in the passenger seat, watching him from across the console, that alone would have felt like happiness. Now I just felt tired. “I’ll get a cab.” My voice came out even. Ethan’s brow pulled tight. Impatience flickered across his eyes. “Summer, I don’t have time for this. Get in the car.” I looked at him quietly for a moment. Something about it almost made me laugh. A tantrum? In his mind, I didn’t even have the right to be hurt. Every emotion I had was just making a scene. I opened my umbrella and walked straight to the curb, flagging down a passing cab. Ethan watched the taxi pull away. His expression darkened like a storm rolling in. He pressed the accelerator and followed. By the time I got back to the house, I was soaked through. I walked past Ethan, who was already sitting on the couch radiating cold fury, and went straight upstairs to shower and change. When I came back down, towel-drying my hair, he was standing with a glass of water, watching me with that familiar icy stare. “Would you care to explain that little performance at the office today?” He opened with an attack. His tone carried the weight of someone who’d already decided he was in the right. I paused, then met his eyes. “I’m just the florist. Who exactly do you think I was performing for?” Ethan’s expression shifted. “Wendy just got back. She’s not stable right now. She’s been through trauma. I was only comforting her. Stop making this into something it isn’t.” “Comforting her?” A short, quiet laugh escaped me. Nothing warm in it. “Ethan, weren’t you the one with severe haphephobia? Weren’t you the one who used hand sanitizer three times if I accidentally brushed your sleeve?” Ethan’s face changed. He’d been hit somewhere real. He shot to his feet. “Summer! What exactly are you trying to say?” “I’m saying your condition is apparently very selective.” I held his gaze. Every word deliberate. “You don’t have a problem with being touched. You just find me repulsive. Isn’t that right?” “Shut up!” Ethan’s voice cracked through the room. His chest heaved. “Wendy is different. She’s sick!” “I’m a living person too!” My voice rose to meet his. “Ethan, for five years I treated you like something sacred. You hated mess, so I cleaned this house three times a day. You couldn’t stand being touched, so I made myself small enough that I barely existed near you. I thought you were sick. I felt sorry for you. But you, you gave every last bit of warmth you had to her, and left nothing for me but cold shoulders and locked doors.” The room went dead quiet. Ethan looked at me. “Calm down.” His voice slid back into its usual detachment. “Wendy and I are just friends. If you insist on being this unreasonable about it, I don’t know what to tell you.” He turned and walked into the study. The door clicked shut. I stood there staring at that closed door until the last of my energy drained away. Unreasonable. Five years of my life, and that’s what I got in return. Unreasonable. You can’t wake someone who’s pretending to sleep. And you can’t warm a heart that was never open to you. I turned and went back to my room. It was quiet in there. Sparse. No sign that Ethan had ever set foot inside. He never did. He said I had a smell he couldn’t stand. I sat down at the desk and opened my laptop. I created a new document. The sound of keystrokes was sharp in the silence. Divorce Agreement. I typed the words. My fingertips were trembling slightly. Under the asset division section, I wrote: No claims. I leave with nothing. I hadn’t married him for money. And now that I was letting him go, I didn’t want any of it. The printer whirred. Two thin pages slid out. I picked up a pen. In the space marked Wife’s Signature, I signed my name without hesitating. Every stroke of every letter cut through five years of blind, stubborn hope. Ethan. You’re free now. So am I.
Summer’s POV The next morning I went to the flower shop as usual. When you finally make the decision to let go, even the pain goes quiet. It just goes numb. At ten o’clock, a familiar black sedan pulled up outside. Ethan’s assistant came through the door, looking visibly uncomfortable. “Ma’am…” “Summer is fine.” I cut him off, polite but distant. He cleared his throat and pressed on. “Ms. Summer, Mr. Gordon would like to place an order. The finest Ecuadorian white roses available, delivered to the Champs-Élysées apartment on the south side of town.” The Champs-Élysées apartment. One of Ethan’s properties. My hand paused mid-trim. The pruning shears slipped and caught the webbing between my thumb and forefinger. A thin line of red. White roses. Wendy’s favorite. So he did know how to be romantic after all. He just never aimed any of it in my direction. “Got it.” I blotted the cut with a paper towel and made a note on the order form. “Delivered before two o’clock.” The assistant looked at me like he wanted to say something. In the end, he just exhaled and left. That afternoon, I had a run to a greenhouse out past the city limits, a shipment of rare moth orchids coming in. The greenhouse was hot and thick with humidity. The air smelled like wet soil and blossoms. I was up on a stepladder, carefully transferring a high-shelf orchid down, when the greenhouse door swung open. I turned. Ethan and Wendy walked in side by side. Wendy was in a long floral dress, her hand looped through Ethan’s arm, smiling like a girl who’d fallen completely and willingly in love. “Ethan, the orchids in here are gorgeous. I want a few for my balcony.” Her voice was all soft edges. Ethan let her hold his arm. His expression was something I had never seen him wear for me, easy, indulgent. “Take whichever ones you want.” I stood on the ladder and watched. My stomach turned. I forced my eyes away and went back to moving the planter in my hands. Maybe I shifted too fast. Maybe the rack had been loose for years. The stepladder suddenly swayed. The heavy metal shelving unit beside it lost its balance and started to fall, straight down toward Wendy. Wendy screamed. I didn’t think. My body moved before my brain did. I lunged forward and grabbed for the shelving unit, trying to catch it. I’d overestimated myself. The metal rack came down hard, taking a row of ceramic planters with it. In the same instant, a dark shape threw itself across the room. Ethan grabbed Wendy and pulled her in, taking the impact on his back as they rolled together onto clear ground. And I was left behind entirely. The rack came down on my arm. The force of it knocked me flat. Ceramic pots exploded across the floor. Sharp shards drove into my forearm and shin. Blood came fast. The pain hit like a wave. I gasped. My vision went dark at the edges. I lay face-down in the broken pottery and dirt, and somehow managed to lift my head. A few feet away, Ethan was checking Wendy over frantically, his voice completely undone. “Wendy! Are you hurt? Tell me where it hurts.” Wendy was sheet-white, clutching his shirt, crying. “Ethan, I was so scared. I thought I was going to die…” “You’re okay. You’re okay. I’ve got you.” He held her tightly, whispering it over and over. I lay in the wreckage and watched them. Blood dripped from my arm into the dark soil beneath me, spreading red in a slow, wide ring. My body was in agony. It felt like something had broken. But it wasn’t the worst pain I was feeling. It was like being stabbed with thousands of needles at once, a pain so complete it made even breathing feel like a luxury. “Ethan…” I forced the word out through clenched teeth, barely a sound. Ethan heard it. He turned. He saw me lying in the blood. His eyes widened for just a second. But he didn’t let go of Wendy. Wendy caught sight of me and screamed, pressing deeper into his chest. “Ethan, the blood. There’s so much blood.” Ethan’s jaw locked. He looked at me, covered in blood and soil, and what crossed his face wasn’t concern. It was disgust. “What are you standing around for? Call an ambulance.” He shouted it at the greenhouse owner, then lifted Wendy in his arms and started walking toward the door. When he passed me, he stopped for just a moment. His voice had no warmth at all. “Get yourself a cab to the hospital. You’re covered in blood. You’ll ruin the car. Wendy’s had a shock. I need to take her now.” Then he was gone. I lay on the cold ground and watched him go. And then I started to laugh. The laughter kept going. Tears cut through the mud and blood on my face. You’ll ruin the car. At the moment I was closest to dying, what he was worried about was his upholstery. I closed my eyes and let the darkness take me.
Summer’s POV The hospital smelled like disinfectant. Cold and clean and clinical. I sat on an ER bed and watched the doctor work a pair of forceps through my forearm, pulling out slivers of ceramic one by one. No anesthesia. The doctor said the wound was too deep. Numbing it would compromise the stitches. The forceps dug through torn flesh and I didn’t flinch once. I just stared at the white wall. “Hang in there, sweetheart. Almost done.” The older doctor glanced at me, something like pity on his face. “Where’s your boyfriend? How’d you end up going through this alone?” I turned the corner of my mouth up. “I don’t have a boyfriend.” Just a man who’s about to be my ex-husband. Might as well be a stranger. Twelve stitches. My forearm disappeared under a thick wrapping of gauze. I thanked the doctor and made my way out of the ER, dragging my feet. My shin had been treated too, and every step came with a limp. I was heading to the payment window when I passed the VIP ward. Through a half-open door, I recognized the silhouette. Ethan was sitting beside the hospital bed, holding a small cup of warm water, carefully guiding it to Wendy’s lips. “Slow down. The doctor said you’re fine, just shaken up.” His voice was so gentle it could have melted something. Wendy was propped against the pillows, pale and soft-eyed. “Ethan, I’m so sorry. You shouldn’t have to deal with all this because of me. Is Summer okay? She was right there when the rack fell.” Ethan’s hand paused. Something went cold in his expression. “Don’t worry about her. She’s tougher than she looks. You, on the other hand, stay away from places like that from now on.” Tougher than she looks. I stood outside the door and listened to those four words and felt something inside me being sawed apart very slowly. I looked down at the gauze around my arm. Then I pushed the door open and walked in. The room went quiet. Ethan looked up. His expression collapsed into a tight scowl. “What are you doing here? Didn’t I tell you to go take care of yourself? Why are you in here bothering us?” He didn’t ask how I was. Not once. I didn’t answer him. I walked unevenly to the bedside, reached into my bag with my good hand, and pulled out two neatly folded sheets of paper. I held them out to him. “What is that?” He didn’t take them. Just looked at them with barely-contained impatience. “Divorce papers,” I said evenly. “I’ve already signed. Take a look, and if everything’s fine, sign yours.” The room went still as a held breath. Wendy’s hand flew to her mouth. But behind the shock in her eyes, there was something else, a flash of something she couldn’t quite hide. Relief. Ethan stared at me. “Summer. What is this, another scene?” He stood up and knocked the papers out of my hand. “Wendy is in the hospital. You’re really going to do this right now?” The pages drifted to the floor. I looked at the anger on his face, and found it almost funny. I bent down slowly, one-handed, and picked them up. Then I held them out again. “I’m completely calm, Ethan. I’ve been tired for a long time. I don’t want to keep pretending anymore.” “You don’t want me near you. You can’t stand to be touched. Fine. I’m stepping aside. You can have the life you actually want. So what’s the problem?” Ethan stared at me, something dangerous in his eyes. Then he laughed, short and sharp, and snatched the papers from my hand. He didn’t read a word of it. He pulled a pen from his pocket and signed his name in the husband’s signature line. He pressed hard. Like he wanted to go through the page. “Take your papers and get out.” He threw them at me. I caught them. I looked at his signature. And whatever last small light had been living somewhere in my chest went out completely. I turned around. I walked out on my injured leg, one step at a time. Behind me, I heard Ethan’s voice, certain, almost bored. “Don’t worry about her. She just wants money. She’ll be back in a few days.” But he didn’t know. Some walks away are forever.
Summer’s POV I didn’t go back to the flower shop after leaving the hospital. I went straight to the house where I had lived for three years. It was big and empty and had never felt like a home. The whole place ran cold. I pushed the door open and stood there looking at the living room, all black and white and grey, minimalist to the point of sterility, and felt suddenly like I couldn’t breathe. For three years, I’d tried to make this place feel like home. I’d brought in warm-toned throw pillows, a hand-woven rug, a dozen different green plants full of life. Ethan had taken one look and said it annoyed him. He had the housekeeper throw everything away. I was the clown in a beautiful cage, performing a one-woman show for an audience that had already left. I went to the guest room, pulled out a large suitcase, and started packing. There wasn’t much, honestly. The card Ethan had given me access to over these three years, I had barely touched it. My clothes were all simple, comfortable, cheap. Once I had packed my things, I walked into Ethan’s study. In the corner there was a large storage box. It was full of five years’ worth of gifts I had given him. A cashmere scarf I had knitted by hand. He said the fibers irritated him. Never wore it once. A limited-edition pen I had had a friend bring back from overseas. He said the grip felt wrong. Tossed it aside. A three-dimensional architectural model I’d stayed up for several nights building piece by piece. It was covered in dust. I stood there looking at it all and smiled a little. I found some large black trash bags and started putting everything in. One by one, every last thing I’d given him with everything I had. No hesitation. No grief. I was about to drag the bags downstairs when the front door opened. Ethan walked in, expression dark. He stopped when he saw me, suitcase at my feet, trash bags in both hands. “What are you doing?” His eyes landed on the luggage. “Moving out,” I said flatly. “We signed the papers. There’s no reason for me to stay.” Ethan crossed the room in a few quick strides and tore open one of the black bags. Things spilled across the floor. “Why are you throwing all of this away?” “It’s clutter. And you love things clean, don’t you? I’m just helping.” My tone was mild. Ethan’s gaze swept over the pile. And then something shifted in his face. He dropped to his knees and started digging through the trash bag frantically. His pristine suit jacket picked up dust and grime. Those hands of his, the ones he sanitized if anyone so much as breathed on them, were plunging into garbage without a second thought. “Where is it? Where’s the box?” His voice was fast, edged with something almost panicked. I watched him lose it. I didn’t move. Then he shot to his feet, eyes bloodshot, locked on me. “The pen Wendy gave me. Where is it? What did you do with it?” I went still for a moment. Then I remembered. An ordinary Parker pen, the barrel slightly chipped. Wendy had given it to him before she left for abroad. Ethan had kept it in his desk drawer like it was a relic. He wasn’t looking for anything I’d given him. He was looking for her broken little keepsake. “I didn’t touch it.” I almost wanted to laugh. “Maybe the housekeeper threw it out by mistake.” “You’re lying!” He completely snapped. He closed the distance between us in two steps, grabbed my wrist and caught the injured arm. I sucked in a sharp breath. The color left my face instantly. The wound split open. Blood soaked through the white gauze. “Let go! I told you I didn’t touch it!” I pulled hard. Ethan looked at the blood spreading through the bandage. And didn’t let go. He actually laughed. “Save the act, Summer. You make me sick.” He shoved me away. I couldn’t catch my balance. I stumbled back into the display shelf behind me. The shelf shook hard. Something on the top fell. It hit the floor with a clean, sharp crack. Everything stopped. I forgot about my arm. I stared at what was on the floor. Broken glass. And inside the ruins of it, a single dried rose. My grandmother had made it for me. Before she died, she spent her last good days building that glass dome by hand, a preserved red rose inside. Her final gift to me. Her blessing. It was the most precious thing I owned in the world. And now it was gone. Glass and dried petals mixed together on the floor, the same way my five years of love had been crushed and scattered without a second thought. Ethan blinked. Then his expression hardened. “It’s just a glass case. It broke. I’ll have my assistant order you ten more tomorrow. Now tell me where Wendy’s pen is.” I got up slowly from the floor. I didn’t look at him. I crouched down and started picking up the pieces with my good hand. The glass cut my fingers. Blood dripped onto the withered rose petals. It was almost too vivid to look at. “Ethan.” I didn’t raise my head. “We’re done now.” You broke what mattered most to me. I don’t owe you anything anymore. I stood up, picked up my suitcase, and walked out into the rainy night without looking back.
🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “NovelMaster” app 🔍 search for “415476”, and watch the full series ✨! #NovelMaster
Leave a Reply