The night before my engagement, I scrolled into a post. “Fell for my carpool buddy—what do I do?” The poster wrote: “He drives a Maybach. Same commute, same route every morning.” “Last week someone rear-ended me at a red light. I fell. He got out and helped me up…” Top comment with thousands of likes: 【If you don’t tell him, how will he know you like him?】 【What if he likes you back?】 I scrolled down. The post included a photo from the accident. A hand reaching out. On the wrist—a watch. Patek Philippe. Limited edition. I zoomed in on that image. Stared at the watch for a long time. I picked it out myself. His engagement gift. Engraved with our initials. Mine and Lucas’s. … The post was old, but trending harder than ever. I clicked on the poster’s profile. A girl’s heartbreaking chronicle of secret love. Until six months ago. She thanked everyone who told her to shoot her shot. Said they were together now. After that, sweet couple updates. He bought her flowers. Took her out on weekends. Last month, he gave her a ring. She posted it. Fingers intertwined. “He put it on me himself. Said when the time’s right, he’ll propose.” I zoomed in. Stared at it. For so long my eyes stung. I designed that ring. Nine revisions. Countless all-nighters. Every time I couldn’t go on, Lucas would wrap his arms around me from behind. Kiss me softly on the lips. I’d lean into him. “Almost done. One more draft.” He’d say, “I’ll stay with you.” Then he’d sit beside me. Working on his laptop. Waiting. Now, the design files are still on my computer. One-of-a-kind. But later, Lucas told me the jeweler lost the ring. I believed him. Cried my eyes out. Lucas kissed the tears from my eyes that day. Said he’d find an even better ring. Told me not to cry. Turns out it wasn’t lost. It’s on her finger. Two days ago, she posted again: “He’s so busy lately, barely has time for his girlfriend.” I scrolled past. Didn’t like. Didn’t comment. Just set my phone face-down on the table. Watched the drizzle outside. Busy planning our engagement gala, probably. My phone buzzed again. A new post from her. With location tagged. A restaurant. “He told me to meet him here at 8. Said he’s introducing me to his friends.” Ironclad evidence. The watch I chose. The ring I designed. But I still couldn’t believe it. That man was Lucas. Like I was possessed, I changed clothes. Called the family driver. Told him to take me to the restaurant. 7:20 PM. I arrived early. The hostess smiled, asked who I was meeting. I gave her Lucas’s number. She checked. Led me to a private room. The hallway stretched long, carpeted in deep red. My heels made no sound. At the door of the private room— Not fully closed. Voices drifted out. “Bro, you’re really rolling out the red carpet for your girl, huh? 8 o’clock dinner, but we’re all here at 7:30.” “She’s shy. Wanted you guys here early so you don’t say stupid shit when she shows up.” “Relax, man. We got you.” Laughter. The clink of glasses. Through the chatter, someone brought me up. “What about the one at home, bro? I mean, we all grew up together.” “Clara? Come on. She’s the daughter of Lucas’s lifesaver, if we’re being nice.” “But let’s be real—she’s just a charity case. The stowaway her mom left behind when she kicked it.” “At best, she’s a childhood playmate.” I stood frozen. Waiting for Lucas to say something. He’d shut them down. He had to. Like back in high school, when someone called me an orphan. He didn’t say a word—just grabbed the guy and beat him into the ground. Afterward he looked at me, eyes red with anger and hurt. “Anyone says that again, I’ll wreck them.” He would. He’d tell them to stop. He’d say I wasn’t a charity case.
“Facts are facts.” Lucas’s voice floated through the crack in the door. Light. Casual. Like he was commenting on the weather. “But.” He paused. “Don’t say that stuff to her face.” “She’s sensitive.” Someone laughed. “Ooh, protective much?” “Protective of what?” His voice was lazy now. “My mom’s dying wish. I’m supposed to take care of her.” “She lives at the house. I provide. It’s the least I can do.” “Think of it like keeping a pet.” “Not that much work.” More laughter. I stood frozen at the door. Tears streaming down my face. My whole body shaking. A pet. I didn’t care how I looked. I shoved the door open. Everyone stared. Lucas sat at the head of the table, casually swirling a glass of wine. The second he saw me, his face changed. “Clara.” He stood. “What are you doing here? I told you to rest.” The others didn’t dare breathe. I smiled. My face was wet with tears. Must’ve looked pathetic. “Lucas, did you just call me a pet?” He opened his mouth. “Let me explain—” “Explain what?” “That I’m just an extra mouth to feed?” “That keeping me isn’t that much work?” “Or—” Emotion choked my throat. I stopped. Tears surged again. “That my mom who saved your life was just a housekeeper to you?” His expression shifted. Not panic. Something else. I’d seen it before. The way he looked at beggars when we were kids. That exact look. Annoyed. Disgusted. Why are you here again? He frowned. Looked away from me. Said nothing. But that look said more than words ever could. Someone in the room glanced at their watch. “Bro, it’s almost eight.” He hummed. Didn’t move. Didn’t look at me either. A few minutes later, he finally spoke. Dismissive as hell. “Clara, go home.” “Tomorrow’s engagement party is still on.” “You’ll get what you want.” “Stop making a scene.” What I want… I opened my mouth. Tried to say something. He raised his hand. Cut me off. Eyes fell on my hands. Red from the cold. Still trembling. Lucas frowned, grabbed his suit jacket from the chair. “It’s freezing.” He draped it over my shoulders. Quick. Like he was afraid he’d change his mind. The jacket still held his warmth. I froze. Looked up at him. He looked back. Something flickered in his eyes. Too fast. Too fast for me to tell if it was pity or just habit. “Go home.” His voice softened slightly. “Focus on the engagement.” Security stepped forward. I didn’t move. Wearing his jacket. Standing there. Waiting for him to say something. Waiting for that look to come back. But it didn’t. All I got was security urging me to leave. They escorted me out. At the elevator, the doors opened. Inside stood a girl. Phone in her hand. Screen lit up. A photo of her kissing Lucas. As we passed each other, she glanced at me. Just once.
“Babe!” She ran past me, threw herself into his arms. He caught her. Looked down at her and smiled. A smile I hadn’t seen in so long. The elevator doors closed. I couldn’t see them anymore. Just my own reflection in the elevator walls. Face covered in tears. Ugly. The jacket draped over my shoulders. Warm. But I couldn’t stop shaking. When I walked out of the restaurant, security handed me an umbrella. I didn’t take it. Rain pounded down on me. Bone-chilling cold. I didn’t want to hide. I wanted to wake up. Wanted to wash away these twenty years. By the time I got back to the villa, I was soaked through. His jacket still on my shoulders. I took it off. Fell onto the bed. Cold. My head felt numb. Don’t know how long passed. My eyelids got heavier. When I woke up, my whole body was burning. Head splitting like it was cracking open. I touched my forehead. Scalding. I had a fever. Images started flooding in, chaotic and blurred. The first time he held my hand. I was seven. Mom was gone. They brought me to the Ashford house. He was three years older. Stood at the door, watched me for a long time. Like a prince from a fairy tale. Held out his hand. “Don’t be scared. I’m here.” When I had cramps, he’d get me some ibuprofen. And tuck a heating pad around me. On my eighteenth birthday, he snuck in a cake. Just the two of us. He lit the candles. “Make a wish.” I asked, “What should I wish for?” He looked at me. Word by word: “Wish that we’ll always be together.” But then, the scene shifted. Mom lying in a pool of blood. When that car came at them, she pushed Lucas out of the way. She couldn’t dodge it. He knelt on the ground. Hands covered in blood. I ran to her. Held her. She looked at me one last time. “Clara, take care of yourself.” I kept crying. Tears so hot they felt like they’d evaporate. I wanted Lucas. I needed him. Wanted to hear him say “I’m here” one more time. My phone on the nightstand rang. I fumbled for it, half-conscious. A voice came through. Not his. A woman’s. Moaning. Over and over. I gripped the phone. Tears sliding down my face. Onto the pillow. Soaking it. The other end went quiet. Then his voice. Amused. Breathless. “Sorry. Butt dial.” He hung up. I stared at the ceiling. The room spinning. My stomach lurched. I tried to get out of bed. Too late. I threw up on the floor. Nothing in my stomach. Just water. Sour. Bitter. Mixed with tears. I slumped over the edge of the bed. The world was shaking. The fever hadn’t broken. The images kept looping in my head. Mom’s last words. The woman’s moans. Back and forth. I threw up again. Nothing came out this time. Just dry heaving. Convulsing. I collapsed back onto the bed. Closed my eyes. When I opened them again, it was morning. I was in a hospital. The fever had broken. My body ached. Lucas sat by the bed. Don’t know when he got here. Leaning against the wall. Eyes closed. Like he’d been keeping watch all morning. I moved slightly. He woke up. Opened his eyes. Looked at me. For a second, there was confusion in his gaze. Like he’d forgotten everything that happened between us. Then he stood. Reached out. Touched my forehead. His palm was cool. “Fever’s gone.” His voice was hoarse. I tried to speak, but my throat felt like I’d swallowed glass. He looked into my eyes. “Why didn’t you call a doctor?” “……” “Why didn’t you call me?” “……” “Clara, do you even realize you had a fever?” When I didn’t answer, he said one more thing. “The engagement’s off.” “Happy now?” I froze. “I—” “Enough.” He cut me off. Tucked the blanket around me. “Stop tormenting me.”
Watch👉 https://cps-front.novelix.live/app-api/ext/new/20260701g4TYKp4kTs 🌟 Continue the story here 👉🏻 📲 Download the “Novelix” app 🔍 search for “ni275640”, and watch the full series ✨! #Novelix
Leave a Reply