Chapter 2

He still carried that subtle, clean scent. Once, it was the laundry detergent I picked out for him. Now, I supposed, it was an expensive cologne.

I greedily inhaled, then patted the dust off my elbow.

A scrape on my knee had broken the skin, and a trickle of blood began to seep through, just like my heart. A searing, bone-deep ache spread through me, densely covering my whole body.

We were, inevitably, drifting further and further apart.

“Ma’am, would you like me to take you to the hospital?” his assistant asked, snapping me out of my thoughts.

I shook my head, saying I was fine. Just a scrape, a bit of antiseptic would fix it. In such a stark contrast, I didn’t want to stay any longer, nor did I want to see his new, indifferent gaze.

“So, how much compensation do you need? Just name your price,” Liam said, pulling a wad of cash from his wallet.

I glanced at Liam, who stood by, head down, and started to right my bike, preparing to leave.

“What, not enough?” Liam scoffed, mocking me, his icy gaze sending a chill straight through my chest.

His words were a bullet to my heart, tearing a gaping hole where the icy wind now roared.

It was true. A year ago, I had dumped him when he loved me most. No matter how he pleaded, even if he knelt on the ground, I remained unmoved. So, his current coldness was understandable.

I forced a strained smile, my voice raspy, like gravel grinding, “A thousand dollars? How is that enough?”

He laughed then, a bitter, angry sound. He snatched the wallet from his assistant, pulled out a check, scribbled across it, and flicked it at my face.

The edge of the check stung my cheek before fluttering to the ground, just like my dignity.

I fought to control my emotions, keeping my face blank, and bent down to pick it up.

I didn’t want to linger, afraid he’d see through me, or that I’d break down. As I quickly turned to leave, Liam’s voice cut through the air behind me.

“Willow, do you regret it? Do you regret your decision, looking like this now?”

Every word was a dagger to my heart. My heart felt like it was bleeding.

Back then, when he had nothing, I broke up with him. I told him I was tired of scraping by, tired of the struggle. I couldn't do it anymore, couldn't keep going through hard times with him.

His project was at a critical stage then. If it succeeded, he would join the ranks of rising moguls. He cried and begged me not to break up, promising he'd have money soon, that I wouldn't suffer anymore. He pleaded agonizingly, knelt and grabbed my legs, even threatening to harm himself if I left. But I left anyway, resolute, moving out of our apartment, blocking all his contacts, and ignoring his new calls and texts. I met his pleas with cutting sarcasm.

Now, he had succeeded. He drove expensive luxury cars, looking sharp and composed even in the scorching heat.

And I? I wore the cheapest shirt, pedaling my rental bike under the scorching sun, drenched in sweat.

But I didn't regret it. Not one bit.

Because I was dying.

My doctor said I only had three months left, at most.

At that thought, I held back my tears and softly said, “No, I don’t regret it.” I desperately choked back a sob, then hobbled away.

I couldn’t see Liam’s expression behind me, but as soon as I entered the subway, I burst into tears. I pounded my chest, but it did nothing. Staring at my medical file, I raged at the universe. Why me? I was only twenty-five. Liam and I had so many dreams, a beautiful future. Now it was all dust.

Strangers stared, a mix of curiosity and indifference, as I completely fell apart.