The press conference unfolded according to plan.

The venue dripped with flowers and soft lighting—less corporate launch, more fairy-tale wedding.


Seeing Adrian waiting on stage, I felt a surreal moment of déjà vu—as if we'd truly been lovers once.

The host raised his microphone with ceremonial gravity: "Mr. Harrington, for richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, will you collaborate with Miss Reynolds, support her lifelong endeavors, and stand by her until death parts you?"

Adrian's eyes found mine with an intensity I'd never seen before. "I do," he answered firmly.


"Miss Reynolds, do you—"

I clutched the ice-cold microphone and stared directly at Adrian. "I don't."


The audience erupted in shocked murmurs.

Adrian's smile vanished, replaced by stunned disbelief.

I ripped the elegant name badge from my chest and dropped it to the floor. "Adrian, I will not work with you."

"I refuse to partner with the man who destroyed my business, bankrupted me, and then systematically cut off every path to my recovery."

I hiked up my gown, pulled a small knife from my shoe, and pressed it against my throat. The blade bit into my skin.

"Clara!" All color drained from Adrian's face as genuine panic set in. He lunged forward, hands shaking.

"Stay back!" I stumbled backward. The knife caught his arm as he reached for me, drawing blood. I pressed the blade against my chest instead. "I won't work with you. I won't be with you."

"Choose now, Adrian. My death or my freedom?"

The crowd surged forward, camera flashes exploding like strobe lights, but no one dared intervene.

Adrian ignored his bleeding arm, his eyes never leaving mine.

As he hesitated, I pressed the knife deeper.

Blood bloomed through the white fabric like a crimson flower. Adrian's lips trembled before he finally closed his eyes and roared: "GO!"

I laughed—a hollow, broken sound.

How fucking ironic.

When he offered me tissues in that hospital cafe, I never imagined love.

When he shielded me at that tasting event, I never suspected love.

When he obsessively pursued me after that night, I never considered love.

When he demanded I become his business partner, I never believed love.

When Selina screamed that he loved me, I dismissed every word.

But now, seeing my safety was the only leverage that could break him, I finally believed it. Adrian Harrington actually loved me.

But what cruel irony—all my suffering stemmed from his twisted, possessive, suffocating version of love.

How could anyone call that love?

The grand event collapsed into chaos.

Adrian went to the hospital. I walked into freedom.

If it was a war, there were no victors—just casualties on both sides.

I purchased a small plot beside Mom's grave—no photo, no name on the stone. A memorial for Calm Breeze and the woman I used to be.

I sent out resumes again. Without Adrian's interference, I landed a job and started rebuilding.

One evening after work, I bought myself fresh strawberries—a small luxury.

The air carried hints of fresh grass—winter's grip finally loosening.

Spring was coming at last.