Chapter 2

A cold laugh came from the other end of the phone.

"It's good that you've come to your senses. I'll be back in the country in a week to sign the contract with you. Once you've taken the money, you'll disappear from my son's life forever!"

I mumbled a soft response and hung up.

Even if Mother Harrington hadn't said it, I was planning to leave anyway.

From our first encounter when I was eighteen until now.

I had already spent all of my youth on Caelan.

For the rest of my days, I just want to reclaim everything I gave up for him.

The window in the hospital room wasn't fully closed, and the cold wind chilled me to the bone.

I got up to close it, and beneath the sparse sycamore trees, I saw a young man in white.

The wind tousled his hair.

For a moment, it felt like I was back in the year I first met Caelan.

Back then, I went to the Harrington estate to help my mom clean. Caelan was sitting under a sycamore tree in the courtyard, reading a book.

I had never seen someone so handsome before. I was so mesmerized watching him that I accidentally stumbled and fell.

The expected pain never came; Caelan had caught me steadily.

He gave me a cool, brief glance.

That single look made me understand what it meant for a moment to feel like eternity.

Now, seeing him again, Caelan was already confined to a wheelchair.They say it was Vivienne who declared, "Caelan, love isn't just something you say with your mouth. If you dare to take me racing on mountain roads, I'll marry you!"

Because of this casual joke, he nearly lost his life.

When the car accident happened, he protected Vivienne, but both his legs were shattered.

Mother Harrington was furious and sent Vivienne abroad, forbidding them from ever seeing each other again.

The talented boy fell from grace and lost his love.

Caelan's personality changed drastically, transforming from a gentle, well-mannered young man into a monster despised by all.

He became an alcoholic, lashing out indiscriminately at everyone around him.

Just when even his own parents were about to give up on him,

I tore up my acceptance letter to the top art school and resolutely came to his side.

I learned massage therapy and persisted in giving Caelan four-hour massages every day.

Rain or shine.

Even when he lost his temper and smashed a vase on my head, leaving me bloodied.

Even when everyone laughed at me for being naive and stupid.

I never gave up.

For seven years, I visited every temple, sought out every renowned doctor, and tried every method possible.

Finally, the day came when Caelan recovered.

It was also the day my heart died.I took a deep breath and opened Caelan's social media profile using my alternate account.

The pinned post was a photo of his marriage certificate with Vivienne.

The caption read, "After seven years, I've finally fulfilled the promise I made back then. In these seven years, I never forgot you for a moment."

The comments were filled with congratulations, praising how the two lovebirds had finally ended up together.

No one remembered my sacrifices and devotion over the past seven years.

My eyes stung as I read, and I looked up towards the window.

The weather had turned cold, and the sycamore trees in the courtyard had already shed their leaves.

The white-clad young man under the sycamore tree was no longer worthy of my love.

I booked a flight abroad, intending to reapply to the school I had once dreamed of attending.

After two days of observation in the hospital, I checked myself out alone.

Caelan didn't come to pick me up; he only sent someone with a bouquet of jasmine flowers.

I thought he was busy preparing for his wedding with Vivienne and didn't have time to see me.

To my surprise, that night, he lay down beside me as he always had.

He hugged me from behind, burying his head in my chest.

"My leg hurts, and I'm hungry..."

I was half-asleep.

Out of habit, I went to the kitchen and made a bowl of scallion oil noodles.

I blew on it to cool it down, placed it in front of Caelan, then skillfully knelt down to massage him.The moment her hand touched his skin, he abruptly pulled away.

"Goldie, your hands are so rough, they don't even feel like a woman's hands."

I snapped back to reality, looking at Caelan with a confused expression.

Slowly, I recalled Vivienne's delicate fingers in the photograph, so well-maintained.

Then, I lowered my head and let out a bitter chuckle.

Caelan felt these hands weren't worthy of touching him.

But he forgot.

These hands of mine were once meant for writing and drawing.

They became rough because of Caelan, and now Caelan despised them for their roughness.

Seven years of companionship, over a decade of secret love.

It really wasn't worth it, was it?