Chapter 4

I don't know how long I stared at that photo.

It wasn't until Scarlett came in with a drunken Ethan that I snapped back to reality.

Seeing me still awake, Scarlett paused, then explained.

"Ethan's drunk, and he lives alone, so there's no one to take care of him."

I should have exploded in anger.

But I knew clearly, it was useless.

Scarlett didn't love me.

Thinking this, I moved aside to let Scarlett pass.

Scarlett raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Good, it seems you've thought it through. I haven't treated you badly, after all."

"Besides, if you leave me, you won't be able to afford your mom's medical expenses."

I didn't reply, letting Scarlett help Ethan upstairs.

I also deliberately ignored the faint smirk on Ethan's lips as he looked at me.

It was only when I returned to the bedroom and saw the clothes Ethan was wearing that I clenched my fists.

I rushed forward, wanting to tear the clothes off him.

The moment I touched Ethan, he cried out, "Ah, you're hurting me!"

The next second, Scarlett, coming out of the bathroom, shoved me away.

The force was too much, and I hit the corner of the table.

In my ear was Scarlett's accusation, "Alex, are you out of your mind?!"

I braced myself against the table corner and stood up straight, responding for once.

"Shouldn't you be asking yourself that?!"

"You know this jacket was handmade by my mom, and she's barely clinging to life with medical equipment. How can you let another man wear it?!"

Scarlett's movements paused, as if she finally realized.

But she didn't lower her head, shielding Ethan behind her, and said in a deep voice, "Even so, you shouldn't lay a hand on him! Apologize to Ethan!"

My voice tightened. "He's the one who was wrong. Why should I apologize?"

Scarlett scoffed.

"Fine, let's see how long you can keep this up. Don't regret it!"

With that, she turned to Ethan, her tone softening.

"Change back into your clothes. I'll take you to the hospital."

Ethan nodded, casting a glance at me before he left.

I hadn't meant to lose control.

But the emotional disparity was too great; it was suffocating me.

Blood from the cut on my forehead trickled down my brow, and a familiar message popped up on my phone.

[My offer still stands. As long as you're willing, I'll marry you.]

I didn't want to wait for Scarlett anymore.

I'd waited for her for five years for this marriage. How many five-year periods does one life have?

I finally made up my mind to reply.

[I agree. Get ready.]