Chapter 3

The message was sent privately by Ethan’s personal assistant.

It came with a thirty-minute video recording of the entire ceremony.

On the small stage, the two of them smiled brightly, looking like a couple deeply in love.

However, the ceremony was remarkably low-key. Ethan obviously didn't want too many people to know about it.

After all, he was still harboring pathetic hopes of winning over Isabella, who was already married to someone else.

No matter who he got engaged to, he wanted to hide it from Isabella.

On top of that, society already believed I was his fiancée.

He couldn't afford to shoot himself in the foot publicly.

So, he could only throw an intimate, quasi-secret gathering.

He did it to appease Chloe, to make her feel cherished so she would remain obediently by his side.

And sending this video to me? I knew damn well it was meant to put me in my place.

Ethan’s assistant timed it down to the second. Exactly thirty minutes later, a text popped up:

[Mr. Vance wants me to ask: Do you realize your mistake yet?]

[Mr. Vance says that if you know you were wrong, you should hurry back home. Don't think packing your bags is going to scare him. His patience has limits, and you won't like him when he's angry. He also said that if you don't return immediately, the title of Mrs. Vance will truly belong to someone else.]

I replied with a middle-finger emoji.

[Give that to Ethan as my official answer.]

Right after hitting send, I blocked every single one of their contact numbers.

From the moment I walked out of the Vance estate that night, I had sworn to myself that I would never love him again.

I would never let anything he did control my emotions or make me shed another tear.

I didn't owe him a damn thing! If we really sat down to settle the score, he was the one who owed me far more over the years!

Ethan’s father and my father had been close business partners.

Years ago, my dad picked the two of us up from school, and we got into a terrible car accident.

Ethan had thrown a tantrum with me and insisted on sitting in the front passenger seat. When the crash happened, my father swerved to protect him, paying with his life.

Before taking his final breath, my dad begged Ethan to take care of me in the future.

Terrified and young, Ethan readily agreed.

Unable to cope with the grief, my mother fell ill and passed away shortly after. I was left an orphan.

Guilt-ridden, Ethan’s father took me in. In the beginning, Ethan was genuinely good to me.

I clung to him as my emotional anchor, my sole protector.

I loved him with complete, unwavering devotion for years.

But as time marched on, his guilt faded.

The promise to take care of me became nothing more than empty lip service.

Especially when he hit his late teens and fell hopelessly in love with Isabella—his resentment toward me grew exponentially.

He felt my father's death had chained him down, preventing him from pursuing the woman he truly wanted, ultimately forcing him to watch Isabella marry another man.

His cruelty toward me escalated, but I still refused to blame him.

Even when he threw harsh insults or broke my spirit until I barely recognized myself, I endured it.

I foolishly believed that as long as I closed my eyes, kept loving him, kept trying to please him—even if it meant clinging to him shamelessly—he would eventually see my worth. He would turn around and treat me the way he used to.

Reality proved that I had been tragically wrong from the very beginning.

Still, coming to my senses now wasn't entirely too late.

At least I still had my life ahead of me.

Stepping off the train, the unfamiliar mountain air made my head spin with dizzying relief.

It had been years since I had traveled anywhere, and my brain buzzed with pure adrenaline.

The excitement of starting a new life temporarily washed Ethan from my thoughts.

I hailed a cab and headed to the inn I had booked during the train ride.

It was a gorgeous, rustic lodge full of local charm.

When I reached the courtyard, the owner happened to be walking back from an errand.

Seeing my heavy luggage, he offered to carry it up to my room without a word.

His name was Julian. He looked a few years older than me, exuding a quiet, mature presence.

The faint frown on his brow made him look slightly intimidating, but after enduring Ethan's hostility for years, a stern face didn't scare me at all.

Stepping onto the porch, Julian pulled out a cigarette. As he reached for his lighter, he glanced back at me. "Do you mind?"

I shook my head, then quickly smiled. "Can I take a picture?"

Julian's brow knitted tighter. "I don't flirt with my guests. No selfies."

I couldn't help but burst into laughter. "I meant of the courtyard scenery! The lodge looks stunning, and I wanted to capture it."

I had too many miserable memories; I needed to overwrite them with fresh, beautiful ones.

Then, I watched a thirty-year-old, rugged man blush right in front of me.

"Go ahead," he mumbled stiffly, quickly changing the subject. "If you take a left outside and walk about six hundred yards, there's a local artisan street. You should check it out if you have time."

For the first time in years, I felt utterly relaxed, soaked in freedom.

He was a complete stranger; I could be entirely myself around him.

Without thinking, the words slipped out: "I'm worried I won't understand the local dialect. Would you mind being my tour guide for a bit?"