Chapter 6

Ethan POV

Late night, a luxury apartment in New York.

This apartment was one of my properties. Three years ago, Summer was forcibly brought here and assigned the darkest, narrowest guest room. For these three years, she lived like a ghostly shadow, barely surviving.

When I pushed open the door, reeking of alcohol, only a dim floor lamp was on in the living room.

I'd drunk too much at the anniversary gathering. My stomach felt like it was on fire, the pain making me break out in a cold sweat. For the past three years, no matter how cold I was outside, when my stomach pain flared up, I would instinctively return here.

Because I knew that whenever I came back, no matter how late, Summer would silently go into the kitchen and cook me a steaming bowl of spaghetti, topped with a fried egg with golden-brown edges.

That was the only warmth from the past I could extract in this toxic relationship.

Faint sounds came from the kitchen. Before long, Summer came out carrying a steaming bowl of spaghetti and placed it on the dining table.

She didn't say anything. She set the bowl down and was about to turn back to the guest room.

"Stop." I sat in the dining chair, rubbing my throbbing stomach, my voice hoarse.

Summer paused, her back to me.

I picked up a fork and took a bite of the pasta. The warm sauce flowed down my esophagus into my stomach, instantly soothing the spasms. My tightly furrowed brow relaxed slightly, and the volatile emotions in my heart miraculously calmed down.

I looked up, my gaze casually sweeping across the living room, but then I suddenly froze.

In the corner of the living room, the trash can was overflowing. On top, there was a sketchbook I had given her in college, along with several of the library design blueprints I had personally drawn, now torn into shreds.

My hand, holding the fork, stiffened. The warmth in my stomach was instantly replaced by a huge wave of panic.

"What are you doing?" I suddenly stood up. The abrupt movement knocked over the bowl of spaghetti on the table.

Hot broth splashed onto Summer's hand, instantly reddening a patch of skin. But she didn't even flinch. She just turned around, pulled out a few tissues, and calmly wiped up the mess on the table.

"Cleaning up trash." Summer's voice was flat, without any fluctuation. "Ethan is getting engaged next month. I'm clearing out my things here, so Audrey won't be annoyed when she moves in later."

Her calm tone struck me as incredibly grating; I even felt an unprecedented fear.

"Who allowed you to clean?!" I strode over, grabbing her shoulder with surprising force. I stared fixedly into her vacant eyes, my voice a hollow, hoarse whisper. "Summer, what kind of reverse psychology are you playing now? What, you think if you act like you're leaving, I'll soften?"

Summer was forced to look up at me.

Once, these eyes were filled with love for me; later, they showed pain and despair. But now, there was nothing in them. Only a dead silence, a lifeless pallor.

"You're not allowed to go anywhere until I tell you to!" I gritted my teeth and roared, as if to embolden myself. "You haven't paid your debt for Zach's life yet. You're destined to rot here forever!"

That smile was exceptionally pale, yet it held a startling sense of relief.

That smile was incredibly pale, yet it held a startling sense of relief.

"Okay," she said softly. "Rot here."