Chapter 1

When news came that his ex-girlfriend had died in a tragic accident, my boyfriend, Ethan, relapsed into severe clinical depression.

Consumed by grief, he screamed about wanting to follow her into death, standing on the edge of the rooftop ledge countless times.

The ninety-ninth time I pulled him back, during our desperate struggle, I was the one who slipped and fell.

He knelt beside my hospital bed, slapping himself across the face ninety-nine times until his cheeks were swollen and raw.

He wept, swearing, "I will never think about her again. I'll never try to end my life again."

From that day on, he cooperated with his therapists.

He took care of me as if I were made of fragile glass.

The moment his family doctor confirmed he was finally in full remission, I rushed home in pure excitement, eager to plan a celebration surprise for him.

Yet the second I pushed the door open, I froze.

Ethan was tightly holding his back-from-the-dead ex, Chloe.

Chloe looked up, saw me, and wailed even louder into his chest.

"Faking my death was just to get back at you! I regret it so much now... Please don't be with anyone else, okay?"

Ethan stood silent for a long time.

Just when I thought he was going to push her away, he gently wiped the tears from her cheeks.

He whispered, "Okay."

My eyes dropped to his wrist—there were fresh, raw cuts beneath his sleeve.

In that instant, the brutal truth shattered me.

His depression had never truly improved.

And he had never let go of Chloe.

My so-called three-year salvation was nothing more than a pathetic joke.

I took an involuntary step back, bumping hard against the door with a loud thud.

Ethan walked out in a panic, freezing when he saw me standing there.

His instinct was to pull the bedroom door tightly shut behind him before asking, "Why are you home so early?"

I couldn't speak. Forcing down the suffocating ache in my chest, I handed him the medical clearance report.

The evaluation showed Ethan was doing exceptionally well.

His gaze lingered for a second or two on the sentence: Patient has largely emerged from depressive episodes.

Then, a soft smile curved his lips. He reached out and took my hand.

"I'm so lucky to have had you by my side."

"Without you, I never would have gotten better."

His voice was laced with warmth, sounding so completely sincere.

Three years ago, Chloe had thrown a tantrum after an argument with him and stormed off on a ski trip, where she supposedly died in an avalanche.

Ethan blamed himself entirely, sinking into a paralyzing depression.

I was the one who pulled him back from the brink time and time again, encouraging him, holding him together until the shadows receded.

In front of everyone, he called me his savior.

He claimed he had moved on from the past.

At least, that was what I, and everyone else, had believed.

I looked at Ethan’s wrist, hidden beneath his long cuff, and asked, knowing the answer full well, "It feels like I haven't seen you wear short sleeves in forever."

Ethan stiffened slightly.

"I just... get cold easily with the draft. Don't worry about it, Nora."

As he spoke, he unconsciously tugged his sleeve tighter, as if terrified I might pull it back to look.

In the past, sick with worry over his mental state, I would have immediately checked on him.

Now, I merely offered a hollow smile and gave a quiet nod.

He didn't want to come clean.

Why should I humiliate myself by prying?

Beep. Beep. Beep.

My phone alarm went off.

It was time for Ethan's afternoon medication.

He looked at me with tense, guarded eyes, terrified I might push past him into the bedroom to get his pills—terrified I would see his resurrected ex-girlfriend sitting inside.

His mind was visibly racing, scrambling for an excuse to keep me out.

I simply tapped the screen and silenced the alarm.

"Since you're all better now, I guess you don't need me hovering over you to take your meds anymore."

Looking at him, I fought back the stinging burn behind my eyes.

"I'm heading back out."

Ethan visibly slumped in relief, making no effort to stop me.

"Go ahead. The office can't run without you."

I bit my lower lip so hard I tasted copper, keeping the sobs trapped in my throat.

Just as I turned toward the entryway, Ethan suddenly called out after me.

"Nora, come home early tonight."

"I'll take you to that bistro you love. A little celebration."

A celebration for what?

Celebrating that he managed to trick his doctor on the depression assessment? Or celebrating that his dead lover was miraculously breathing again?

Bitter, venomous words burned on the tip of my tongue.

Yet in the end, I couldn't bring myself to spit them out.

"Okay," I said quietly, walking away without looking back.

I walked blocks and blocks in a daze before my legs finally gave out and I stopped.

The company CEO called personally to check on why I had stepped away earlier.

I couldn't bring myself to explain the mess, so I simply said, "The overseas transfer to the London branch... I accept."

The CEO was surprised. "Didn't you decline because your boyfriend couldn't manage without you?"

My voice sounded rough and hollow. "I flattered myself. He doesn't need me."

I couldn't cure his demons, and he couldn't forget his past.

In that case, it was time for me to move on.

The CEO didn't pry further, gladly finalizing the paperwork and emailing me my itinerary.

My flight was in three days.