Chapter 2

Chloe Evans POV

The red light above the operating room doors stayed on.

The air conditioning in the hallway blew warm air, yet my hands and feet felt freezing cold.

On the bench across from me, Rachel Vance sat with reddened eyes, glancing toward the operating room every so often.

After a long stretch of silence, Rachel Vance suddenly spoke: "Ms. Evans, I'm truly sorry for causing you two trouble again."

I didn't answer, merely looking at her.

Rachel Vance dabbed at the corner of her eyes, as if drifting into a memory. "I was actually quite surprised. After all this time, Zachary is still the same."

She paused, a bittersweet smile gracing her lips.

"For my birthday last year, he flew overseas and waited in line for hours just to buy a limited-edition handbag I once mentioned offhand that I liked."

"He remembered all along. But I was still mad at him back then, so the moment he gave it to me, I threw it back in his face and didn't even let him through the door."

My fingers clenched tight, my nails biting into my palms.

I remembered Zachary saying last year that he had a three-day business trip abroad.

When he returned, he carried a handbag and tossed it to me with utter carelessness.

I had been overjoyed for days, keeping the bag tucked into the deepest corner of my closet, too reluctant to even carry it outside.

So it was just something Rachel Vance had discarded, which he casually dumped on me.

Rachel Vance continued, "And the Christmas before last, I had a fight with my boyfriend at the time and posted a depressing status. When Zachary saw it, he took a red-eye flight and stood beneath my apartment all night long."

"The snow was falling so heavily that night. He just stood there, never coming up to knock."

My heart felt as if a hand had seized it in a vice grip.

I remembered that Christmas Eve—Zachary had been unusually passionate, leading me to believe he finally held some genuine affection for me.

When I woke the next morning, the space beside me was already cold. I had assumed an urgent matter came up at work.

It turned out he was in a rush to see Rachel Vance.

"These five years..." Rachel Vance's tears began to spill again. "I gave him the cold shoulder out of spite, but he sent me a long email every single day, without fail."

I suddenly found it hard to breathe.

How many late nights had I walked past his study, seen the light on, assumed he was working late over documents, and specifically brought him food?

All that time, he was writing emails to Rachel Vance.

I had always thought that during the years she was gone, Zachary had at least genuinely wanted to make our marriage work.

Only now did I realize it was all just my own wishful thinking from start to finish.

Seeing that Rachel Vance was about to say more, I abruptly stood up.

My face was as pale as paper, but I forced my voice to stay steady. "I have something to take care of. I'll take my leave."

Without waiting for Rachel Vance's reaction, I turned on my heel and walked away. My pace grew faster and faster, until it felt like I was running for my life.

Back home, I silently packed my bags, waiting only for the day the contract expired.

Over the next few days, I saw updates about Zachary on Rachel Vance's social media feed daily.

The surgery was a complete success, yet without resting even half a day, he immediately arranged the highest-tier VIP suite for Rachel Vance's mother.

He brought in top medical teams from overseas and personally reviewed every single treatment plan.

In the latest photo Rachel Vance posted, Zachary sat beside the hospital bed, an IV needle still taped to one hand, while he carefully peeled grapes with the other, pitting the fruit and arranging it neatly in a small bowl.

The caption read only: "I'll never meet anyone who treats me this well again."

My chest ached sharply. A tear dropped onto the screen, blurring Zachary's tender profile in the photograph.

I remembered that over the past five years, that was exactly how I had treated him.

Knowing he had a delicate stomach, I woke up before dawn to cook for him.

Whenever I handed him fruit, it was always peeled, deseeded, and cut into bite-sized pieces.

Yet now, he was doing every single one of those things for someone else.

I sniffled, wiped the tear from my eye, and told myself silently:

It's fine. Once I let him go, I will love myself properly.