Chapter 18

"Heh..." Vivian suddenly laughed, the sound grating through the phone.

The laughter gradually dissolved into muffled sobs.

"You know what? I walk through every room and see shadows of us—eating together, watching movies, fighting... But now, I can't even find a single strand of your hair."

Her voice trembled unmistakably.

"Are you really this cruel? Not even leaving me an old shirt? Did you clean up this thoroughly just so I wouldn’t find any trace of you?"

"I’ve already changed the deed to the lakeside villa, removed Ethan’s name... I’m changing, I really am... Why won’t you even give me a chance?"

Her crying grew increasingly uncontrolled on the other end.

In the past, I would’ve softened at the first tear. A single drop from her used to break my heart.

But now, I was clearer than ever—she wasn’t truly remorseful.

The illness had just made her fragile. Given another chance, she’d make the same choices all over again.

"Stop forcing yourself. Let Ethan take you to the hospital," I said calmly. "I have work. I’m hanging up now."

I exhaled deeply after ending the call.

Once I chose to let go, there was no turning back. Her joys and sorrows no longer concerned me.

After freshening up, I drove to the office. The moment I stepped in, an electrifying energy buzzed through the air.

"Unbelievable news!" A friend rushed over, gripping my shoulders. "Our last project blew up! Eighty million views in two hours! The client wants a long-term contract!"

This was a top-tier client in the industry. Securing their partnership felt like a dream.

Salaries were raised across the board that month, and team morale soared. With my bonus and the money from selling the house, I bought a new lakeside property in the suburbs.

This time, I designed it entirely for myself—floor-to-ceiling windows that opened to shimmering waters.

I began drafting the renovation plans myself. For the last house, I’d studied interior design for two months just to meet Vivian’s exacting tastes.

Now, I could finally indulge my own style—minimalist, with generous negative space. The home I’d always envisioned.

Once construction started, I visited the site almost daily after work. One evening, I twisted my ankle on the stairs. The doctor insisted on rest.

Friends urged me to take it easy, even offering to oversee the renovations. But before my injury fully healed, I was back at the site.

That dusk, I limped into the underground garage, my ankle still throbbing. As I parked, a familiar figure leaned against my car.