Damon headed straight to the hospital.

Giselle was getting discharged that day. Last night, she wouldn't stop bugging him about wanting to see his childhood photos, so he'd gone home just to grab them for her.

As he made his way to the elevator, carrying a heavy bag, he brushed past a stranger. A faint trace of perfume clung to the man. It was Giselle's favorite scent.

Had he just come from her ward? Was he a friend of hers?

Doubt flickered through Damon's mind, but the elevator doors slid open before he could dwell on it. He let it go and pressed the button for the seventh floor.

The moment Giselle saw him, her face lit up with a bright smile.

They flipped through the photo album together while laughing and reminiscing. Talking about old memories pushed everything else from Damon's mind.

Around noon, the Suttons showed up to take Giselle home. As soon as they saw Damon, they star

Damon knew Bernice meant well. He also understood that his love story with Giselle had ended long ago—ever since he'd impulsively married Clara on their wedding day in a burst of anger.

For the past three years, he'd tried to move on and build a life with Clara, but after loving Giselle for 18 years, she wasn't someone he could just push out of his heart overnight.

He gave in when she returned to the country and wouldn't let go of him. They might never be lovers again, but the friendship was still there.

Damon held onto that thought and kept going back to her. The truth was, every time she broke down crying and swore she still loved him, it got to him.

But in the end, those feelings never lasted. They were like ripples on a lake stirred by a passing breeze, gone almost as soon as they appeared.

Damon would always remind himself that Clara was his wife whenever he was about to give i

After leaving the hospital, Clara got a call from the staff letting her know her visa had been approved. She gathered all her documents and started packing.

Each day, she tore a page off her desk calendar, watching as the stack shrank to just a few sheets. The year was almost over. And soon, she'd be leaving the city she had called home for over 20 years.

For that entire week, Damon never came home once. Instead, Giselle flooded Clara's phone with one taunting message after another.

Seven days before Clara's departure, Giselle sent a video. In it, Damon was down on one knee. He was gently massaging her calf with painstaking care.

As Clara watched, she tossed every gift she had ever bought for him straight into the trash.

Five days before she left, Giselle sent photos of Damon handing her a box of jewelry and slipping a ring onto her finger himself.

Without a second thought, Clara smashed their wedding photo into pieces and threw it straight into the fire.

Three days before she left, she received an audio recording where Damon was murmuring Giselle's name in his sleep. His voice was full of longing.

Clara gathered every gift he had ever given her during their marriage and donated them. The villa she had once called home was slowly being emptied. Her small luggage was nearly packed and ready to go.

Noticing how thoroughly she was clearing out the house, the housekeeper grew concerned and asked her more than once what was going on.

Clara smiled, her tone light. "I'm just getting a divorce."

"Mr. Croft agreed to it?"

Agreed? Clara wasn't sure. But she figured Damon would probably be thrilled if he saw the divorce agreement. After all, Giselle occupied his every thought and had all his attention.

The day before she left, Giselle messaged Clara again. This time, it wasn't a photo of Damon. It was his parents. They stood around Giselle's hospital bed, all smiles, chatting like family.

Clara felt nothing. She still didn't reply. Instead, she opened her contacts and deleted Giselle, Damon, and everyone connected to them.

The day Clara left, the first snow of the season arrived. She carried the diaries and unsent love letters she had sorted through the night before into the garden.

The orange glow of the flames flickered across her face as those tender teenage memories turned to ash. She tipped her head back and watched the flurries swirl and drift down.

She wondered how much snow it would take to blanket the ashes. She was lost in her thoughts when, out of nowhere, the heavy front gates creaked open.

Damon, who hadn't shown up in what felt like forever, finally returned. He strode inside. He glanced at Clara, crouching on the ground, then headed straight into the living room.

When he came back out, he stopped beside her. His eyes fell on the stack of pale pink envelopes, and for the first time in days, the anger he'd been holding onto started to fade. It reminded him of that letter from the reunion.

"I've been busy lately," he said. "Let's sit down and talk once I get everything sorted out."

Clara wondered what he was going to talk about. The divorce? She gave a faint smile and looked up at him.

"There's nothing left to talk about. I already gave you the thing you wanted most a month ago," she said flatly.

Damon was confused about what she meant. He thought about asking, but his phone buzzed. He checked the messages, and his eyes crinkled as he smiled.

Clara saw the look on his face, tossed the last of the love letters into the fire, and got up. Her skirt swirled around her, hiding the flames.

By the time Damon finished replying to his messages, the letters had already burned to ash, and whatever he'd meant to ask was long forgotten.

Clara walked him to his car and even opened the door for him.

A sharp gust of wind blew past. Worried she wasn't dressed warmly enough, Damon urged her to go back inside before she froze. But Clara insisted on seeing him off at the gate.

Through the window, he saw her raise a hand in a slight wave. Her lips were moving, but he couldn't quite catch the words.

He figured it was just another gentle reminder—probably "Drive safe" or something along those lines. She'd said it so many times over the past three years that he barely gave it a second thought.

Damon's car rumbled to life and disappeared from Clara's sight in no time.

She stood in the snow for a long while before finally heading back to her room. She slipped on a coat and dragged her suitcase downstairs.

The snowfall was getting heavier, flakes landing in her hair until, from a distance, it looked almost white—like an old woman's.

A cab pulled up outside the villa. Before getting in, she took one last look back and quietly repeated those barely audible words.

"Never again, Jeston. Never again, Damon Croft."

Damon headed straight to the hospital.

Giselle was getting discharged that day. Last night, she wouldn't stop bugging him about wanting to see his childhood photos, so he'd gone home just to grab them for her.

As he made his way to the elevator, carrying a heavy bag, he brushed past a stranger. A faint trace of perfume clung to the man. It was Giselle's favorite scent.

Had he just come from her ward? Was he a friend of hers?

Doubt flickered through Damon's mind, but the elevator doors slid open before he could dwell on it. He let it go and pressed the button for the seventh floor.

The moment Giselle saw him, her face lit up with a bright smile.

They flipped through the photo album together while laughing and reminiscing. Talking about old memories pushed everything else from Damon's mind.

Around noon, the Suttons showed up to take Giselle home. As soon as they saw Damon, they started thanking him.

He waved it off right away. His tone was completely humble. "Gigi's injury is par

Chapter 9