Chapter 7
709words
The staff wisely kept their distance.
The silence was deafening.
When that "idiot" had been here, the house had never felt this empty.
He'd fumble around the kitchen trying to warm her milk just right. He'd mumble to himself while tending the garden flowers. He'd even pace quietly outside her door, desperate to be near her but afraid to disturb.
Now there was nothing.
She drifted to the dining room, where the polished table reflected her ashen face.
Before, he'd been relegated to the corner, or banned from the table entirely.
She remembered when he'd saved her favorite dessert, planning to surprise her. Tyler had found it, crushed it underfoot, and forced him to lick the remains from the floor.
And he had. On his hands and knees, he'd licked it up.
She'd watched from the doorway, pleased that their charade was working, even finding his humiliation somewhat entertaining.
Her stomach twisted violently.
That night, she sat mechanically at her vanity, removing her makeup.
Her jewelry box lay open, filled with glittering treasures.
Her eyes fixed on an empty spot in the velvet lining.
A necklace should have been there—one she'd never valued, couldn't even recall clearly. Something he'd supposedly crafted by hand.
Had she thrown it away? Had he taken it back? She couldn't remember.
A strange heaviness settled in her chest.
She slammed the box shut.
In bed, she tossed restlessly.
The bed felt too large, too empty, too cold.
She remembered having a fever once, drifting in and out of consciousness, feeling cool hands changing the compress on her forehead—gentle but clumsy hands.
She'd thought it was a dream. Now she realized—who else would have stayed all night? Not the staff. Only him.
But what had he wanted from her?
What had she ever given him in return?
Besides manipulation, lies, and contempt…
Then there was Lily.
Lily had been crying constantly, asking: "Where's Daddy? When's silly daddy coming back? I want him to make me paper airplanes."
For the first time, she'd snapped at her daughter: "He is NOT your father! Stop asking about him!"
Lily had burst into tears, and the nanny had whisked her away.
Victoria collapsed onto the sofa, suddenly chilled to the bone.
Even the child…
Alexander arrived with a new designer handbag, clearly hoping to lift her spirits.
"Vicky, forget that loser. Look—I got you that limited edition bag you were eyeing last week."
The sight of the expensive bag suddenly felt obscene.
She'd once coveted such things, viewing them as badges of her success.
But now, surrounded by luxury, she couldn't fill the growing emptiness inside her.
"Once," she murmured, "I mentioned wanting soup from that place across town. He ran through a downpour to get it, came back drenched to the bone, but the soup was still steaming hot."
"He paid with money he'd earned collecting bottles for recycling. I always knew."
Alexander's face darkened. "So what? Could that moron give you this?" He shook the bag in her face.
Victoria looked up at Alexander's handsome but cruel face, and for the first time saw the stark difference.
What Ethan had given her was his genuine heart—warm, awkward, sincere—and she'd treated it like trash.
While Alexander, like everyone else in her life, offered only calculations, advantages, and cold material things.
She knocked the bag to the floor.
"Get out."
Alexander stared in disbelief. "Victoria! Have you lost your mind over that imbecile?"
"GET OUT!" she screamed, throwing anything she could grab.
Alexander stormed out, muttering curses.
The house fell silent again.
Regret gnawed at her heart like a thousand tiny insects.
Not all at once, but steadily, relentlessly.
She grabbed her phone and desperately dialed his number again.
"Pick up, Ethan, please pick up!" she begged the cold dial tone, her voice cracking with a desperation she didn't recognize. "I was wrong, I'm so sorry…"
Only the automated voice response answered her.
The man who once treated her like his entire universe had finally given up on her.
The realization made her shake uncontrollably.
For the first time, she understood that some things, once lost, are gone forever.
