Chapter 3

Half an hour later, Abby shoved open the doors to the private hospital's ICU ward, flanked by Edward and a crew of bodyguards.

She expected to see me sobbing, begging her for mercy on my knees.

The heavy doors groaned on their hinges. But the sight inside the ward instantly wiped the smirk off her face.

There was no frail Mom or a desperate, broken version of me. Instead, a line of fully armed tactical officers stood waiting for them.

Dark gun barrels were raised in unison, and red laser sights locked squarely onto the bridges of Abby's and Edward's noses.

Just then, the tactical squad leader took a step forward, his combat boots landing hard on the floor tiles.

"This is a restricted military area. Intruders will be shot on sight!"

Abby's eyelashes fluttered in panic, and her pupils shrunk in terror.

The cold gleam of steel stung her eyes.

She instinctively stumbled back, her heel twisting beneath her as she fell hard onto the floor.

Edward's legs gave out entirely.

A foul, acrid stench quickly filled the air. He had wet his pants right then and there.

The tactical officers wasted no words.

Grabbing Abby and the rest by the collar, they hauled them out and dumped them past the hospital gates.

Abby hit the rough asphalt. Her palms were scraped raw and oozed beads of blood.

Shaken to her core, she stared back at the sealed doors. Her heart hammered against her ribs.

Even as she sat on the pavement, Abby still processed everything through her entitled capitalist mindset.

"Johann, you actually took out payday loans to hire private bodyguards?"

She screamed into the empty air through gritted teeth, "Blowing money like that is the dumbest return on investment imaginable! Let's see how many days you last!"

…

In the rehabilitation unit at the military hospital, I sat in my wheelchair.

Sunlight streamed through the window, resting warm over the cast on my leg.

I accepted one last video call from Abby.

On the screen, her hair was a disheveled mess, but her posture remained stubbornly arrogant.

She slammed a thick stack of papers down onto her desk. "Johann, this is the divorce agreement. You walk away with nothing, and every single patent and backup code stays with me. Otherwise, I won't pay another cent for your mom's treatment!"

In the corner of the frame, Edward had changed into a fresh pair of pants.

Leaning back against the couch, he casually twirled the fifth-anniversary watch I had given Abby. The metal wristband clinked against his fingers.

He stared defiantly into the camera, a mocking smirk playing on his lips.

I didn't counter. I didn't lose my temper. I simply gave the lawyer standing beside me a faint nod.

The lawyer faxed a pre-signed agreement straight to Abby's office.

The printer hummed into motion.

Looking at the bold signature, she felt a growing sense of unease rather than joy.

It didn't feel like a hard-won deal.

I was too quiet—as still and cold as dead water.

"Ms. Wright," I said, looking straight into the lens. "Congratulations. You've just thrown away the highest-yield asset of your entire life."

I cut the feed and permanently deleted all my personal accounts.

At that exact moment, a military special operations team had already entered Abby's villa.

They packed up all my belongings, from my clothes and books to the wooden figurine I had carved for Abby, and threw them straight into the incinerator in the villa's backyard.

Flames roared upward, papers curled, and the wood crackled as it split apart.

Every last shred of our past vanished into ashes.

By the time Abby rushed back to the villa, all that remained was a pile of black soot.

She stared at the smoldering pile and let out a cold laugh. "What a pathetic little stunt. He won't even be able to afford a meal in three days."