Chapter 4

At seven in the evening, Xavier brought Jessica back to our home.

I had just placed the last piece of clothing into my suitcase when I heard him calling me from the living room.

"Come out and sign the settlement agreement."

On the coffee table lay the accident settlement agreement and a police report. It claimed that the driver had suddenly changed lanes because he was following my instructions, which caused the car behind to crash into us when it couldn't react in time.

As long as I signed it, Jessica would bear no responsibility, and even the revocation of her driver's license could be avoided.

"The accident happened because she bent down to pick up her phone." I pushed the papers back. "The surveillance footage and the dashcam can both prove it."

Jessica's eyes instantly welled with tears. "Wen, I know it was my fault, but I'm trying out for the charity racing team next month. If I get a reckless-driving record, I'll never be able to race again for the rest of my life."

Jessica had loved racing since college. I was the one who paid for her registration fees, and even her first racing suit was a gift from me.

The first time she won a prize, she had clung to me and cried all night. She said that one day, when she stood on the highest podium, she would definitely give me the trophy.

But now, she wanted to trample on my future in exchange for stepping onto her own podium.

Xavier set down a pen beside my hand. "You've already missed the evaluation, and pressing charges won't change anything.

"Sign it, and I'll have someone build you a studio."

It was always like this.

Dad's keepsakes, everything I had poured my heart into, and my dreams—all of them had a price in Xavier's eyes. He made it seem like, as long as he gave me enough, I was supposed to swallow my pain and keep my mouth shut.

"I won't sign," I said firmly.

Xavier stared at me for a few seconds, then took out his phone and called someone. "Suspend the lease renewal for Timothy Jones' old studio."

I looked up sharply.

After Dad passed away, that studio had been kept under Hillard Group's care. It held all of his design manus from his lifetime, and it was also the source of inspiration for my piece this time.

"That's the place my dad left behind!" I shouted.

"So the decision is in your hands." Xavier placed his phone down on the table. "Wen, as long as you sign the papers, no one will touch the studio. Our wedding date will remain unchanged too."

Jessica hastily grabbed him. "Xavier, don't force Wen to do it."

She then turned around and knelt before me, crying as she held my hand. "I'm the one who destroyed your work, and I'm willing to pay for it.

"But this tryout is my last chance. Wen, you've always been my biggest supporter. Please help me one more time, okay?"

Between these two people, I had shared ten years of friendship with one and four years of love with another. One was kneeling before me and begging, while the other sat there, forcing my hand.

And yet neither of them asked whether what I lost was also the only chance I would ever have in this lifetime.

Xavier glanced at his wristwatch and said, "I'm giving you one minute."

Just then, my phone rang. When I answered the call, the anxious voice of the studio's caretaker came through.

"Ms. Jones, the people from Hillard Group are here, and they say they're clearing the place out tonight.

"Mr. Jones left behind many drawings. They're moving them out right now. It's also raining outside… What do we do?"

Clutching the phone, I rushed toward the door, but Xavier raised a hand to stop me. He stood in front of me, his shoulders still squared and his back straightened.

In the past, this figure had shielded me from countless storms. Now, he had become the wall that trapped me with no way out.

"Sign it," Xavier insisted.

"You clearly promised me you would protect that place!"

"I also promised Jessica she could participate in the tryout."

His expression didn't waver in the slightest as he added, "Wendy, don't make things difficult for me."

I repeated that last sentence in my head. So, I was the one who had to be sacrificed.

A low rumble of thunder rolled outside the window, and moments later, a video arrived.

The studio door had already been pried open, with Dad's manus packed into flimsy cardboard boxes and stacked beside a truck in the rain. The pages on top were scattered by the wind, their ink slowly bleeding from the downpour.

"Make them stop," I choked out.

Xavier held the fountain pen in front of me. "Sign it."

As I stared at the screen—at the manus that could never be restored—my tears fell onto the papers one drop at a time.

My hand shook violently as I held the pen. I kept trying to bring it down to the paper, but I couldn't.

Then, in the video, another page was blown into the curtain of rain.

In the end, I signed the papers. Every stroke of the pen felt as though I were carving open my own heart.

The moment I finished signing, Xavier took the document from me and immediately instructed his men to stop clearing out the studio.

"See? This would have been so much easier if you'd just agreed from the start."

He reached out to wipe away my tears, but I turned my head the other way and avoided him.

Jessica was still kneeling on the ground, sobbing softly. "Wen, I'm sorry."

I took off my engagement ring and placed it in her palm, feeling utterly hollow inside. "Don't apologize anymore. I'll give you everything you want."

That included our friendship, the man I loved for four years, and the home I once thought I'd have.

Xavier's expression darkened when he saw what I did. "Wendy, what are you doing? Take it back."

It was only when I pulled the suitcase from beside the door that he finally noticed it.

His brows furrowed tightly as he asked, "What did you pack for?"

"To go see the manus my father left behind."

"You're not coming home tonight?"

I didn't answer him.

Xavier, assuming I was still throwing a tantrum, helped Jessica up from the floor and said, "The studio is safe now. Don't keep making a scene."

He put the ring into his pocket, then said in a tone that left no room for refusal, "I'll come pick you up tomorrow morning."

I gripped the handle of my suitcase and looked at him one last time. "There's no need."

Xavier frowned, but when Jessica cried out in pain behind him, he turned and walked toward her.

Just like all those times before—as long as she called for him, I would always be the one abandoned.

Before the door closed, I heard him say coldly, "Suit yourself. Come back on your own when you've calmed down."

I didn't reply, nor did I turn back.

12 hours later, I boarded the flight to Londwick.

This time, I wouldn't be coming back.