Semua Bab To My Childhood Sweetheart, See You Never: Bab 1 - Bab 10

In the video, the ever-composed Grayson trembling slightly as he knelt on one knee, holding out the ring. When her voice finally uttered, "I do," the tears he had held back spilled over, glistening trails tracing the joy on his face. A beautiful moment. So beautiful, in fact, that two girls standing nearby watching clung to each other, moved to tears. "Oh my god, Grayson loves Wendy so much!" "Right? He's like the ultimate romantic. Did you hear they're childhood sweethearts? When he was seventeen, he couldn't wait to confess to her. By twenty, he had the world's most expensive pink diamond crafted into a crown for her, saying she'd always be his princess. At twenty-three, when she was in a car accident and the blood bank ran out of her rare type, he gave his own blood, almost draining himself to save her. And at twenty-six, he proposed to her live for the entire world to see. How could anyone be more devoted than him?" The words blurred together, a clamor of admiration that We

Rita casually retrieved a few crisp dollar bills from her bag and slid them into the waiter's pocket with an effortless grace. Her smile was an intoxicating blend of mischief and allure. Before the startled waiter could react, she walked straight over and settled herself boldly into the seat beside Grayson. A collective intake of breath rippled through the room. Whispers erupted like the quiet fizz of champagne bubbles, each voice charged with disbelief. "Who does she think she is? Sitting beside Mr. Bryce like that?" "Doesn't she know he could ruin her with a snap of his fingers?" "Shh, you don't understand. Word is, she's backed by someone powerful. Have you seen the designer brands she flaunts during her live streams?" As Wendy was about to shift her gaze away from the commotion, a gesture caught her eye—casual yet brazen. Rita took Grayson's hand and, without hesitation, guided it beneath the hem of her dress. His hand froze, rigid as stone. Reflexively, he tried to pul

Wendy lifted her gaze toward him. He looked as though he had rushed back at the fastest speed imaginable, his overcoat soaked through from the rain outside. He didn't seem to care; his entire face was a portrait of panic. "How did you know?" she asked softly. "It's all over the news," he replied, his tone tinged with desperation. "It's trending now." Before she could respond, he pulled her into a tight embrace. His voice, trembling with fear, was barely audible in her ear. "Wendy, what are you doing? Why did you sell everything? Are you leaving me? Do you not want me anymore? What did I do wrong? Tell me, and I'll change. I'll fix it. Just… don't leave me." His words cracked, carrying the weight of a sob, yet she remained still, her gaze distant. A faint, bitter smile curved her lips. If he was so terrified of her leaving, why had he kept another woman on the side? Was it his arrogance, thinking he had concealed it so perfectly, or his assumption that she was too naïve to not

As Wendy's birthday approached, Grayson finally returned in haste, organizing a grand celebration in her honor. When she descended the staircase in her gown, he was already waiting below. She cast him a glance, her eyes unusually calm—too calm. It was a quietude that bordered on unsettling. Grayson's heart skipped a beat. The image of Wendy that lived in his memory was one of unrestrained brightness, of spirited vitality. But the woman before him now was a shadow of that, her complexion pale, her gaze hollow and devoid of its usual spark. Acting on instinct, he stepped forward, arms reaching to pull her into an embrace, but she sidestepped with a slight turn of her body. Her voice was hoarse, a brittle thread barely holding itself together. "I've been feeling unwell lately. Better you don't touch me—wouldn't want you catching anything." Her words hung in the air, brittle and impenetrable, as she walked past him, not sparing a glance at the hand he'd left suspended in midair.

Wendy's eyes flickered, a hint of mockery surfacing beneath her eyelids. The next moment, a tear slid down her cheek, tracing the curve of her face. She instinctively reached up to wipe it away, but before she could, he beat her to it. His finger, trembling, gently wiped the moisture from her skin, as if afraid to disturb her further. "Wendy, what's wrong? Don't scare me. If you're upset, just say it—don't keep it to yourself." His voice was filled with quiet desperation as he reached out to embrace her, but she turned her body slightly, avoiding his touch. Finally, she allowed her gaze to settle on him, but the tone of her words was distant, detached. "Grayson, take me to the beach." His hand faltered, hovering in midair. He looked at her with surprise. "Baby, you've always been afraid of water. You never liked the beach." Wendy's response was cool, almost indifferent. "I suddenly want to see it." After all, her death had been staged as a "suicide by drowning." Witho