He reached out, as if to brush my face with his hand, but I turned away before he could touch me.
Just then, his phone rang.
"Weston, my stomach hurts...I'm scared," came Patricia's soft, coquettish voice through the receiver.
His expression changed instantly. "Don't worry, I'll be right there."
Without another glance at me, he turned and walked away, his voice low and tender as he coaxed her over the phone.
The moment his figure disappeared beyond the door, the faint gentleness in my eyes dissolved—replaced by a cold, unyielding resolve.
Assistant Lenon's arrangements were ready. By tomorrow, I would be gone for good.
I closed my eyes, drew a long breath, and buried every trace of pain deep within me.
When I returned to my room, I packed up everything—only to throw it all away. Then, I canceled every trace of my identity.
The next morning, Weston's driver was waiting outside my door.
"Madam," he said hesitantly, eyes avoiding mine, "Sir asked me to tell you he'll pick up your mother first. He said you should wait for him at the banquet."
His voice trembled slightly. I could guess why.
Without pressing him, I simply got into the car.
As we drove, my phone buzzed with a new message.