Chapter 4

The wedding preparations moved at lightning speed.

Vivian insisted that I accompany her to a luxury bridal boutique.

The boutique staff immediately greeted Vivian as "Mrs. Vance."

Vivian blushed, pretending to correct them. "Oh, please don't say that! Nora is Julian’s wife."

The sales assistants turned toward me, their eyes shifting instantly.

Some looked on with pity, others with thinly veiled contempt, but mostly, they just enjoyed the drama.

Vivian slipped into the first designer gown.

She stood before the full-length mirror, twirling softly. "Nora, does it look good?"

"It looks good," I said quietly.

"Could you help me fluff out the train?" she asked sweetly. "I don't trust the staff to get it right."

A sharp cramp ripped through my gut. I held onto the back of an armchair, unable to move.

Julian’s voice hardened. "Nora."

Biting my lip, I slowly crouched down, smoothing out the heavy layers of tulle and silk.

The gown was adorned with thousands of hand-stitched crystals that scraped against my trembling fingertips.

Vivian leaned down, her voice a poisonous whisper meant only for me:

"Look at you. You played the doting wife for five whole years, yet here you are, kneeling at my feet to adjust my wedding dress."

I didn't lift my head.

The very next second, Vivian let out a piercing shriek and stumbled backward.

Every head in the salon whipped around.

Vivian was pale as a ghost, tears streaming down her face. "Nora, why did you shove me?!"

I was still frozen on my knees, my hands nowhere near her.

"I didn't touch you."

Julian crossed the floor in long, frantic strides, pulling Vivian securely against his chest.

"Are you hurt? Did you fall?"

Vivian shook her head, trembling violently in his arms. "I’m fine... it’s just the dress. The lace is torn."

The boutique manager stepped forward nervously, stating that this was a one-of-a-kind haute couture sample and the repair costs would be astronomical.

Julian looked down at me, his gaze colder than ice.

"Apologize."

I looked up into his eyes.

"I swear, it wasn't me."

His voice dropped dangerously low. "No one in this room has any reason to frame you."

"Nora, don't humiliate me in public."

"I said: get on your knees, and apologize."

In that horrifying moment, I flashed back to being fifteen years old. My parents had locked me in that barren room, demanding I drop to my knees and admit that an educated girl was a disgrace to the family.

I hadn't knelt then.

Even when I passed out from starvation, I never knelt.

Yet today, for the man who had once dragged me out of that darkness, I remained on my knees.

Whispers broke out among the boutique staff and nearby patrons.

"Is she Mr. Vance’s current wife?"

"She looks so plain and pitiful."

"She only got him because he was blind and vulnerable. Miss Sinclair was always his true love."

Every word drove like a rusted nail into my chest.

I kept my head bowed, my stomach churning violently.

A drop of dark blood dripped from the corner of my lips, splashing onto the back of my hand.

I quickly pressed my sleeve against my mouth.

Julian caught the movement, his brow twitching slightly.

"What’s on your mouth?"

Vivian immediately broke into a series of delicate, choking coughs.

Julian’s focus snapped away instantly.

"Vivian, let’s get you changed first."

I stayed on my knees on the cold marble, watching him tenderly guide her into the dressing room.

Unable to hold it back any longer, I scrambled to my feet, rushed to the restroom, and locked the stall door.

A wave of thick, crimson blood erupted into the white porcelain bowl, splashing like a dying red flower.

I wiped my mouth clean, my hands shaking as I pulled out my phone to text Eleanor:

[Please bring the divorce papers tomorrow.]

The next day was Julian and Vivian’s grand wedding.

It was also the day I walked away.

The estate was a whirlwind of chaos from dawn.

Vivian’s makeup artists, hair stylists, and photographers flooded the halls. The Vance staff scurried around like ants.

When I opened my eyes in the tiny downstairs utility room, the pain in my abdomen was so blinding I could barely sit up.

A knock sounded at the door.

The maid’s voice came through: "Miss Reed, Mr. Vance asked you to change into your formal dress and head to the hotel. Miss Sinclair mentioned she wants you seated in the very front row."

I answered faintly, "Understood."

Once the footsteps faded, I pushed myself out of bed and began packing.

There wasn't much to take anyway.

My grandmother’s framed picture, a few simple outfits, my ID.

And the divorce agreement Eleanor had personally delivered earlier that morning.

My signature was already penned neatly on the final page.

I walked upstairs one last time and left the documents resting quietly on the master suite’s nightstand.

Before walking out the front doors, I sent Julian one final message:

[Julian Vance, the debt of my life is paid in full.]

I took out the SIM card, snapped it in half, and tossed the pieces into a streetside trash can.

I hailed a yellow cab and climbed into the back seat.

Outside the window, the sprawling Vance estate grew smaller and smaller.

Clutching Julian’s old, worn blind cane against my chest, my mind drifted back to five years ago, the first time Julian found the courage to step outside after losing his sight.

He had gripped my hand so tightly his palm was soaked with cold sweat.

"Nora... I can't see anything."

I had squeezed his fingers back and whispered, "It’s okay. I’ll hold your hand."

Back then, I truly believed I could guide him through a lifetime of darkness.

Yet the moment he saw the light, the very first thing he did was let go of my hand.

I leaned my head against the cold glass, my soul entirely at peace.