Chapter 3

When Ethan was in a rush, he couldn't wait a single second.

We sped back to the villa. He didn't even turn off the engine, just stared at me coldly from the driver's seat.

"Go upstairs and pack. Only take what is yours. Do not touch a single thing I bought you."

"You have one hour."

Any other woman who had been with him for three years would have had her heart broken by such a cruel demand.

But I only felt sweet relief.

"Of course, Mr. Vance. I'll be quick."

I opened the door and practically skipped out of the car.

This luxury villa was nothing but a suffocating prison to me. It was filled with Sera's ghost, and I was just the maid hired to keep her memory alive.

I went to my room and pulled out the old, battered suitcase I brought with me three years ago.

Opening the closet, I saw rows of designer dresses, bags, and jewelry Ethan had bought me.

I didn't touch any of it.

I only packed a few cheap clothes, my worn-out toiletries bag, and a yellowed photo hidden in the drawer of my nightstand.

In the photo, Lucas was wearing a crisp white shirt, smiling like warm sunshine, holding two ice cream cones. We took it back in college.

That was before the car accident. Before I sold myself to Ethan to pay his medical bills.

Looking at the photo, the disgust I felt from Ethan and Julian finally faded.

"Just wait a little longer, Lucas. It's almost over," I whispered, carefully putting the photo into my wallet.

It took me less than thirty minutes to pack.

When I went down, Ethan was standing in the living room, smoking. Several cigarette butts were already on the floor.

Seeing my sad little suitcase, he frowned. "That's it?"

"Yes. Everything else belongs to you, Mr. Vance. I shouldn't take them."

I stood at the foyer, placed the house keys on the shoe cabinet, and bowed politely.

Ethan looked incredibly annoyed. My clean, effortless departure made him feel like he was punching Jell-O.

"There's a hundred thousand dollars on this card. Consider it a parting gift."

He threw another card at me.

I didn't catch it.

"No thank you, Mr. Vance. Our contract was very clear about the final payout. This extra money isn't in the agreement, so I can't accept it."

I wasn't greedy for pocket change.

I wanted the fifty million dollars written in black and white.

What if he used this extra hundred thousand as an excuse to claim I breached the contract and withhold my final payout?

When it came to making money, I was as meticulous as an accountant.

Ethan's face darkened. "If I give it to you, you take it! Stop making excuses!"

"I really don't need it, Mr. Vance. I'm not short on cash."

I lied, pushing the card back.

Ethan laughed bitterly. "Not short on cash? If you weren't desperate for money, would you have spent three years being a pathetic substitute? Clara, don't play the saint now."

I kept my head down and said nothing.

"Fine. Since you want to act so high and mighty, get out."

He pointed at the door.

It felt like a royal pardon. I grabbed my suitcase and walked out.

Just as I stepped past the threshold, Ethan's dark voice came from behind.

"Clara, once you walk out that door, there's no turning back. Don't expect me to come crawling back to comfort you like before."

Comfort me?

When had he ever comforted me?

Oh, right. When I first started, I cried because I couldn't handle his mood swings. He got annoyed by my crying, threw a designer bag at me, and said, "Stop crying. You're giving me a headache."

That wasn't comfort. That was buying silence.

I stopped, but didn't turn around. I just stood tall.

"Don't worry, Mr. Vance. I will never look back."

I dragged my suitcase out of the gated community. I didn't go to any penthouse.

Instead, I hailed a cab and went straight to the city hospital.

Late at night, the ICU hallway was dead silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors.

I pressed my face against the glass window, greedily staring at the man lying inside.

Three years.

Lucas had lost so much weight. He was pale and hooked up to countless tubes.

But he was alive. As long as he was alive, there was hope.

The head nurse walked by, saw me, and sighed. "Clara, you're here so late again?"

"Yeah. Just wanted to see him."

"Mr. Taylor hasn't been doing well these past couple of days. The doctor said if we don't do the second surgery soon, I'm afraid..."

"I know."

I turned to the nurse, my eyes filled with a fierce determination. "I have the money ready. We'll do the surgery on the 3rd, right on schedule."