Chapter 2

Seeing Ethan again, I was so calm it surprised even myself.

The love I once wanted to scream to the entire world now felt less important than a $29.90 promotional order in my shop.

"I haven't contacted Vicky."

My voice was dry and raspy, my breath shallow.

Ethan stared at me suspiciously. "Chloe, do you have a cold?"

"Yeah, just a cold."

I brushed him off, casually sliding my diagnosis report and medication under the cash register.

Since my relapse, I had thought about begging Vicky.

Begging her to donate her marrow one more time. Begging her to let me live.

But the doctor had only shaken his head with pity.

Ethan looked around the shop uncomfortably. When he saw the "Lease for Transfer" sign on the window, he frowned.

"Why are you renting out the shop?"

"I need money."

"How much?"

I looked up, genuinely surprised.

Ethan immediately cleared his throat, trying to distance himself.

"Don't get the wrong idea. I just don't want you harassing Vicky. She suddenly started crying during her live interview, and she won't tell me why, no matter how much I ask."

"Vicky has been strong her whole life. You're the only one who can make her cry."

"Chloe, tell me. Why is she crying?"

A sharp pain pricked my chest. My hand slipped, crushing the floral foam in my grip.

The last time Vicky cried for me was when she confessed—her suicide attempt back then had been fake.

She had wanted to fake her death to escape our lives.

But she didn't expect that the one who would actually leave was me.

We had a screaming match that day, our tears pouring down heavier than the rain outside.

Vicky pointed at me and yelled:

"Chloe, I knew Ethan two years before you did! If you hadn't been so shameless and confessed first, the woman by his side all these years would have been me!"

From that moment on, we were completely shattered.

Vicky didn't have a single tear left for me.

I smoothed over the ruined floral foam.

Along with it, I smoothed away the hysterical version of myself in my memories.

"Ethan, you're being ridiculous."

"I haven't seen her in seven years. You live with her every single day. If you don't even know why she's crying, how would I?"

Ethan's shoulders tensed.

He looked away guiltily, staring silently at the flowers on my counter.

David Austin white roses. Ethan used to love buying them for me.

They were also Vicky's favorite.

Thinking I could at least make some money off him, I asked, "Want to take a bouquet home for your wife?"

Ethan recoiled as if the flowers were poison.

"No."

"She's pregnant. Things from the outside aren't clean."

A agonizing pain sliced through my heart. The floral shears in my hand almost slipped.

I carefully tied the ribbon before whispering, "Congratulations."

I once had a baby too. But during the 20-week anatomy scan, we found out about my relapse, and the doctor advised me to terminate the pregnancy.

At six months, I could already see the baby's face on the screen...

Back then, Ethan held me tight, promising me we would have other children in the future.

Now, he finally had his child.

It just had nothing to do with me anymore.

Ethan's expression darkened.

He muttered, "Is $20,000 enough?"

It felt like he was trying to buy his way out of guilt.

Suddenly, my phone on the counter buzzed with a Snapchat notification from an unknown account.

The tiny shred of guilt in Ethan's eyes instantly vanished.

The screen lit up with a text: [Chloe, karma finally got me. Are you happy now?]

Furious rage took over Ethan's face.

"Chloe, what did you do to her?"

He grabbed the bouquet on the counter and slammed it to the ground.

My brain went numb for a second. He lunged forward, forcing me to stumble back until I crashed into several flower stands.

A sharp thorn sliced my ankle. The tiny wound immediately gushed with a large amount of blood.

It wouldn't stop bleeding.

My heart hammered wildly against my ribs. I gasped, trying to defend myself. "I didn't do anything!"

Ethan grabbed my wrists, pinning them against the wall. His eyes were dark with rage.

"Watching Vicky and me live a perfect life... are you going to tell me you aren't jealous?"

He glared down at me, completely blind to the fresh, bruised needle marks hidden under my long sleeves.

Terminal renal failure was a guarantee in my stage, and only dialysis was keeping me alive.

I avoided his gaze and said seriously, "Ethan, if I don't treat this wound right now, I will bleed to death."

But Vicky had begged me not to steal her husband. The truth was, I had never even thought about it.