Chapter 1

Everyone in high society knew Evelyn Langley was hopelessly devoted to Nathan Evans.

She fluttered around him like an tireless butterfly circling its flower.

Their breakup history could fill three pages, yet she was always the first to apologize.

The world was convinced Evelyn would never leave Nathan.

The air froze when the private room door swung open.

Nathan walked in with an unfamiliar girl draped over his arm, her waist so slender it looked breakable.

Evelyn was peeling grapes, fingertips glistening with juice.

"Why the silence?" She didn't look up. "Keep playing."

"Eve..." Her best friend hesitated.

Nathan had already settled on the couch with his companion. "Happy birthday." He tossed a gift box carelessly onto the table.

Brazen. Unapologetic.

Evelyn stood. "I need to freshen up."

The moment the door closed, whispers erupted—

"Have you lost your mind, Nate? Bringing her here knowing Eve's present?"

"You've crossed the line this time, man."

"Whatever." Nathan lit a cigarette, smirking through the smoke.

The epitome of a heartless playboy.

The bathroom mirror reflected Evelyn's pale face.

Staring at her red-rimmed eyes, she suddenly laughed.

"Pathetic."

To love so pathetically.

Taking a deep breath, she made her decision.

Yet the scene that greeted her still made her fingers tremble.

Nathan and the girl were playing an intimate game, their lips inching closer over a shared tissue.

The crowd erupted—

"That's our Nate!"

"Closer! Almost there!"

"Just kiss already!"

Evelyn's grip on the doorknob turned white.

This was the man she'd loved for six years. How laughable.

"Enough..." Someone noticed her and hurriedly warned.

Heads swiveled.

"Eve, don't misunderstand, just harmless fun..."

Nathan cut in: "Perfect timing. We need to talk."

"Go ahead."

"This back-and-forth is tiresome. Let's end it."

Evelyn's nails dug into her palms, yet she felt nothing.

Six years of her youth, reduced to "tiresome."

"Chloe's different. I want something real with her."

Evelyn nodded. "Fine."

"You can still reach out if—"

"Unnecessary." She forced a smile. "Clean breaks are best."

Nathan's brow arched, visibly surprised.

Turning to the birthday boy, she said, "Happy birthday, Dylan. I'm leaving. Don't forget the grapes."

Grapes—Nathan's favorite.

But only if peeled and deseeded.

Over the years, Evelyn had mastered removing seeds in three seconds without damaging the fruit.

On good days, he'd pinch her cheek and tease, "Such wifely skills. Trying to marry me?"

He knew exactly what she wanted yet never committed.

"I'll have my driver take you."

"No need."

Dylan stood. "Let me—"

Evelyn waved him off and left.

"That was cruel, Nate."

"Relax. She'll come crawling back in days."

"I give it a week."

"Three days."

Nathan eyed the slightly ajar door, scoffing. "Three hours until she texts me."

"Hah! Easy win for Nate!"

"Evelyn's obsessed. She'd never really leave."

...

The villa was dark when she returned.

Twenty minutes sufficed to pack six years into a carry-on.

The walk-in closet's limited editions, the vanity's jewels—all untouched.

Only the wall of academic books gave her pause.

But knowledge lived in her mind; the volumes mattered less.

The drawer held a contract and check—

$50 million cash plus East Suburb Plot 72 worth $20 million.

Nathan's last breakup peace offering, left here deliberately.

He'd bet she wouldn't take it—that doing so meant finality.

$70 million for six years?

Evelyn laughed.

Not a bad trade.

She stuffed the documents into her bag.

If her youth fed a dog, at least she wouldn't leave empty-handed.

"Hello? I need deep cleaning services."

"Yes, everything. Double your rate."

Leaving the key on the entry table, she called her best friend from the car.

Midway, the cleaners confirmed—

"Ma'am, you're certain about discarding all these items?"

"Do whatever."

The line went dead.

Nathan returned near dawn to a sterile home.

Head pounding from cloying perfume, he collapsed on the sofa and slept.

Morning light woke him to kitchen sounds.

Reaching for water, he found the table bare.

He smirked. Back already, yet no water?

How childish.

"You'd better—"

"You're awake, sir?"

"Mrs. Watson?"

"Breakfast is ready. I added a blanket last night—you might've caught cold."

"...Right."