Chapter 8
That day, the piercing sound of the ambulance echoed in my ears, a relentless
reminder of the chaos that had just unfolded.
Luke’s once crisp white shirt had turned a deep crimson, redder than any rose I had
ever seen.
Edward’s black suit, although still the same color, was soaked, dripping with blood as if the fabric itself was crying from pain.
Both men were rushed to the ICU, their lives hanging by a thread. And yet, when the time came, only one of them emerged alive.
On the day of Luke‘ s funeral, his mother was inconsolable. Her sobs shook her frail body and she fainted more than once, overcome by the grief of losing her only son. In her rage and sorrow, she ordered
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Liora to be dragged out of the hospital, her legs broken and forced her to kneel before Luke’s grave.
I stood nearby, pushing Edward in a wheelchair as we approached the tomb. Each of us placed a bouquet of flowers in front of Luke‘ s grave.
As I looked at the photo on the tombstone, a rush of emotions flooded my heart. It was a mixture of sorrow and something painful. that I could not quite name.
My thoughts drifted back to the last
conversation I had with Luke just three days before the accident.
He had looked at me with
desperato oves
and asked, “Calista, if I pay with my life for our child, will you forgive me?”
At that moment, I did not know how to respond, so I said nothing. I did not have the answer he sought.
And now, even after he had saved me, I still could not find it in myself to offer the
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forgiveness he had so desperately wanted.
The words felt stuck inside me. What I had wanted to tell him was, “I hope you live so you can atone for your sins,” even if the love between us had long faded.
Because, in the end, a life was still a life and no one should lose their only chance to live because of someone else.
As for Liora, her fate was sealed. After her brutal punishment by Luke’s mother, she was thrown into the police station. It seemed likely that, with the Grayson Family‘ s special attention, Liora’s life from now on would be nothing but hardship. She would face a long and difficult road ahead.
And me? I had been planning to finalize the divorce with Edward Reynolds. But every time I tried to bring it up, he would complain about his legs, saying they still hurt and that he needed someone to help him with his rehabilitation exercises.
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Every time I looked into his eyes–those deep, beautiful eyes–I found myself
unable to refuse him. The words of
rejection would rise up in my throat, but I
would swallow them back down again and again.
Well, never mind.
After all, this man had saved me, broken his legs to push me out of harm’s way.
Half a year later, Edward finally managed to stand up, though it was with some reluctance. On the day he first walked again, I decided to celebrate by cooking a large spread of all his favorite dishes. The table was full, the scent of home–cooked food filling the room. But when I sat down and looked at him, I noticed he had not touched a single thing.
“Why don’t you eat anything?” I asked, puzzled.
He hesitated, then looked at me with a somber expression. “Is this a farewell
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meal?”
Edward looked so depressed.
I could not help but laugh as I picked up a piece of chicken and placed it in his bowl. “What are you thinking? I’m just
celebrating your recovery.”
“Really?” he asked.
“Of course,” I reassured him.
But despite my words, Edward still seemed uneasy, watching me with uncertainty as he slowly chewed his food. Seeing him like this, so vulnerable and anxious, I could not help but tease him a little.
“Actually, I think marriage by agreement isn’t such a bad idea. If we don’t dislike each other, maybe it’s worth trying to truly get along.”
At that, Edward’s entire expression. transformed. His eyes lit up and he froze mid–bite, the chicken leg hanging forgotten in his hand. He was so overjoyed that his
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eyes glistened with unshed tears.
“Hey, why are you crying?”
“I’m not crying. I’m just… so happy.”
Without warning, he stood up, limping slightly and retrieved a document from the safe. He placed it in front of me.
“Don’t worry, Calista Hale. I’ve already thought about this. I promise you’ll be the only woman in my life. If I ever cheat, I‘ 11 leave with nothing.”
He spread out the agreement he had drafted and handed the pen to me.
“I believe you,” I said, meaning it.
But Edward would not let it go. He gently hand and pressed my fingerprint
took
onto the agreement as if that act could seal the promise tighter.
“I want to give you a sense of security in my own way,” he murmured
I could not help but smile, letting him have
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his way.
Three years later, I gave birth to our daughter and life with Edward became more peaceful and fulfilling than I had ever imagined. He adored our child, practically becoming a slave to her every whim, yet he always made sure I came first.
Our marriage was not filled with drama or arguments. Instead, it was a life of quiet contentment and shared happiness.
No matter where we went or what the occasion was, Edward always wore his wedding ring, a simple but constant reminder of the vows we had taken. His
sense of boundaries with other women was impeccable, never allowing even a hint of mixed signals.
Many women tried, of course, using whatever “hoe” they thought might work to dig at our relationship, but they failed every time.
Eventually, Edward’s name even made it
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onto the blacklist of the so–called “Rich Men to Attract to be High–Society Wives“-a dubious honor he took great pride in. He often joked about it, smiling smugly as he proclaimed that it was just further proof of his “perfect masculinity.”
And indeed, I had to agree.
I thought, If you‘ re going to give your heart to someone, let it be to a person who embodies goodness and fits perfectly with who you are. It is only with such a soul that you can weave a beautiful life together, growing old side by side.
(The End)
