Seraphina braced herself against the wall and struggled to her feet, every movement heavy and slow. She returned to her room at the end of the hallway—she had suffered a few minor cuts and bruises in the accident and needed to remain under observation for one night.
Nurse Emily was waiting for her, her face filled with sympathy."Oh, dear, you're back. They recovered your personal belongings from the car, but they didn't find your phone. Perhaps you can look for it yourself."
"If I can't find it, then forget it," Seraphina said, the words dry as dust in her mouth. Nothing mattered anymore. She just wanted to leave—leave this hospital, leave this place filled with lies."I'm checking out right now."
As she signed the discharge papers at the nurses' station, Mark Foster appeared beside her and handed her a sleek, elegantly wrapped box.
"Mr. Beaumont insisted that you have this," Mark said, his voice smooth and emotionless like a machine. "A new phone. He also transferred some money into an account for you as compensation."
Seraphina stared at the box. The latest iPhone looked like a final bribe. She remembered surviving on cheap sandwiches for an entire month, saving every penny just to buy him a vintage watch for his birthday. The memory left a bitter ache in her chest.
"I don't need it." she said flatly.
Mark gestured toward a small pile of shopping bags from luxury boutiques at his feet. "These are from Mr. Beaumont as well. A small token of his goodwill."
Her eyes swept over the logos—Chanel, Dior—brands she had only ever admired through display windows. It felt like a deliberate insult. He thought he could buy her silence, obedience, and departure with these things. He thought he could put a price tag on the four years she had given him.
"Take it all back," she said, her voice frighteningly calm. "I don't want any of it."
Mark looked genuinely surprised. Clearly, he had never seen a woman refuse gifts like these before. He opened his mouth to argue, but she had already turned away and walked toward the hospital exit without looking back.
Near the revolving doors, she stopped beside a trash can and cleaned out her handbag, throwing away old receipts and crumpled tissues. Her fingers brushed against something hard and sharp hidden in the lining of her bag, and she pulled it out.
It was her phone, but it was ruined beyond recognition. The screen had shattered into a spiderweb of cracks, the back panel was bent at an unnatural angle, and the metal casing had caved inward as if someone had deliberately stomped on it with a heavy boot. This wasn't damage from the accident. It was deliberate destruction.
The discovery hit her like a hammer to the chest. He hadn't just lied to her—he had gone out of his way to erase her existence, destroying every piece of evidence that proved she had once been part of his life. Photos, messages, late-night phone calls—everything had been destroyed.
Some foolish part of her subconscious had still believed this was all a terrible misunderstanding. Every absurd hope she had clung to shattered completely in that moment. He wasn't just a liar. He was cruel.
Without a moment's hesitation, she dropped the ruined device into the trash can. It landed with a dull thud, like a period at the end of a sentence, bringing everything to a close.
Back in his hospital room, Ethan listened as Mark reported over the phone. When he heard that Seraphina had refused everything, a slow, arrogant smile spread across his face.
"See? She's playing hard to get. She wants me to chase after her and beg for her back. It's all part of her game."
Everything was still under his control. Sooner or later, Seraphina would come back and beg for him. It was only a matter of time.
Seraphina stepped out onto the sidewalk and breathed in the fresh New York air.
She walked into a nearby convenience store and used the cash in her pocket to buy the cheapest prepaid phone and a new SIM card. Standing on the sidewalk, she activated the phone and entered only two numbers into the new contact list: Holly Miller, her best and only true friend; and Catherine Reynolds, her former boss.
The first thing she did was call a taxi.
"Upper East Side," she told the driver, giving him the address of the penthouse apartment she had once foolishly believed was home.
She wasn't going back to argue or beg. She was going back to reclaim what belonged to her. Not the gifts he had given her, not the life he had lived with her, but the pieces of herself she had left behind there—her sketchbooks, her design portfolio, and the blueprint for her own future.
The taxi sped through the city as familiar streets blurred past outside the window.
The lost and heartbroken look that had once filled her eyes had become sharp and resolute. She was no longer someone's secret lover. She was going to live for herself.
