“Don’t forget it!” Alaric’s tone brooked no argument. “Tomorrow, we’re going to get the marriage certificate.”
After ending the call, another phone rang—my assistant.
“Your resignation has been expedited,” came the hesitant voice. “Vice President Caldwyn, are you really leaving? Does President Vance know?”
“He will know. After I leave.”
I took out the resignation letter I had prepared and handed it to Dorian to sign.
Outside the master bedroom door, I clearly overheard his conversation with Liora.
“Dorian, there are still wedding photos of you and your sister hanging here. It feels weird living alone.”
“I’ll have someone take those down soon. Then you can live here without worry.”
His tone was casual, but every word was like a knife twisting in my heart.
There are so many rooms in this villa, yet he chose to let Liora live in our bedroom. He didn’t even care if we took down our wedding photos.
Liora protested, “No, my sister will be angry if she finds out. Why don’t you live with me instead?”
Dorian hesitated. “Liora, Serena, and I are getting married soon. We can’t do that anymore...”
“Dorian!” Liora pouted and leaned into him. “We’re not married yet!”
She said with a sly smile, “Besides, isn’t it more exciting to be under your wedding photos?”
“Don’t you want to?”
Dorian’s eyes darkened as he stared at her. Then suddenly, he kissed her.
My fiancé, in our wedding room, was holding and kissing my stepsister.
The unbearable scene nearly broke me. I took a deep breath, wiped tears from my eyes, stepped back quietly, and deliberately made some noise.
Dorian pushed Liora away in panic, guilt flashing in his eyes.
“Serena, why are you still here? Go back to the hospital. Should I take you?”
He reached out to hold my hand, but I dodged him.
Ignoring the lipstick stains on his lips and Liora’s provocative gaze, I said, “There’s a document that needs your signature. I’ll wait in the study.”
Dorian frowned. “Don’t worry about work now. Your health is what matters. Be obedient. I’ll go to the hospital with you, okay?”
I smiled at him. “Then sign this first, and I’ll leave.”
Leave you — forever.
Dorian didn’t catch my meaning; he was just glad I smiled.
“Baby finally smiled! Good, you have to take care of yourself, or I’ll be sad.”
In the study, I handed him the resignation letter along with other documents. Dorian flipped through them casually.
“Which project is this?”
I pointed to one at random.
Suddenly, Liora’s voice came from downstairs, “Dorian, I want ice cream!”
“No! Your period’s coming. Do you want to suffer pain rolling around again?”
Their casual, loving banter felt like a knife twisting.
Dorian used to look at me that way.
My cramps were severe; he tracked my cycle every month, managing me carefully.
Now, he tracked Liora’s period with the same care.
He took her to checkups, got her medicine, recorded her condition and dietary restrictions meticulously. He strictly monitored her diet and forbade stocking cold drinks at home.
At first, I was jealous and bought a lot of ice cream, stuffing it into the fridge to spite him.
Dorian never noticed.
Or maybe he did, but he simply didn’t care anymore.
“Serena,” Dorian’s voice pulled me back from my thoughts. I blinked, hiding my tears.
“Didn’t I already sign this?”
Panic flickered in me. This was the project I managed before the accident. I’d been in a coma for days; I had no clue about its progress.
As I scrambled for an excuse, Liora’s voice interrupted again.
“I found it! My favorite vanilla ice cream! I want it!”
“No!” Dorian jumped up, rushing out. “Liora, be obedient!”
I grabbed his arm. “Sign the document first!”
“You…”
“I opened the lid! It smells so good!”
Dorian’s face tightened with anxiety. He cared so much about her.
I shoved the document forward. He sighed impatiently and signed without even reading.
Then he hurried downstairs to Liora.
“Dorian,” I whispered after him, “We will never see each other again after a week.”
I took the signed resignation letter and walked into the storage room.
There was a large box tucked into the corner — something Dorian had never noticed before.
It was filled with things he had given me over the years: expensive jewelry, designer bags, plush dolls, gloves, and other little trinkets. But the item I treasured the most was the stack of letters he wrote me.
