Clara almost thought she heard something wrong. He knew very well she had claustrophobia and needed the lights on even while sleeping.
But now, for that woman, he was going to lock her himself in a dark, sunless room.
The bodyguards stepped forward and roughly dragged Clara toward the dark room.
Fear seized her, and Clara struggled with all her strength, pleading, "No! Don’t lock me in a place like that! No! Simon, have you forgotten kneeling before my parents’ graves, promising to treat me well for life?"
"Simon, do you really want me to hate you?"
Simon froze, fists tightening. He had once truly loved Clara.
The next moment, Selina suddenly hugged him and began to sob softly. Tears gathered in her eyes as she spoke.
"Simon, I came without notice and offended Miss Hart, but I’m not a mistress, really, I’m not."
In an instant, heartache crushed his hesitation, and Simon said in a deep voice, "Take Madam away now and lock the door! No one is allowed to open it without my permission."
The bodyguard shoved her into the small, dark room and slammed the door shut.
In an instant, Clara fell into endless darkness.
Terror overwhelmed her; she pounded on the doors and windows wildly, screaming with all her strength, "Let me out! Let me out!"
"I was wrong, don’t lock me in here, Simon, please, I’ll apologize, don’t leave me here, I’ll die." She screamed until drained, but the door stayed shut.
Clara was in despair. She curled into the corner, not…
She stopped trembling, and memories surged back.
She wasn’t actually an orphan. Fifteen years ago, she had a happy family; her parents were upright, incorruptible narcotics officers.
Until that night, drug dealers came with their men to retaliate. To protect her, her parents locked her inside a dark closet.
She witnessed her parents’ brutal deaths through that crack, staying inside for three days.
When the police found her, she was nearly broken from the trauma.
With a psychologist’s help, she underwent six months of treatment before recovering.
But ever since, she had claustrophobia, terrified of dark, enclosed spaces to the point she needed a light to sleep.
And she had told Simon everything.
She never imagined that, just to shield Selina, he would personally tear open her wounds.
Images of her parents’ deaths repeated endlessly in her mind. Clara felt as if she had gone back fifteen years, watching them die again and again.
The recurring pain tormented her nerves, and three days later, Clara finally broke.
Before losing consciousness, she faintly saw fifteen-year-old Simon under a cherry blossom tree, holding her tightly.
"Clara, from now on, I’ll protect you with my life. I’ll never let you suffer that again, never let you fall into darkness again."
For the next ten years, he kept that promise.
But now, he shattered it.
When she woke again, Clara found herself in a hospital.
Seeing her awake, Simon said softly, "Your body is fine, and Selina was worried, so she asked me to stay with you."
He reached to touch Clara’s hair, but she pulled away.
Seeing her wary gaze, Simon’s heart jolted. He frowned and said, "Why are you still acting up? This was your mistake, and you should be punished."
"Mistakes must be punished, Clara. You told me that when we were young. Have you forgotten?"
Clara slowly raised her head, calm, silent.
Looking at the face before her, she suddenly realized that not loving him wasn’t hard at all.
From now on, each second she would love him less.
Seeing her eyes, Simon felt she had changed. When did she stop looking at him with those burning eyes?
He lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. Then he showed her his phone.
"Clara, I came to tell you that you misunderstood Selina. Her new art exhibit is a total success, praised by all. No one looks down on you."
Seeing her unflattering photos displayed in a gallery for everyone to see, Clara froze, struggling not to cry.
She closed her eyes slowly, turning away, unwilling to speak.
Out of patience, Simon stormed out, slamming the door with a deafening bang.
Where no one could see, Clara gripped her hands, letting her tears soak the pillow.
After crying enough, Clara stood up, dragging her weak body out of the hospital, heading for the orphanage where she grew up.
Since childhood, the director, like a mother, had been kind to her, and she had always thought of the orphanage as home.
She didn’t know when she would lose her memory, but before that, she wanted to help the orphanage.
But this time, the director who had treated her like a daughter refused to let her in.
"Leave. I saw the photos of you selling yourself as a nude model. You’re not welcome here." The director threw out her things, disappointed. "I raised you carefully, not for you to do something shameful! If this spreads, all the children here will be disgraced!"
"We don’t want a single cent of your donations, and money earned from your body is dirty!"
The director had actually seen those photos.
Clara bit her lip, explaining frantically, "No, I never took Selina’s money."
"You’re still lying! Miss Grant told me you needed money, so you agreed to be her model."
The director shook her head and slammed the door on her.
"Don’t come back. We don’t have a child like you."
Clara froze, slowly falling to her knees, crying hard.
Just like fifteen years ago, she was homeless again.
And this time, the one who made her homeless was Simon.
