"I was helping your fiancé try on her wedding gown, and I accidentally knocked off the biggest diamond…"
Tears streamed down her face as she spoke.
"I'm really sorry, Leslie. I'll do anything—be your servant if you want—just please don't kick me out…"
Leslie let out a cold laugh. The same trick, used twice, wasn't going to work again.
"Kiana, when did I ever say I was kicking you out?"
Denver took a deliberate step forward, shielding Kiana completely behind him.
"My love, you're being unreasonable." His tone was calm but firm. "You never used to be like this."
Leslie looked up, stunned. She couldn't believe it—the man who had always shielded her and held her close now stood against her for someone else.
Hurt, disappointment, and anger all welled up inside her, choking her words before they could form.
Meanwhile, Kiana kept up her sob-filled performance. Compared to her, Leslie felt like an emotionless puppet.
After a long silence, Leslie finally spoke. "The wedding gown is yours. You can stay in this villa as long as you want."
After all, in just fifteen days, she would disappear from this place forever.
Without another word, she turned and walked upstairs while Denver escorted the tearful Kiana back to the guest room.
Late into the night, Leslie could still hear the faint sounds of Kiana's crying and Denver's gentle words of comfort.
Unable to resist, Leslie peeked through the door's narrow opening. Inside, Kiana clung to Denver's waist, her voice soft and sweet. "Denver, I really envy Leslie… Actually, I…"
"I know." Denver interrupted her, his voice tender.
"Kiana, as long as I live, I'll never let you feel hurt again. Anything you want, I'll make it happen. The only thing I can't do is marry you. Everything else, you can have. Trust me, okay?"
It felt like an invisible hand gripped Leslie's heart and twisted. The pain, sharp and deep, reminded her that she wasn't as numb as she wanted to believe.
She always acted calm and resolute. But Denver—he was the one person who could shatter her mask with precision.
Under the shower, the water washed away her tears, along with memories she wished would fade.
The man who once saw no one but her was gone.
What remained was this "brother," desperate to put the entire world at Kiana's feet.
The next morning, as soon as Denver left for work, Leslie methodically began packing.
Four years of living together had filled every corner of the villa with her belongings. Each item carried a memory of Denver.
She stuffed everything into large cardboard boxes and tossed them into the neighborhood dumpsters.
When Denver returned in the evening, he was startled to see their bedroom half-empty.
"Why does it feel like half the stuff is gone?"
Leslie answered casually, "Making room for the new occupant."
Denver thought for a moment, then smiled.
"Fair enough. Once we have kids, we'll definitely need more space."
Seeing the faint excitement on his face, Leslie found it laughable—tragically so.
'Denver, Denver… I don't even want you anymore. What makes you think I'd have your child?'
He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, his lips brushing her neck.
Leslie stiffened, ready to pull away, but right on cue, Kiana appeared in the doorway.
"Denver, Leslie, dinner's ready."
Denver immediately let go, grinning as he followed Kiana downstairs.
When Leslie joined them at the table, she noticed a bowl of golden Lobster Newberg placed in front of her seat.
