Chapter 5

Sabrina didn't answer Lucien's question. Instead, she stumbled into the living room.

Rainwater dripped from her hair onto the expensive carpet, leaving a trail of dark stains. Her makeup was streaked and smudged from the rain, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Sabrina, sit down first, let me get you a towel—" Lucien tried to close the door.

"No need." Her voice trembled with a sob. "Let me ask you something. You never attend charity events like this. Suddenly posting that photo today... wasn't it just to make me see it?"

I sat on the sofa watching this scene unfold, my chest suddenly tightening. That photo from the children's hospital—I'd almost forgotten Lucien had posted it on social media today.

"Sabrina, you're overthinking this." Lucien tried to remain composed, but there was a nervousness in his voice I'd never heard before. "It's just for the company's image, nothing more."

"Company image?" Tears slid down Sabrina's cheeks, her voice sounding particularly fragile in the spacious living room. "Lucien, when did you become such a liar?"

She turned to me, teardrops glittering under the lights, but that familiar arrogance still lurked beneath: "Or are you saying you don't even have the courage to admit you miss me anymore?"

Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the rain grew more urgent, like countless tiny whips lashing against the glass. The living room lights were dim, and the three of us formed an eerie triangle—me sitting, them standing, like judge and defendant.

Suddenly, Sabrina began to cry.

Not the elegant kind of tears, but a hysterical breakdown. She covered her face with both hands, her shoulders shaking violently, letting out suppressed sobs.

"You knew I just got out of the hospital... and you deliberately hurt me..." Her voice broke between sobs. "Seeing you two so in love like that, my whole body aches..."

I felt a wave of intense unease. This performative suffering was all too familiar—ten years ago in the girls' school bathroom, she did the same thing: attack first, then tears, and finally always win everyone's sympathy.

But Lucien was clearly moved. He instinctively stepped forward, wanting to comfort her.

"Sabrina..."

"While I was receiving treatment overseas, I thought about you every single moment, Lucien." She looked at him through her fingers, tears glittering in her eyes. "Every treatment, every medication, I kept thinking, why do I have to endure this? Why do I have to pretend to be strong?"

I watched Lucien's expression change—from resistance to softening, from softening to guilt. This was Sabrina's gift—she could always precisely hit people's weak spots.

"It's not fair..." She continued crying, "All those years of feelings between us, can they really be so easily replaced by a... by a substitute?"

Substitute.

The word hit my chest like a bullet. I stood up, feeling dizzy.

"Sabrina, don't say that..." Lucien's voice trembled slightly as he took a step forward, wanting to comfort her. "Felicity isn't a substitute. What's between us... it's complicated..."

"Complicated?" Sabrina cried even harder. "What do you mean complicated? Either you love me or you don't! Either you choose me or you choose her! What's complicated about that?"

I watched the painful struggle on Lucien's face, saw the reluctance and guilt in his eyes when he looked at Sabrina. In that moment, I finally understood the truth.

Sabrina suddenly turned and rushed toward the door, running and crying: "I'm not good enough for you... I was too cowardly to admit my feelings for you... I'll leave right now, let you two live happily..."

"Sabrina, wait!" Lucien chased after her.

I heard the door slam shut, then their voices in the rain. And I, as if under a spell, slowly walked toward the floor-to-ceiling window.

In the rain, Lucien pulled Sabrina into his arms just as she was about to leave.

She shook violently in his embrace, beating her chest with both hands as if enduring tremendous pain. "My heart hurts so much... so much..." she cried. "Why torture me like this..."

Seeing her in such apparent agony, Lucien's reason completely collapsed. He cupped her face and kissed her deeply.

In that moment, I felt the entire world spinning.

Sabrina immediately stopped beating her chest and instead gripped his clothes tightly, passionately returning the kiss. The two embraced tightly in the pouring rain, their kiss deep and desperate, filled with ten years of separation and longing.

This was the truth.

All the tenderness, promises, engagement ring—nothing but a carefully orchestrated drama. And I was just a dispensable supporting character in this play.

I turned and rushed toward the back door.

Not the front door—I didn't want to encounter their victorious smiles when they returned. I escaped through the service corridor behind the kitchen, stumbling through the dark maze of dumpsters and fire escapes.

"Fleeing in panic"—I finally understood the true meaning of these words.

Images flashed through my mind: Sabrina's expression when she burned my arm with a cigarette years ago, overlapping with the scene of their kiss in the rain. She had always been the winner, both past and present.

The rain grew heavier, London's night swallowing me whole.

I wandered aimlessly through the streets, neon lights blurring into colored halos in the rain. Pedestrians hurried past with umbrellas, only I let the rain wash over me.

"Worthless." These words echoed repeatedly in my mind.

Mother was right, Lucien was right, even Sabrina wasn't wrong—I really was wallowing in self-pity, really was running away, really didn't deserve anyone's love.

My existence was meaningless. Parents, Lucien—no one truly needed me. I was just an accessory that could be easily replaced.

Just as I was about to turn off my phone and throw the damn thing away, it vibrated in my bag.

A message from the children's hospital event organizers with a photo: [Thank you for participating today! Please take good care of yourself!]

In the photo, Lucien and I stood side by side, smiling brilliantly, looking so perfect together.

I smiled bitterly at myself pretending to be happy on the screen. Just hours ago, I had thought this would be the turning point in my life. Now it seemed like just another cruel joke.

Rain blurred the phone screen and my vision.

Without realizing it, I had walked to Westminster Bridge.

The famous London bridge looked particularly lonely in the night rain, with few pedestrians and only the distant outline of Big Ben visible in the darkness. The Thames below churned black as ink, turbulent and swift.

I stood by the bridge, gazing down at the water.

Life for me was like walking on a knife's edge, and they... they had thrust the blade straight into my heart.

I climbed onto the bridge railing.

Rain pounded my face, ice-cold and piercing. I closed my eyes, feeling the wind and rain surround me.

Mother's words echoed in my ears: "Besides him, who else would want you?"

Now even he didn't want me.

My life had no meaning. I was just a mistake, a mistake that should be corrected.

I let go of both hands—