Chapter 3

The day before my flight to Milan, Silas insisted on taking Genevieve and me out on his private yacht.

His excuse was, "You two need a setting where you can finally get along."

But I knew the truth: he couldn't stand my coldness over the past few days. He was trying to force me to tear off this mask of calm.

I didn't refuse. It was my last day in the country, and I didn't want any more drama.

The wind on the water was fierce, carrying a biting chill.

Standing on the deck alone, a sudden wave of absurdity washed over me. My husband had actually brought his wife and his first love on a yacht vacation together.

Lost in thought, I didn't notice Genevieve approaching until she was right beside me.

"You can't win, Aurora," she murmured, a cold sneer lacing her hushed voice. "Silas loves me. That dead baby you couldn't keep is the best proof of that."

Hearing those words, I froze.

Silas had no idea about the miscarriage. How could she?

But a second later, clarity hit me.

She had watched me fall. She had intercepted my desperate calls to Silas. Of course she knew where I had ended up. She had truly gone to great lengths to drive me away from him once and for all.

My fingers gripped the railing so tightly my knuckles turned deathly white. I didn't even feel my nails biting into my palms.

That unborn child—the most agonizing, desperate pain in my heart—was now just a bargaining chip she was using to taunt me.

Meeting her expectant, triumphant gaze, I forcefully swallowed the coppery taste rising in my throat.

Breaking down and going crazy in front of her now would only give her exactly what she wanted. It was pointless.

"Is that so," I said, suppressing the sharp ache in my bones.

I looked at her coldly, my voice returning to that dead, stagnant calm. "Then you'd better hold on tight to him."

My disregard and the naked contempt in my eyes stung her like a needle.

A flash of pure venom crossed Genevieve's face. She suddenly stumbled backward, throwing her weight against a decaying section of the guardrail.

With a sharp crack, the railing gave way.

She let out a blood-curdling scream as half of her body instantly swung out over the edge of the yacht.

Pure instinct took over. I reached out to grab her.

But the moment my fingers brushed her arm, she flipped her grip, clamping her nails into my sleeve and yanking me outward with all her might.

One of my hands desperately clamped onto the jagged edge of the broken rail, while Genevieve violently tugged at my other arm. The two of us dangled over the churning, bottomless water below.

"Help! Silas! Save me!" Genevieve shrieked.

Rapid footsteps pounded against the deck. When Silas saw the scene, he froze completely. The color drained from his face as he lunged toward the edge, reaching out with both hands.

"Silas, pull me up. My hand is slipping..." I looked at him, my voice trembling. It was the first time in weeks that I had looked at him with a plea for help.

Silas's gaze darted frantically between Genevieve and me.

"Silas! I'm so scared! I can't swim! Please save me!" Genevieve sobbed hysterically.

Silas's pupils contracted.

"Aurora, hold on just a little longer! Gen doesn't know how to swim, I have to pull her up first!"

With that, he extended his arms toward Genevieve.

In that instant, the howl of the wind, the crash of the water, and Genevieve’s crying were entirely sucked out of my world.

I stared at Silas's panicked face, watching him exert every ounce of his strength for another woman, completely disregarding my own life or death.

Strangely, there wasn't a shred of pain left in my heart. There was only a profound, absurd numbness, and... an unprecedented sense of relief.

So this is what it felt like for a heart to truly die.

"Silas," I called his name softly.

He looked at me instinctively, a trace of frantic anxiety still lingering in his eyes.

I looked at him and smiled.

"If I had the choice, I would choose to have never met you."

Under Silas's utterly terrified gaze, I let go.

"No—! Aurora!"

The icy water swallowed me whole. Cold. Suffocating. Dark.

Yet, within me bloomed a liberating, life-altering sense of freedom.

...

I didn't die.

Perhaps it just wasn't my time. A passing harbor patrol boat spotted me.

I spent the night in a small local clinic before returning to the villa.

Silas wasn't there. Local news reported that he was at the hospital, refusing to leave the bedside of a woman who had fallen down in a faint from severe shock.

I pulled out the divorce papers I had prepared days ago, along with the medical consent form for my miscarriage surgery.

I slid the diamond ring off my ring finger—the one I had worn for five years—and placed it on the living room coffee table, right on top of the documents.

When it was all done, I grabbed my suitcase. Without casting a single backward glance at the cage that had trapped me for five years, I walked straight out the door.

Goodbye, Silas.