Chapter 2

Early the next morning, I went to the private care facility.

A caregiver was wheeling my father into the courtyard to sit in the sun.

He had aged so much. His hair was completely white, and he was so thin his clothes hung loose on him.

I handed him the bank card.

“There’s seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars in the account. Enough for the best facility and the best care. From now on, I won’t be coming back.”

“She wants me to settle all of this before I go to see her.”

His lips trembled as though he had so much to ask.

I didn’t give him the chance.

There were things I didn’t want to remember.

But as I turned to leave, I thought of what had happened that year.

The year he went bankrupt, he knelt in front of me and asked whether I could forgive him.

I suddenly found it absurd.

My mother had tried so hard to hold on to a man that it had cost her her life.

And he thought saying he was sorry should be enough for me to forgive him.

That was why I had sworn I would never be like her.

I wouldn’t cry, cling to someone, and lose everything.

Just as I was about to tell him I didn’t forgive him, headlights flashed at the edge of my vision.

An out-of-control delivery truck was heading straight for me.

The next second, someone shoved me out of the way.

I hit the ground hard.

When I turned back, he was lying in a pool of blood.

The truck’s bumper had driven into the left side of his body.

He had been badly injured saving me. That was why he needed long-term care.

The seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars wasn’t for being my father.

It was for saving my life.

After that, I went to work as usual.

I was sorting files when Ethan walked into the office.

He glanced at me, his face expressionless.

“Claire, bring this quarter’s financial report to my office.”

“Yes, sir.”

I answered without hesitation.

He was the one who paused.

“You’ve adjusted quickly,” he said under his breath.

As he passed, his fingers deliberately brushed the back of my hand.

I didn’t pull away.

I didn’t respond.

Our relationship wasn’t much of a secret at work.

Over the past six years, he had picked me up after work and taken me to a few business dinners.

Our coworkers already knew. They just never said anything.

But we had never publicly acknowledged our relationship.

Now he called me “Claire,” and I called him “sir.”

To everyone else, it simply looked as though we were keeping things professional.

That evening, he sent me a location. I took a cab there.

I opened the suite door to find rose petals scattered across the floor and a silk nightgown hanging on a rack.

She was gone.

Her perfume wasn’t.

Ethan spoke from behind me.

“Seen enough?”

I turned.

He leaned against the doorframe, a cigarette in his hand and a faint smile on his face, watching for my reaction.

“Help out at the engagement party next week.”