“Noelle, is that really you?”

As they passed each other, Yarden grabbed Noelle, who had been trying to avoid him.

Noelle couldn’t dodge in time. Her slender body hit the cold, hard elevator wall with a thud. The box of painkillers in her hand fell to the ground.

Yarden Zephyr lowered his gaze, noticing the box.

He sneered, “Noelle, weren’t you ruthless enough when you left five years ago? Why are you back now? Couldn’t make it out there and came crawling back for Callum’s charity?”

Yarden was one of Callum’s few close friends, and he had witnessed their entire history firsthand.

“Hartwell, Callum isn’t your lapdog, nor is he the poor guy your family looked down on five years ago. Back then, you walked out without saying a word. Do you even know what Callum—”

“He’s happy. I saw it.”

Noelle’s cold eyes stared at Yarden. The black and white of her pupils seemed unnervingly empty, almost unreal.

Yet she smiled beautifully. “Yarden, I’m married. I even have a son. As an old friend, shouldn’t you at least congratulate me?”

“Noelle, you’ve got to be f—”

Yarden, known for his good temper, was so infuriated by her sharp words that he swore outright.

The other people in the elevator gasped softly, exchanging strange glances.

Noelle didn’t care.

She pried Yarden’s hand off her arm and walked out without picking up the painkiller box on the ground. She even stepped on it as she exited the elevator.

Yarden gritted his teeth. “Noelle, your Hartwell family will never repay what you owe Callum!”

Noelle paused for a moment.

Without looking back, she replied with a faint smile, “And what about what Callum owes me?”

Her father’s life.

Her mother’s sanity.

Her brother’s uncertain fate.

How would Callum ever repay those debts?

Noelle walked away, heading straight to find the municipal official responsible for managing third-party members like herself. She asked him to assign someone to accompany her to a pharmacy outside the hotel to buy painkillers.

Yarden stood frozen in the elevator.

His assistant hesitated before asking, “Vice President Zephyr, didn’t you say that Mr. Lockridge abruptly left his meeting to buy medicine for Miss Faye? But why was that box in...”

“Shut up! Stop speculating! All of you, take another elevator and leave!”

Yarden was determined to head to the rooftop to find Callum.

He was agitated beyond measure.

The two of them ended up on the soundproof rooftop terrace, where Yarden smoked a cigarette.

Callum didn’t smoke. He merely held a cigarette between his long, slender fingers, deliberately keeping his distance from Yarden to avoid smelling like smoke.

Yarden frowned. “It’s not like you didn’t know Faye was pregnant. Why didn’t you quit smoking earlier?”

“I caught a cold.”

His reply was light and indifferent.

Yarden, quick-witted as ever, scoffed, “Is it you who caught the cold, or someone else?”

“What do you want?” Callum’s tone was impatient.

Yarden glanced at Faye in the living room, who was watching prenatal cartoons, and sighed. “Callum, don’t do anything to betray Faye. These past five years, can’t you see what kind of person Noelle is? Besides, she’s married now—with a family of her own!”

A recording played from Yarden’s always-on voice recorder.

Smash!

The recorder shattered as it hit the ground.

Callum, his expression cold and unreadable, left without a word. Not even Faye could stop him.

The young woman stood by the door, silently shedding tears.

Yarden sighed deeply, walked over, and patted her soft shoulder to comfort her. “Faye, Callum is yours. For the sake of your child’s future, you have to hold on to him tightly, understand?”

Boom!

Rumble!

The sky, calm moments ago, was torn apart by jagged lightning streaks, shattering the peaceful sunset as night approached.

The storm hit.

Noelle returned from the pharmacy, fully aware that upstairs, in the presidential suite, a man and a woman were likely tangled together—so intertwined that even doing nothing, they’d still wish to merge into one another.

On the first floor, in the hotel café:

Having taken her medication, the pain in her abdomen began to subside. Feeling drowsy yet restless, Noelle found herself bored to tears.

Sleep wasn’t an option. Her head, muddled by the medicine, was in a daze.

The café owner, seeing the torrential rain outside, decided on a whim to host a small, cozy dance party to lift everyone’s spirits.

But they lacked a pianist.

Noelle stood up and sat at the piano bench.

Under the warm lighting, her figure seemed almost ethereal, surrounded by a soft halo of golden light. Her already stunning silhouette now carried an air of unearthly grace, as if she had descended from the heavens.

She thought to herself, I’m so cold. So cold.

Five years—there hadn’t been a single moment of warmth.

So she played.

Just one piece, to warm herself up a little.

Just a little.

Her fevered mind, growing increasingly foggy, didn’t even register that her skin was burning hot and her throat was painfully dry.

The black and white piano keys seemed to leap on their own.

In her daze, she played The Wedding March.

Then— retch!

Her fever soared.

Noelle bent over, retching violently.

“So cold... Dad, Mom, Noey’s so cold. Where are you? Noey misses you so much. Where are you?”

“Noey was wrong. Noey truly knows she was wrong. Noey doesn’t want love anymore. Noey just wants to stay with Dad and Mom forever.”

“Dad, Mom...”

“Brother...”

When someone is sick, no matter how much armor they wear, cracks inevitably form, exposing their most vulnerable and fragile side.

Noelle thought she must be hallucinating.

Otherwise, why would Callum, instead of staying by Faye’s side, be holding her and carrying her out of the café?

She let out a couple of silly laughs—clearly delirious from the fever.

Callum’s deep voice roared, “Noelle! Is smiling the only thing you know how to do? As a sinner, what right do you have to smile?”

“That’s right. What right do I have to smile?”

“But Callum, sorry to disappoint you. These past five years, you wished for me to live a miserable life, but I’ve actually been quite happy!”

Even when a convenience store owner falsely accused her of stealing and she spent a month in jail.

Even when she worked the hardest and most grueling construction jobs, sleeping in fear of assault and barely catching any rest.

Even when she went hungry, froze, and wandered without a home.

Even when she lived in constant fear of being caught as an undocumented immigrant.

She—Noelle Hartwell—had no regrets.

These five years, she had no regrets.

Leaving Callum was her rebirth, her freedom, her happiness!

“And you?”

In the VIP medical suite at the hotel, Noelle lay on the bed.

She flipped over restlessly, propping her chin on her hands like a child.

Her ever-smiling eyes, clear yet unnervingly cold, stared at Callum as though he were a lifeless object.

“Callum, tell me—these past five years, have you been happier, freer, and more content than I have?”

Buzz.

A phone slipped out of her pocket and landed on the bed.

A text from an unmarked number appeared on the screen:

[Honey, our son and I miss you. Truly, we miss you so much.]

The lock screen background was a photo of a little boy, about two or three years old.

The boy’s smile was angelic, his large, sparkling eyes resembling crystal grapes—so lively they seemed almost alive even in the static image.

Noelle had fallen asleep.

A nurse came in to give her an IV for the fever.

Leaving the room, the nurse wiped the sweat from her brow and whispered to a colleague, “Mr. Lockridge must be furious. While I was setting up the IV, he just stood by the bed, his face so dark it could drip water. And the way he kept staring at that phone—his eyes were like daggers. The tension was terrifying!”