Chapter 5

Diana's POV

I did ask, question, and make a fuss.

But every time, he looked at me with those eyes that once held nothing but love for me, earnestly.

Then spoke that impeccable excuse.

"Diana, without the support of Cecilia's parents, I would have starved to death on the streets. How could I be where I am today?"

"They're like parents to me who gave me life. Cecilia is like my real sister. Don't worry. The person I love most will always be you."

I loved him too much back then. Loved him enough to numb myself.

Loved him enough to believe that lie, that gratitude and love are two different things.

That bit of discomfort in my heart was forcibly suppressed by overwhelming love.

Even after our first divorce, he still had the flower shop deliver a bouquet of my favorite white roses every single day without fail.

When everyone misunderstood that I'd cheated, they thought Damian going to the flower shop every day to carefully select roses for me was so devoted and affectionate.

But only I knew this relationship had finally rotted.

Even though he agreed to remarry and promised not to have excessive contact with Cecilia.

I knew they never truly cut off contact privately.

Those changed contact names, late-night phone calls, occasionally glimpsed walks side by side.

All silently mocking my self-deception.

I thought, once my parents' situation was resolved, maybe I should finally let go.

I would fulfill them and release myself.

I didn't want to be caught between them anymore, enduring the slut-shaming day after day, living like a joke.

I'd already written and submitted the divorce application.

This time I'd leave with nothing-this house, this empire he'd built, I wanted none of it.

Consider it payment for his help resolving the problem.

After all, asking strangers for favors always requires paying a price.

But Damian, once he left, didn't return for several days.

Calls went straight to busy signals or no answer.

I tried finding him at his company but was politely stopped at the entrance.

When I tried to ask around, those faces that used to fawn and flatter were now cold and distant. No one wanted to get involved.

I even lost my mind and went to his rural hometown, only to find it overgrown with weeds from long neglect.

Time passed anxiously, bit by bit. I forgot to count the days.

Until I stumbled back to the city in a daze and received devastating news.

My parents had been sentenced to ten years in prison, to be executed immediately.

No delay, no cancellation, no room for negotiation.

Damian never appeared. No notification came.

I completely panicked.

Like a madwoman, I called everyone everywhere, begging with a hoarse voice.

But only evasions, dismissals, and silent hang-ups answered me.

I couldn't find him. That man who swore he'd help me, who said he loved me, had vanished like he'd evaporated from the world.

No one helped me. I couldn't even get visitation rights.

After the massive panic came only numbness.

I stopped looking for Damian. I returned to that empty, cold house and waited like a ghost.

One day, two days...

A month passed. Damian had no news. My parents' side had no news either.

The next time I heard about my parents, a prison guard delivered two small boxes.

Inside were two handfuls of light, weightless ashes.

The guard said my parents were caught up in a prison brawl.

An inmate picked up a table and smashed it on them. Despite resuscitation efforts, they were declared dead.

I didn't cry.

I accepted the boxes, set up a simple memorial altar. In the black-and-white photos, my parents' smiles were still gentle.

I lit candles and knelt on the cushion, staring blankly at the wisps of smoke.

Just then, the door lock sounded.

Damian had returned.

He wore a light-colored casual outfit, his face showing contentment.

He was even carrying a paper bag printed with a resort destination logo.

Pushing open the door, he was obviously stunned.

"Diana?"

He spoke uncertainly, his brows knitting.

"What are you doing?"

I slowly turned my head.

When I saw the displeasure on his face, the volcano I'd been suppressing finally erupted.

I shot up from the floor.

Rushed to Damian and, with all my strength, swung my hand viciously across his face!

Smack!

The crisp sound of slaps was especially harsh in the silent memorial hall.

One after another, without rhythm, only pouring out hatred and despair.

"Damian! You bastard!"

I cried out, my voice broken and hoarse.

"What did you promise me?! You said you'd help me! You'd save my parents!"

"Where were you?! Where the hell did you disappear to?! My parents are dead! They're dead, do you understand?!!"

Damian's face was knocked to the side from my blows, red swollen handprints quickly appearing.

He was stunned by the beating.