Part 2Forgotten Vows: The Eight-Year Gap

Seraphina Brooks, who was sitting on the edge of his bed with tear-streaked cheeks, reached out to grab his hand. Dominic flinched away as if she were a hot coal. His brow furrowed with a suppressed, icy impatience.

"Stay away from me," he snapped, his tone freezing.

Seraphina froze. She sat there as the tears began to roll down her face, one by one. Even in her state of "damsel in distress," she didn't forget to look up and shoot me a venomous glare, as if I were the mastermind behind her misery.

Watching this scene, I felt a hysterical urge to laugh, but the sound wouldn't come.

Dominic and I truly had nothing left to say to one another.

I stood at the far end of the room, keeping a physical distance from his bed. My face was a mask of cold indifference.

"The divorce settlement was drafted by your own legal team, Dominic. Your lead counsel weighed every word. You reviewed it yourself before the accident." I paused, letting out a breath. "Once you’re discharged, you can ask anyone around you. You’ll see that I’m not the one lying."

He looked up, his eyes locking onto mine. He looked like he had been physically struck by my coldness. For a moment, his face showed a rare flicker of vulnerability—a mixture of confusion and a silent, pleading desperation.

He had spent the last several years being the golden boy of the tech world, arrogant and certain of everything. I hadn't seen him look this lost in a very long time.

But my heart was a stagnant pool of dead water. No amount of confusion on his part could ripple it now.

I turned and walked out.