He swept Narelle into his arms and summoned every top medical specialist in the city to treat her scratch. Then he moved her into my hidden estate.
My condition deteriorated rapidly.
I swallowed antidepressants by the handful. My hair began falling out in clumps. My memory fractured, pieces slipping away like water through cracks.
To survive, I forced myself to stop thinking about Sebastian. I locked myself in my room and buried myself in restoring ancient manuscripts, one crumbling page at a time.
I'd discovered this work by accident after the wedding—a way to escape the pain. Back then, I never imagined it would become my lifeline, the very thing that would help me finally leave Sebastian.
I stopped following news about Sebastian and Narelle.
But as Capital City's power couple, their stories found me anyway.
Today, Sebastian bought Narelle a private island. Tomorrow, they'd appear at some ribbon-cutting ceremony, her arm threaded through his.
Narelle had seamlessly stepped into the role of Mrs. Gilbert. Meanwhile, I had been erased from existence—forgotten, as if I'd never been real at all.
At least I'd grown numb enough that the days somehow kept passing.