When He Forgave, She Was Gone

Chapter 7

After a hundred consecutive slaps landed without mercy, Scarlett's body finally gave out. She crumpled to the floor, unconscious.

When she blinked her eyes open, three days had vanished into a haze. The Owen family's physician, Dr. Landon Carmichael, had pulled her back from the edge of death.

From her very first day in the Owen villa, Maxwell had personally assigned Landon as her doctor. Back then, the slightest sniffle would send Maxwell into a panic. Hell, even a single pimple would have him demanding Landon examine her before he could calm down.

Over the years, Landon had treated countless minor ailments—paper cuts, acne flare-ups, blistered heels from new shoes—all trivial scrapes barely worth mentioning. But this was different. This time, she'd been truly broken.

Even as a doctor who'd seen every horror imaginable, Landon's hands trembled slightly as he dressed her wounds. A sigh escaped before he could stop it.

"Ms. Anderson." He kept his voice low, professional. "The Maxwell you knew is gone."

The unspoken message hung heavy in the air between them. Let go. The man who had once worshipped her no longer existed. Some memories weren't worth keeping.

"Dr. Carmichael." Her voice scraped out raw, barely above a whisper. She pointed toward the corner cabinet. "Could you...?"

He followed her gaze. "The safe on the top shelf?"

She nodded weakly. "The combination is nine, repeated nine times."

He retrieved a heavy chest from the safe, its weight substantial in his arms. Stuffed full of ghosts from the past, he carried it to her bedside.

He hesitated, looking at the container. "These are...?"

"Proof that Maxwell once loved me."

The words came easier than she'd expected. Inside lay their history—his awkward first love letter, written on lined paper in shaky handwriting; the ridiculously expensive heels he'd bought her for prom; their goofy photo strip from a mall booth, his smile wide and unguarded; countless small tokens of affection accumulated over the years.

Most painful of all was the engagement ring he'd slipped onto her finger, promising forever. It sat in its velvet box, catching the light.

"Please." Her voice cracked. "Throw it all away."

Tears burned hot in her eyes, spilling over despite every effort to fight them. These would be her last tears for Maxwell. She made a silent vow right there in that hospital bed.

Every memory. Every hope. Even him.

She would let it all go.

Maxwell never reappeared during her recovery, but Grace made sure she wasn't forgotten. Her taunting texts arrived daily, along with sickeningly sweet snapshots flaunting their so-called bliss. Each photo of them together carved fresh wounds into already damaged flesh.

Then, on the eve of the wedding, the final dagger arrived—delivered by Maxwell himself.

In the living room, Grace clung to his arm with practiced sweetness, her voice dripping with insincere warmth. "Ms. Anderson, tomorrow's our wedding. You've been such a witness to our love story. Let's just put the past behind us, okay? I'd be absolutely thrilled if you came to share our joy."

Though Scarlett had resolved to let go of Maxwell, the wedding invitation still pierced straight through her heart. She stood frozen, head bowed, her eyes hollow and empty.

Maxwell's patience snapped at her silence. He hurled the invitation toward her, his voice laced with pure scorn. "Why bother being polite with her?"

Scarlett knew she couldn't escape this pain. Just as she opened her mouth to respond, a voice cut through the tension.

"Ms. Anderson."

Landon, who had just come downstairs, pointed urgently at the ceiling. Scarlett glanced up instinctively.

The crystal chandelier was falling. Straight toward Maxwell.

"Look out."

Her eyes widened in panic. She didn't think. Didn't hesitate. On pure reflex, she sprinted forward and yanked him sideways with every ounce of strength she had left.