For Him I Waited, Now I Chase Mine

Chapter 7

Aurelia staggered to the study door. Lucien had already opened the locked bottom drawer and taken out an old red wooden box.

He opened the lid. A white jade bangle lay quietly on the velvet lining.

It was her mother's keepsake, personally placed on her wrist before she had gone to the front line.

"Lucien! What are you going to do?"

Aurelia's voice turned sharp as she lunged forward to grab it.

Lucien restrained her with one hand while holding the box steady with the other. "I know how important this is to you."

His gaze locked onto her pale face. "Listen carefully. If you ever again dare to scheme against or harm someone—no matter who it is—I will personally smash it."

"Don't..." Aurelia trembled violently.

"Why are you doing this to me? Give it back! That was my mother's!"

She struggled and cried out, using all her strength to pry his fingers open.

Lucien frowned deeply, his arm unmoving.

Despair surged over her like a tide. Suddenly, Aurelia stopped resisting and broke down in tears.

"I'm begging you... give it back... I was wrong, I'll change, I'll stay far away... just give me the bangle, please..."

She had never begged so humbly before.

Large tears fell onto the back of his hand, and something in his tightly bound chest tightened sharply.

In the instant his resolve wavered—almost loosening his grip—

"Ambassador Hawthorn! Something's wrong!"

A hurried shout came from outside the door. "Ms. Winsor's home has been vandalized. She's been frightened. Her condition is not good!"

Lucien's expression changed abruptly.

He yanked his hand back and turned to leave.

"Give it back!"

Aurelia grabbed his arm desperately.

Lucien, overwhelmed with urgency, shook her off without thinking. "Let go!"

Bang—

The wooden box flew out of his hand.

Crack!

A sharp, piercing sound of breaking.

The jade bangle shattered into several pieces on the floor.

Lucien froze, staring at the fragments, then at Aurelia—who had been thrown to the ground by his shove, blood seeping from her temple, yet only stared blankly ahead.

There was no expression on her face. No tears. Only a dead, ashen stillness.

Something in Lucien's chest tightened, panic and regret surging up in a suffocating wave.

He instinctively bent down to help her—

"Ambassador Hawthorn! The car is ready! Ms. Winsor's situation is urgent!" the voice urged again from outside.

Lucien's outstretched hand froze midair.

He looked at the blood on Aurelia's temple, then thought of Cynthia's danger... and slowly clenched his fist, pulling back.

"I..." His throat was dry. "I'll deal with this when I return. I'll make it up to you."

Without daring to look again at the fragments or the woman who seemed to have lost her soul, he turned and rushed out decisively.

Aurelia slowly lowered her head. Blood from her temple slid down to her lips, carrying a metallic taste.

She did not wipe it away. Instead, she braced herself on the desk and stood up, looking out the window.

Lucien's jeep sped through the dusk, its red taillights glaring before disappearing at the end of the alley.

She had thought she would break down and cry.

But she did not.

It turned out tears could truly run dry.

And when pain reached its limit, only numbness remained.

Her mother had left her nothing but this bangle, which had accompanied her through every lonely night.

Now it was broken.

Shattered by the man she had loved with all her youth—destroying, in such an absurd way, the last trace of her attachment to family.

At that moment, the pager at her waist suddenly beeped twice.

She lowered her head stiffly and took it out.

The screen displayed foreign code and translated text:

"Admission to Masford Art Institute confirmed. Ship 'Eastern Star,' tomorrow 18:00, Capital Pier No. 3. No extensions. Congratulations."

Her admission... had been approved.

The dream she had once abandoned for marriage, the dream she had secretly picked up again in countless lonely nights, had finally been opened to her.

Aurelia clenched the pager tightly, slowly crouched down, carefully picked up the jade fragments, wrapped them in a handkerchief, and placed them close to her body.

Then she went into the study, opened the wardrobe, and began packing in silence.

A few changes of clothes, an old Russian dictionary, painting tools and documents, and the signed copy of the divorce application.

But the moment she closed the suitcase—

A black cloth bag suddenly was pulled over her head from behind, cutting off all sight.

"Ugh—!"

A brutal, dull blow struck the back of her neck.

Pain exploded. Darkness swallowed her consciousness.