The Light That Came Too Late

Chapter 3 The Cruelest Truth

My mind went completely blank. No wonder my condition had suddenly deteriorated so fast.

My stomach churned violently. I staggered into the bathroom and vomited with a wretched heave.

Damian dropped his phone and rushed over, pounding on the door, his voice tight with urgency. "Marisa, is it morning sickness?"

I stared numbly at the faint streaks of blood swirling in the toilet bowl, then flushed it away with eerie calm.

When I stepped out, I brushed aside his attempt to hold me and said quietly, "I'm fine."

Something about my strange behavior all evening seemed to irritate him further. Damian paused, momentarily thrown off.

The moment his eyes landed on the still-unopened gift box, his patience snapped.

He slammed his hand on the table. "I bought that for you. Why won't you even look at it?"

Did he really expect me to be grateful for a fake?

I answered slowly, "I like it very much."

Before the words had fully left my lips, a sudden nosebleed poured out, blurring my vision.

"Damian..."

But he had already turned away, tossing out a cold, "Country bumpkin doesn't know quality when she sees it," before grabbing his cane and storming out the door. I collapsed heavily to the floor.

Warm blood kept spilling from my nose and mouth, pooling quickly across the tiles.

Outside the window, a sudden bang lit up the night like daylight.

Through the haze of agonizing pain, fireworks bloomed across the sky, spelling out "For Princess Flora" in brilliant letters, illuminating every inch of my disheveled state.

My eyes glazed over as I watched. God, they really are beautiful.

My phone vibrated wildly.

My bank balance plummeted from four hundred thousand straight to zero.

I laughed until my whole body shook.

I knew Damian was punishing me in the cruelest way he could imagine.

What he didn't know was that every cent had been saved for him.

I had once foolishly daydreamed about how moved he would be when he received this inheritance. In the end, everything I had fought so hard to give had become nothing more than a romantic gesture he handed to someone else.

The phone rang again. I picked up.

On the other end came a woman's soft, breathless moans and the words "I love you" that Damian had never once said to me.

I listened to the entire call like a masochist, yet felt no fresh heartbreak—only an overwhelming sense of release. I smiled, light as air.

In the days that followed, Damian never came home.

His so-called "client's" social updates, however, were filled with desert rock climbing and extreme skydiving.

The calluses on his hands had never come from giving massages.

Every single thing that had touched my heart had been a lie.

Flora's fingers were laced tightly with his, his name tattooed across her chest, her eyes shining with pure sweetness.

The only messages Damian sent me were a few icy voice notes. "Realized your mistake yet? Put on the necklace and send me a photo."

I knew he was still waiting for me to crawl back like I always had, humble and begging, pleading for him to come home. But I never would again.

Just then, Caitlin called.

"I wanted to confirm the date for your induction procedure?"

My gaze fell on the newly announced engagement date of the Crawford family. In that instant, my decision crystallized.

"December twenty-eighth. Let's do it that day."

Yet on the morning of the twenty-eighth, Damian showed up at the door looking oddly awkward.

"Come with me somewhere."

The charity banquet glittered with elegant guests in designer gowns and tuxedos, laughter and clinking glasses everywhere. We were the only ones in faded, threadbare clothes.

He didn't seem to care. He spoke to me gently. "Marisa, these are all friends from the disability support association. Pregnancy has been hard on you, so I applied for a donation on your behalf."

Even through his dark glasses, I could see the eager hope in his eyes.

He was waiting for me to tear up like before, throw myself into his arms, and whisper, "You're so good to me."

Instead, I simply gave a soft, indifferent hum.

Damian froze.

Flora looped her arm through mine with sugary familiarity. "Marisa, you have such lovely poise—even pregnant, you look beautiful... though that outfit is a little plain."

I started to pull away, but Damian cut in smoothly. "Marisa, the neighbors mentioned your clothes look a bit old-fashioned and cheap. Flora has great taste. Why don't you go change into something nicer?"