Oliver raised an eyebrow. "First, we're picking up the car and our things at the hotel. Then I'll drop Czarina home myself."

I followed the GPS directions in silence.

I didn't argue anymore about how my mother's thirty million had been tied to a promise. I didn't hint, openly or subtly, that Czarina was not as simple as she seemed.

Even I hadn't realized it—he had stopped trusting me a long time ago.

Oliver seemed uncomfortable with my silence. He tried to act affectionately, holding Czarina close, pretending.

Czarina blushed. "Lydia... I swear I don't mean to take Oliver from you. I just... when my episodes hit, I forget everything. Seeing him reminds me of my late husband."

"When I have a child, I'll stay far away from you, so you'll have time to have one of your own."

I slowly let go of the steering wheel, placing my hand on my flat belly.

Here, I had already lost three children.

Oliver looked displeased. "Why are you talking like this? Can someone as clumsy as you even take care of yourself?"

I was about to respond when the car suddenly braked sharply.

"We're here."

I rubbed my hands, still cold despite the heater, and opened the door.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him escort Czarina back to the hotel, carrying a bag full of... adult toys.

Czarina tossed her torn clothes aside, cheeks burning, casting subtle glances toward the direction my car had parked.

When they got into his supercar, I turned the wheel and drove away.

At the traffic light, Oliver unusually reached out to me.

"Later, I'll go home to get some documents. Want an egg tart for breakfast?"

So many times in the past, after leaving the police station, he would ask me if I wanted an egg tart.

The first time, I cried through it. But today... I felt sick of it.

I didn't reply. Instead, I used the last few seconds of the red light to answer my late mother-in-law's estate lawyer.

"Attorney Palmer, thank you for the reminder. I haven't forgotten my agreement with Mom. I'll be there in seven days to sign the papers on time."

The wind hit me on the way home, and by the time I arrived, I felt light-headed.

Sitting half-awake on the living room sofa, my fingers, still scarred from healing, burned like fire. The pain cut through me.

Oliver came in with two boxes of egg tarts and froze at the sight of me tracing the jagged scars on my fingers.

In the dim light of the living room, I couldn't read his expression.