“Chesca!” Rockwell called out after her, urgent and full of worry.
Without a second thought, he got up and chased after her.
He didn’t even glance back at Solenne.
Just a minute ago, this man had been telling her he loved her. Now he was leaving her behind for another woman.
Suddenly, it all felt meaningless.
Solenne placed a hand over her belly. ‘Maybe the child already knew it wouldn’t have a good future if it was born—so it simply chose to leave on its own.’
A natural miscarriage didn’t require hospitalization, so she checked herself out alone.
After leaving the hospital, she returned to the villa.
She had always lived in Rockwell’s villa, under his name. ‘It’s time to pack up and go.’
She headed into the bathroom first and began clearing out everything she had bought for him—his toothbrush cup, razor, their matching towels…
Then she walked into the bedroom, picked up the photo of the two of them that had always sat on the bedside table, and tossed it straight into the trash.
There were a lot of her in that villa. She spent the whole day packing.
She stayed one last night in the villa. The next morning, she continued.
After about a day and a half, she had cleaned out everything—inside and out.
What could be shipped, she arranged to be airlifted to Greece. What couldn’t, she threw away.
But just as she stepped out to toss out another load, she saw Rockwell walking up.
His brows furrowed when he saw what she was carrying. “Why are you suddenly throwing out so much stuff?”
Solenne didn’t want to explain. She casually made something up. “Weren’t you going to fake our deaths and elope with me? I figured I’d get a head start on packing and get rid of what we don’t need.”
Rockwell’s expression relaxed, and he smiled. “Oh, I see. I see.”
After that, neither of them spoke. The air turned quiet.
Maybe he sensed that her mood wasn’t great. Rockwell thought for a moment, then he reached out and gently took her hand.
“Don’t be upset. Let’s go to an art exhibit, clear your head. There’s one downtown right now, and they’ve even put up some works by that famous Russian painter you love.”
Solenne had planned to say no—but when she heard that last part, she hesitated.
She really did love that artist’s work. His paintings rarely made it into exhibitions. It was a rare chance—she didn’t want to miss it.
“Okay. Let’s go.”
Seeing her agree, Rockwell let out a quiet breath of relief.