Clara's fingertips trembled suddenly, and the suitcase handle creaked as she gripped it tightly.
She remembered the past. She used to be afraid of the dark, and whenever she came home late from work, Liam would always leave a warm yellow light on in the entryway, waiting for her. He would remember her stomach problems and add an extra spoonful of sugar when cooking millet porridge. He would hold her design drafts, which she had worked on late into the night, his eyes shining as he said, "Niannian, you are my treasure."
But now? Her eyes were splashed with sulfuric acid by his adopted sister's son, and she almost went completely blind. He didn't care, not even bothering to offer a word of comfort. He was busy making excuses for the perpetrator and comforting the woman who had ruined everything for her.
A sharp, throbbing pain surged up from her chest, spreading through her blood to every part of her body. She could even feel the pain manifest as a trembling in her fingertips, causing her suitcase to sway gently.
But she couldn't have an attack.
She bit her lower lip, swallowing back the sob in her throat, then slowly nodded, her voice low and hoarse as if it had been rubbed with sandpaper: "...Okay, I'll listen to you."
Liam released his hand with satisfaction, and the moment he turned around, the gentleness vanished from his face.
Clara groped her way back to the wardrobe, her fingertips touching a cold photo frame. It was a picture of her and Liam, taken backstage at a jewelry exhibition last year. In the photo, he was personally placing the "Starry Night" necklace she designed around her neck, leaning down to whisper in her ear, "This jewelry set, only you in the whole world can wear it."
But yesterday she clearly heard him say that he was going to give that necklace to Vanessa as a congratulatory gift for her becoming K's apprentice.
Clara's fingertips curled up, her nails digging deep into her palms. She fumbled to open the bottom drawer of the wardrobe, shoving the photo frame inside as if to bury the absurdity of the past seven years in a dark corner.
The sudden movement caused the drawer slides to rattle, startling Liam, who was leaning against the door frame.
He glanced at the half-open suitcase on the ground, his tone as indifferent as if he were talking about something trivial: "Where are you... going?"