Chapter 3

Sophia Bennett POV

Early the next morning, before I had even woken from last night’s daze, the villa’s front door was pushed open.

Several movers filed in one after another, carrying suitcases of all sizes into the living room.

Vanessa wore a pure white dress, her face pale, looking like a fragile dodder flower as she leaned weakly in Ethan Whitmore’s arms.

When she saw me standing at the stairway, Vanessa shrank back, and tears instantly filled her eyes. “Sophia… I’m sorry. I know it’s selfish of me to come back at a time like this, but I’m really so afraid of dying. I just want Ethan to be with me during my final days…”

She cried so pitifully, as if she had suffered some terrible injustice.

Ethan held her tighter in distress and comforted her softly. “Don’t cry. The doctor said you can’t get emotional. This will be your home from now on, and no one can drive you away.”

After saying that, he raised his head and looked at me coldly. “Vanessa’s illness requires plenty of sunlight, and the master bedroom has the best light. Pack up your things today and move to the guest room on the first floor.”

I froze in place, looking at him in disbelief.

I had designed the master bedroom myself, and every piece of furniture and every painting inside had been carefully chosen over countless days and nights.

It was the private space where Ethan and I had lived together for three years.

Now, with one casual sentence, he wanted to sweep me out.

“Ethan Whitmore, we’re not divorced yet.” My voice tightened, and I gripped the stair railing hard.

“Sophia, don’t be mad at Ethan.” Vanessa tugged at Ethan’s sleeve and said considerately, “I can just stay in the guest room. I’m someone who’s about to die anyway, so it doesn’t matter where I stay…”

“No!” Ethan cut her off sternly, and his gaze toward me grew even colder. “Sophia, did you ignore everything I said last night? Vanessa’s heart can’t take any stimulation. Will you only be satisfied if you force her to death?”

Force her to death?

I looked at the faint, barely noticeable smugness that flashed through Vanessa’s eyes and suddenly found it all absurd beyond words.

I did not argue anymore and turned back to the master bedroom.

I opened the closet and began mechanically stuffing my clothes into a suitcase.

Ethan and Vanessa’s voices came from outside the door.

“Ethan, I want cheesecake from that place in the East Village.”

“Okay, I’ll have my assistant buy it right away.”

“But I want you to feed me the cake yourself…”

“Anything you want. Anything.”

My hand suddenly froze, and a sharp pain spread through my fingertips.

I had a serious stomach condition, and whenever it flared up and I had no appetite, Ethan would drive to the East Village to buy that cheesecake, then patiently feed it to me one spoonful at a time.

I had once thought that was a tenderness meant only for me.

Only now did I know he had simply taken a habit meant for another woman and used it on me in passing.

In less than half an hour, my things had been cleared out completely.

The movers rudely hung Vanessa’s clothes in the closet, pulled off the bedding I had carefully chosen, and replaced it with the pink lace Vanessa liked.

I dragged my suitcase to the guest room on the first floor.

The guest room rarely saw sunlight all year round, and it carried a cold, damp smell.

I sat on the bare bed board, looked at the gray sky outside the window, and my tears finally fell silently.

I had acted in this play called “marriage” for three years and fallen too deeply into the role.

But Ethan Whitmore could call it to a stop at any time.