Chapter 4
At Dylan's birthday banquet, the hall was filled with guests. Maya, on Evan's arm, made a grand announcement. "To all our friends and family, I'd like to share that Evan and I are officially dating. We hope for your continued support."
Dylan beamed beside them, nodding enthusiastically. As a chorus of congratulations rose around them, Claire sat in a quiet corner, sipping her drink. A sharp pain shot through her stomach, growing more intense with each passing moment. A cold sweat beaded on her forehead.
She excused herself, stumbling to the restroom, where she retched until she was dizzy, and the bile was streaked with blood.
She stared at her reflection. The woman in the mirror was terrifyingly pale, looking as if she didn't have much time left.
Claire refused to let anyone see her this weak. She splashed cold water on her face and composed herself.
When she pushed the door open, she found Evan standing there, frozen. His face was even paler than hers as he fixed his gaze on the faint trace of blood at the corner of her mouth.
He took a quick step toward her. "Claire, you don't look well. Is it your stomach? You shouldn't be drinking."
She paused, and a small, chilling smile curved her lips. "It's a bit much for you to be so concerned, isn't it? You'll marry Maya."
Her words struck Evan like a bolt of lightning, the casual distance in her tone more than he could bear. In his stunned silence, Maya appeared, linking her arm through his.
"Evan, what are you doing here?" she cooed. "Dad is waiting for you to have a drink with him. Let's go."
He let himself be led away, but his eyes remained fixed on Claire's retreating back with a mixture of agony and despair.
That night, Evan got blind drunk and broke down the door to Claire's home.
Reeking of alcohol, he grabbed her slender wrist. His eyes were bloodshot and crazed. "Don't you feel anything?" he slurred, his free hand slamming against his own chest. "Seeing me with her... doesn't it hurt you at all?"
Claire watched his frantic display and calmly pried his fingers off her wrist one by one. Her eyes were like shards of ice. "Get out. Don't dirty my home."
"Evan, your act has gone on long enough," she added. Her voice was flat, as if she were speaking to a complete stranger.
Claire's condition worsened.
As chemotherapy began, her hair started falling out in clumps, and the weight melted off her frame until she was a shadow of her former self. Some days, she lacked the strength to even lift her hand.
She didn't want anyone, especially not her family or Evan, to witness her decline.
She submitted her resignation from Stark Industries, citing a need to travel abroad and clear her head.
She then checked into a discreet private hospital to focus on her treatment.
The agony of chemotherapy was immense, but she endured it, gritting her teeth through nights spent curled in a ball of pain. She never once thought of Evan. It was as if he had been completely excised from her world.
Hearing of Claire's departure, Maya immediately began pressuring Dylan for all of Claire's former resources, her projects, her contacts, and her shares.
Evan, still bound by his promise, helped her, but a piece of his soul died with every asset he handed over.
These were the things Claire had built with her own two hands, and now he was the one delivering them to someone else.
He grew more and more silent, spending his days managing Maya's new portfolio and his nights drowning himself in alcohol at a bar.
Only when he was completely drunk did he dare to whisper her name, "Claire."
Throughout her treatment, a barrage of texts from Evan flooded Claire's phone.
There were late-night confessions, regretting his silence and betrayal. There were drunken accusations, asking how she could be so heartless as to forget about him completely. And there were rambling messages, reminiscing about the porridge he used to make for her and the cakes from Meglia Avenue.
Each time a notification popped up, Claire would calmly read the message and then delete it without a second thought. She never considered replying.
A heart that is dead cannot be stirred by belated apologies; they are nothing more than an unwelcome disturbance.
*****
Six months later, at a business gala, Evan was escorting Maya, his eyes habitually scanning the crowd. Suddenly, he saw a slender figure in the distance. She was wearing a simple, pale dress, bowing her head. Her silhouette was hauntingly familiar.
He lost control instantly. Ignoring Maya, he shoved his way through the crowd and grabbed the woman's arm, his voice trembling. "Claire."
The woman turned. She wasn't Claire, just a stranger.
The hope that had flared within him was instantly extinguished. The strength drained from his body, leaving him standing there, a pathetic, broken figure. Maya caught up to him, her body shaking with rage.
"Evan, how long are you going to be like this?" she shrieked. "Have you forgotten that I took a knife for you? I still have the scar on my back. You promised to help me, but all you can think about is Claire."
Her words were a slap in the face. He remembered. He had approached Claire in the first place to repay his debt to Maya.
What had gone so wrong?
Looking at Maya's furious face, he remembered their shared past, and all his inner conflict felt futile. He lowered his head in surrender. "I know," he said. "It won't happen again."