That calmness was more terrifying to him than any intense emotion.

"Summer..." He was pinned to the spot by her gaze, his voice trembling and incoherent. "I... I've cleared everything up... Three years ago, the stairs—it was Skylar who framed you! I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Summer! I was blind! I was a bastard! I shouldn't have doubted you! I've wronged you!"

His eyes were red, and he wanted to get closer, but he was silently blocked by the bodyguards brought by Caleb.

Summer looked at him quietly for a few seconds. Then, she gently looked away and turned toward Caleb behind her.

Her voice was very soft, with a hoarseness from not having spoken for a long time, but it was strangely steady: "Push me back, the wind is a bit cold."

Caleb gave a slight nod. Without sparing a glance for the other man, he gently adjusted the blanket on her knees, then turned the wheelchair and slowly walked away along the path.

"Summer! Summer, listen to me! I know I was wrong! I really know! Give me a chance! I beg you!" He tried to give chase but was firmly held back by the bodyguards.

He could only watch as the wheelchair grew further away, watching Summer’s thin silhouette gradually merge into the sunset glow, never looking back even once.

"Summer—!!!"

He collapsed to his knees in despair, digging his hands deep into the cold earth, letting out a hopeless roar like a trapped beast.

The lake breeze blew past, carrying the scent of the first snow from the Alps, bone-chillingly cold.

That heart-wrenching cry dissipated in the wind, failing to elicit any response.

It was as if he, along with all his remorse and pain, had become irrelevant background noise to her, no longer able to stir the slightest ripple in her deadened heart.

Caleb pushed her back to the room, gently lifting her from the wheelchair onto a sofa covered with a soft wool rug, and carefully added a thin blanket over her knees.

"Are you cold?" he asked softly, his voice as warm as a clear spring flowing over jade.

She shook her head, her gaze resting on the birds passing by outside the window, appearing somewhat vacant.

Her right hand was still fixed in a brace, and the fingers of her left hand remained stiff and clumsy; even holding a cup of water would cause a slight tremor.

Caleb sat on a single sofa beside her, not trying to find a topic, just accompanying her in silence.

He understood that she needed this wordless companionship far more than any pale, empty comfort.

He was Caleb, the heir to a prominent family in Europe and a long-time family friend.

The rumor about a "childhood engagement" wasn't groundless; it was just that when the youngest daughter went missing years ago, the engagement had naturally been put on hold.

Over the years, he had never given up searching for that little girl with the curving eyes in his memory, until he received definitive word.

When he found her, she was covered in scars and her heart was like cold ashes.

He had taken over all of her treatment and rehabilitation.

Chapter Eighteen

At first, Summer was like an exquisite but lifeless glass doll. She didn't cry, didn't fuss, and didn't speak. She cooperated perfectly with all treatments, yet she was utterly numb.

Caleb was not in a hurry; he possessed a patience that transcended his years.

He personally oversaw her dietary plans, read soothing poetry to her, and sat silently by her side during her tedious and agonizing hand rehabilitation sessions. When she was so pained that cold sweat poured down and she was on the verge of giving up, he would steadily hold her wrist and tell her in a level voice: "One more time, Summer. You can do this."

He even learned how to massage her stiff fingers, his touch gentle and precise, attempting to alleviate the nerve pain that reached deep into her marrow.

The chief physician had once privately shaken his head and sighed to Ethan: "Miss Sterling’s constitution is severely damaged, especially her hands... the damage to the nerves and bones is irreversible. We have done our best, but in the future, fine motor skills are likely... playing the violin is absolutely impossible."

Ethan’s face turned grim, his fists clenching until his knuckles cracked.

Caleb, standing aside, listened in silence and said nothing.

The next day, a special medical team consisting of the world's top hand surgeons, neurologists, and rehabilitation experts arrived quietly at the sanatorium.

It was Caleb who had utilized all of his family's connections to bring them there at the fastest possible speed.

He didn't promise Summer that she would definitely recover; he simply placed the new treatment plans and expert profiles before her and said calmly: "Let's try this, okay?"

Summer lifted her eyes, looked at him, and then at the complex English documents. Her long eyelashes fluttered, and she gave a barely audible "Mhm."

That faint response caused Caleb's frozen brow to soften for a fleeting moment.

He began to accompany her even more frequently.

In the rehabilitation room, such a scene was common: Summer gritting her teeth, enduring sharp pain as she moved her stiff, deformed fingers bit by bit on the equipment, sweat soaking her hair. Caleb would stand nearby, offering warm water or a clean handkerchief at the right time. Occasionally, when she truly couldn't hold on, he would say in a mild but firm tone: "Rest for five minutes, and then we continue."

He never mentioned the past, never mentioned the former family, never mentioned the childhood friend, and never mentioned the fire or the hands that had ruined her. He simply showed her through his actions: the past is gone, and the future might still be worth rebuilding, one piece at a time.

Summer’s world seemed to consist only of this quiet sanatorium, the snow-capped mountains and lakes outside the window, the day-after-day pain of rehabilitation, and Caleb's silent but omnipresent companionship.

Until an encrypted video call request came through to Caleb's line.

On the screen was Ethan’s stern face, with what appeared to be his study in the background. A trace of indiscernible exhaustion touched his brow, but his gaze softened instantly when he looked at Summer.

"Summer, how are you feeling today?" Ethan asked, his concern audible even through the airwaves.

"Not bad," Summer replied softly, then paused and added, "Brother, you don't look well. Are things back home... very troublesome?"

She knew her brother was taking action against those two families. Even in this isolated sanatorium, she could catch glimpses of his thunderous methods from Caleb's occasional phone calls and fragments of financial news.

Ethan’s eyes warmed: "Small matters, they'll be handled soon. Just focus on your recovery and don't worry about these things."

After a slight hesitation, he decided to tell her: "Skylar is in critical condition. The optimal transplant window has less than a week left. That family is getting desperate."

Summer’s fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around her water glass, then relaxed.

She lowered her gaze to the slightly rippling water in the cup, her face expressionless as she simply uttered an "Oh."

It was a total lack of concern, as if she were hearing news about a complete stranger.

Ethan observed her reaction carefully. Seeing that she truly felt no significant ripples, he continued: "The older brother came to see me today."

Summer looked up.

"He knelt at the entrance of the corporate headquarters," Ethan said flatly, as if talking about the weather. "Many media outlets captured it."

Summer’s eyelashes trembled, but she remained silent.

"Do you want to hear what he had to say?" Ethan asked.

He never hid anything from her; good or bad, he would tell her and let her choose for herself. This was the basic respect he, as her regained brother, could give her.

Summer shook her head, her voice very light but exceptionally clear: "I don't."

Those confessions, those pleas, that belated truth and pain—to her, they were already matters of a past life.

They couldn't stir even the slightest ripple in her heart.

Ethan nodded and said no more. After a few reminders to take care of her health, he ended the call.

Caleb took the tablet and looked at her calm profile. "Do you need me to do anything?"

Summer turned to look at him, the reflection of the snow-capped mountains in her clear eyes showing a transparent coldness. "Caleb, if... the media wants to interview me, can it be arranged? Remote, without showing my face."

Chapter Nineteen

Caleb was slightly taken aback, but he understood immediately. He didn't ask why, simply nodding: "Alright, I'll arrange it."

Two days later, a special video interview connected Switzerland with an influential international media outlet back home.

Summer did not appear on camera; only a processed, calm female voice was transmitted back through the equipment.

The reporter’s question was direct and sharp: "Miss Sterling, regarding the fact that your former brother knelt in the street to beg you to donate a lung to save Skylar's life, what are your thoughts? Do you believe that in the face of kinship and life, personal grudges should be set aside?"