He had lost a lot of weight, his cheeks were sunken, making his features more prominent, and he carried a heavy air of death.

Only those eyes sparked for a moment when he saw her appear at the door, like a sudden ember jumping from ashes, before fading again due to physical pain.

Caleb stood a step behind her and asked softly, "Do you want to go in?"

Summer looked inside silently.

Julian seemed to want to speak, but it triggered a violent coughing fit. His chest heaved, pulling at the abdominal wound; he instantly knitted his brows in pain, cold sweat seeping from his forehead.

"I'll be right outside." Caleb’s voice was peaceful and steady, carrying a reassuring strength. "Stay as long as you want."

Summer nodded, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door to the ward.

The smell of disinfectant mixed with the scent of medicine hit her.

She walked very lightly, her heels making almost no sound on the polished floor.

Julian’s gaze followed her the entire time, containing too many complex emotions: longing, remorse, humble pleading, and pain that went into his very bones.

Summer walked to the bedside, picked up the pitcher on the nightstand, poured a cup of warm water, inserted a straw, and held it to his lips.

Her movements were steady, one might even say gentle, just like treating any stranger in need of help.

Julian drank in small sips from her hand, his eyes never blinking as he looked at her profile so close at hand.

She was thinner and even paler, but the lingering gloom between her brows seemed to have faded, replaced by an icy tranquility.

After drinking the water, the dryness in his throat eased slightly. He spoke with a raspy voice, every word sounding like it was being rubbed over sandpaper: "Summer..."

Chapter Twenty-Six

Summer set down the water cup, took a step back, and returned his gaze calmly.

"You saved me," she said, her voice devoid of ups and downs. "Thank you. The Sterling family will handle the medical fees and all subsequent costs. If you need any compensation, you can ask."

She paused, looking at his instantly ashen face, and continued in that matter-of-fact tone: "As for the 'I'm sorry' you've always wanted to say—"

"I accept it."

Julian’s eyes widened, a faint, unbelievable light flickering within them.

But Summer’s next words extinguished that tiny glimmer completely.

"But I do not forgive."

Four words: clear, cold, and beyond doubt.

The light in Julian's eyes died instantly, leaving only a dead, gray desolation.

He opened his mouth, seeming to want to say something, but could produce no sound. Only large tears rolled uncontrollably from his bloodshot eyes, sliding into his hair and soaking the pillow.

He wasn't afraid of her hating him.

He even craved her hatred.

Hate is at least a strong emotion; it at least proves she still cares.

But she said she wouldn't forgive.

She accepted his apology but refused to forgive.

This meant that in her heart, the person Julian was, along with all the pain and remorse he brought, had been completely filed away, stamped with "processed," and then shelved high up, never to be touched again.

This was more agonizing than hatred.

"I don't ask for forgiveness..." He finally found his voice, which was terribly hoarse and heavy with nasal congestion. "I know... I don't deserve it..."

He breathed with difficulty, a sharp pain coming from the abdominal wound, but he endured it, his gaze almost greedily tracing her features, as if wanting to carve her likeness deeper into his blood and bones.

"I only ask... that you are well." he said, every word costing him all his strength. "Caleb... is he good to you?"

Summer nodded without a moment's hesitation: "Very good."

She looked at him and added a sentence, her tone still flat, yet like a blade dipped in ice, accurately piercing Julian's heart:

"Better to me than any of you were."

Julian closed his eyes, his tears flowing more fiercely.

Yes, a stranger, a latecomer, was thousands of times better to her than he was—the one who grew up with her and claimed to love her.

What right did he have to ask?

Summer felt that everything that needed to be said had been said. Her coming here seemed only to confirm whether he lived or died and to express the Sterling family's stance of not owing him a favor.

She turned around, preparing to leave.

"Summer!"

Julian snapped his eyes open, calling out urgently to stop her. Because the movement was too great, it pulled at his wound again; he let out a muffled groan of pain, his face turning even whiter.

Summer’s footsteps paused slightly, but she did not turn back.

"That year... your eighteenth birthday," Julian looked at her thin, straight back, his voice trembling with endless regret and hope. "You said... your greatest wish was to be with me in the Golden Hall in Vienna... you playing the violin, and me listening..."

He took a breath and asked cautiously, almost pleadingly:

"Can I... can I hear you play one more time? Any piece... just once... just once..."

The ward was terrifyingly quiet, save for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor.

Summer’s back stiffened for an instant.

A long time passed—long enough for Julian to think she wouldn't answer, long enough for the tiny, humble hope in his eyes to gradually die out.

Only then did she slowly turn around to face him.

Her face still held no expression, her gaze calm and rippleless.

"Julian," she spoke his name, her voice very light, yet like a heavy hammer smashing his last bit of illusion. "My hand is ruined."

She raised her right hand, still wrapped in bandages and oddly shaped, to show him. The movement was a bit slow but exceptionally clear.

"And," she lowered her hand, looked into his eyes, and said every word with absolute clarity:

"Even if I could play, I would never play for you again."

Having finished, she didn't stay for a second longer, pulled open the door, and walked out.

The door closed softly, separating two worlds.

Julian maintained that position of looking up, motionless, as if all his soul had been sucked away in an instant.

Then, he suddenly raised the only right hand he could move, death-gripped the hospital gown over his chest, buried his face deep into the pillow, and let out an oppressed, broken whimper like a trapped beast, his shoulders shaking violently.

There was no wailing, only that silent, agonizing crying of a soul being torn apart from within.

Outside the door, Summer did not stop, walking straight toward Caleb who was waiting there.

Caleb asked nothing, only naturally and gently pulled her shoulder close, saying in a low voice, "Let's go home."

Summer nodded, quietly leaning part of her weight into the crook of his arm.

The sight of the two walking away together fell into the small window on the ward door, stinging Julian's eyes. The huge void in his heart leaked wind, bone-chillingly cold.

Skylar's funeral was held in a low-key and hurried manner.

Under the continuous pressure from the Sterling family and the impact of the scandals, the Sterling Group was already precarious; bankruptcy and liquidation were only a matter of time.

The older brother finished handling his sister's affairs and settled his mother. Looking at the empty, dead villa that no longer held its former glory, he felt a bone-deep coldness and void consume him completely.

Like a walking corpse emptied of its soul, he bought the nearest flight to Switzerland.

Chapter Twenty-Seven

This time, he did not try to contact anyone, nor did he go to the sanatorium.

He went straight to the Sterling family's private manor in Switzerland. It was an estate under Ethan's name, secluded and heavily guarded.

Outside the tall wrought-iron gates of the manor, the older brother knelt down straight.

From dusk until late night, and then until dawn.

In the late autumn of Switzerland, the night air was bone-chilling.

Dew soaked his hair and suit. His knees went from a stinging pain to numbness, and finally to a loss of sensation.

He just kept his head down, looking at the withered grass growing from the cracks in the stone tiles, motionless like a silent stone statue.

The manor guards had discovered him long ago and reported it inside.

Ethan only replied: "Ignore him."

When the sky was dimly lit, Summer, accompanied by Caleb, prepared to go out for a morning rehabilitation walk.

The heavy carved gates slowly opened.

Hearing the sound, the older brother raised his head stiffly and extremely slowly.

Overnight, he seemed to have aged another ten years.

Unshaven, sunken eyes filled with bloodshot veins, and his face was an unhealthy greenish-gray.

That once high-spirited, noble, and proud young master of the household was long gone beyond recognition.

Seeing Summer being carefully supported by Caleb and wearing a white cashmere shawl, his eyes snapped shut, his lips trembling as if he wanted to call her name, but he could make no sound.