"However, I personally recommend that Starry Sky dress you wore in Vienna."

"Why?"

Ivy was curious.

The corners of Lucas’s lips curled into a meaningful arc.

"Because I have some very specific, and unforgettable, memories of that dress."

Ivy’s face turned bright red in an instant.

Of course she remembered.

That night in the Vienna hotel suite, the final state of that dress could hardly be called decent.

She reached out and punched him, the force light as a coquettish gesture.

Lucas seized the opportunity to take her hand, pulling her tighter into his embrace.

He looked down at her eyes, where there was not a hint of gloom, only the bashful laughter sparked by his teasing.

He knew what was written in that letter, and he knew those things could no longer shake her in the slightest.

The Ethan of the past said he wanted to guard her silence by hurting her.

But he, he would use all he had learned in his life to personally win back the whole world for her.

Which was lighter and which was heavier, she knew better than anyone.

Ivy suddenly stood on tiptoe and kissed his lips.

"Lucas."

"Hmm?"

She looked into his eyes, every word exceptionally clear.

"Thank you for giving me the chance to hear again."

Chapter 21

Unexpectedly, a few days later, Ivy ran into an uninvited guest at the entrance of the research center.

Ethan’s mother, the Old Madam Huo.

Though they hadn't met in years, this lady who had once been dignified and elegant seemed to have had her spirit drained away.

She was wearing plain, worn-out clothes, and the white hair at her temples looked particularly piercing.

When she saw Ivy, emotions roiled in her clouded eyes, leaving only ashes in the end.

"Ivy."

Her voice was severely hoarse, as if ground by sandpaper.

Ivy stopped in her tracks, her gaze resting calmly upon her.

"Mrs. Huo."

A single address, drawing a clear line between all boundaries.

For this elder who had once used every possible method to imply that she was not worthy of her "heavenly favored son," Ivy now felt that even hatred was superfluous.

The Old Madam Huo clearly hadn't expected this reaction; her stomach full of prepared words was stuck in her throat.

She paused for a moment before hurriedly pulling a dark blue velvet box from her bag and offering it.

"This is what Ethan left behind. He instructed before he left that if he didn't return, I should give this to you."

Ivy’s hands were in the pockets of her white lab coat; she didn't reach out to take it.

"I don’t think Captain Ethan has anything left that needs to be specifically left to me."

Her tone was very flat, as if stating a fact unrelated to herself.

The Old Madam Huo’s hand remained stiff in mid-air, the embarrassment making her look even older.

"I know, our Huo family failed you, and Ethan—he was just a jerk!"

The elderly woman’s voice rose sharply, then weakened rapidly, filled with sobbing.

"After he passed, I sorted through his belongings and read his diaries to realize that, for your sake, he had secretly undergone a vasectomy long ago, hiding it from everyone."

"It’s all my fault. It was me, nagging in his ear every day that the Huo family couldn't be without an heir, pressing him with filial duty, which forced him to think twisted thoughts—wanting to find a woman for surrogacy just to appease me."

"He thought this could serve both ends—shutting my mouth while protecting you. He was so foolish! In the end, one mistake led to another, ruining both of you, and ruining himself!"

By the end, the old woman was weeping uncontrollably, her whole body shaking.

"Ivy, I beg you, please just accept it. Consider it fulfilling his final wish."

Ivy looked silently at the old woman who had turned white-haired overnight.

Those past embarrassments and cruelties now seemed insignificant in the face of a mother’s heart-wrenching remorse.

Chasing right and wrong was meaningless.

She reached out and took the cold box.

"Mrs. Huo, please accept my condolences."

With that, she turned and left, never looking back once.

Back home, the lights in the entryway clicked on.

Lucas was wearing an apron, emerging from the kitchen with a cup of freshly ground coffee, and raised an eyebrow at the box in her hand.

"A trophy?"

Ivy offered the box to him. "A deceased ex-boyfriend’s keepsake. Dr. Lucas, interested in an unboxing?"

Lucas was amused by her heartless tone, stuffing the coffee into her hands to keep them warm.

He took the box, walked to the living room, and opened it right in front of her.

Inside there were no jewels, no checks.

Only a ring hand-polished from a shell casing; the shape was rough, even a bit abrasive to the touch.

On the inside of the ring were two letters: F J.

Underneath sat a yellowed slip of paper, in Ethan’s sharp handwriting.

"Ivy, Happy Wedding. This time, let me be the one to guard you."

The date on it was the anniversary of their first year of marriage.

The same anniversary he had skipped due to a mission, the one where she had waited for him alone all night.

It turned out he hadn't forgotten; it was just that this guardianship had arrived too late.

Too late, because the recipient had already changed her address, and had already signed for a completely different life.

Before Ivy could express any sentiment, Lucas had already pinched the ring, inspecting it against the light for two seconds.

"The craftsmanship is decent, but the design concept is lacking."

He gave his eight-character critique, then flicked his hand, and the ring bearing the late-arriving deep affection fell precisely into the flaming fireplace.

"A failed semi-finished product; not worth collecting."

Lucas clapped his hands as if tossing out trash.

He took Ivy’s hand, shifting her focus from the flames back to himself.

He raised their interlaced hands; in the sunlight, the wedding rings on their ring fingers refracted a warm light.

"This is what you call a finished product."

Ivy looked at him, looking at herself clearly reflected in his eyes, and finally couldn't help but burst into a laugh.

If it was burned, so be it.

Lucas looked at her smiling face with satisfaction, reaching out to ruffle her hair.

"Alright, the past has been incinerated. Now, shouldn't Mrs. Fu consider what she wants to eat tonight?"

Chapter 22

The final outcome regarding Selena was mentioned by Xiao Zhao in an email.

The email’s subject line was straightforward: "Evil meets its end! Truly satisfying!"

Opening it, I found Xiao Zhao’s usual excitable tone.

"Sister Ivy, that woman surnamed Xia is finished. Forgery, filing false accusations, and framing others—she’s been sentenced to ten years for multiple crimes! All her honorary titles have been stripped away! Clean and efficient!"

"Her ex-husband is a ruthless one too. The moment he got the verdict, he immediately distanced himself, packed up, and ran off with their daughter. I heard they moved overnight and no one can reach them. It really is a case of 'when the wall is about to fall, everyone gives it a push.' She deserved it!"

At the end of the email, Xiao Zhao’s tone turned somber.

"People on the team are all saying, if Captain Ethan were still here... sigh, never mind. There’s no point in 'what ifs'."

Ivy stared at the phrase "no point in 'what ifs'" on the screen, moving her mouse with an expressionless face.

She dragged the email into the trash, then selected: permanently delete.

Some people and some things should be dealt with cleanly and efficiently, just like clearing computer junk.

Her life's hard drive was precious in memory, and it needed to be reserved for more important people.

For instance, Lucas’s birthday was approaching.

What to give him had become a "problem of the century."

This man, in Ivy’s words, lacked for nothing, especially lacking in "virtue."

A few days ago, she probed indirectly: "Dr. Lucas, is there anything you’ve been wanting lately, but haven’t gotten around to buying?"

Lucas didn't even look up from his medical journal, answering casually: "Yes, there is."

Ivy’s eyes lit up: "What is it?"

"A title."

"..."

"The term 'Mrs. Fu' always feels like I’m working for someone else. When can I upgrade to 'Mrs. Lucas' and make my position a bit more legitimate?"

Ivy stuffed an apple into his mouth, expressionless.

These kinds of sweet nothings are best just listened to; they never solve practical problems.

It wasn't until this weekend, while spring cleaning, that Ivy dug an old, dusty sketchbook out of the top cabinet in the study.

She assumed it was something from her student days, but when she opened it, she froze.

Inside were not anatomical drawings of human bones, but page after page of aircraft.

From WWII Spitfires to the modern F-22 Raptor.

The lines of every plane were precise and fluid; the rivets and serial numbers on the fuselage were clearly visible.