She pushed open the door to the ward to find Julian standing by the bed. Hearing the movement, he turned around. Seeing her, his gaze turned icy in an instant.

"You still have the nerve to come here?"

Nina froze.

"I’ve already done as you wished and sent Clara away," Julian stared at her, his eyes rimmed with red. "She only came back today because the theater manager asked her to fill in. The original partner was in a car accident, and they couldn't find anyone else. Why won't you let her go?"

Nina opened her mouth to speak.

"The issue with the props—did you have someone mess with them? The lock on the water tank—did you sabotage it?" He took a step forward, his voice dropping to a low whisper. "Nina, this is attempted murder. Do you realize that if it had been a minute later, she would be dead?"

Nina stood where she was, as if someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her head.

"You rich people," Julian looked at her, every word biting, "do you really treat other people's lives like blades of grass?"

Nina looked at him.

Slap.

A stinging strike across his face made the entire room fall silent.

Julian kept his head turned, stunned.

"Get a grip." Nina's palm burned, but she looked up at him, her voice trembling. "The only reason Clara can stay in a room like this is out of respect for you. If you ever say something like that to me again, I’ll have both of you out on the street."

Julian slowly turned his head, as if he had been struck awake. His eyes were bloodshot, and he clenched his fists tightly.

A thud came from behind him.

Nina looked back to see Clara kneeling on the floor, pale-faced, large tears streaming down her cheeks.

"Nina, please don't blame Julian," she sobbed. "He didn't mean that; he was just too worried about me. Please don't fight, it's all my fault. I’ll leave right now."

Julian didn't hesitate for a second. He lunged forward and hoisted Clara up from the floor.

"You made me choose between the two of you years ago," he looked at Nina. "I regret it."

Nina’s heart constricted.

"A high-society heiress like you," Julian said, "I'm done serving you."

He pulled Clara toward the exit. He stopped at the door.

He pulled a wad of cash from his wallet, turned around, and flung it into the air.

The banknotes hit Nina’s face and fell, covering the floor.

"We're even."

Chapter 3

Nina returned home and stood in the center of the living room.

The door closed behind her.

Julian’s face was still etched in her mind.

Nina picked up her phone and dialed the number for the housekeeper. "Mrs. Wang, could you come over?"

Half an hour later, she sat on the sofa, watching Mrs. Wang carry Julian’s belongings out of the bedroom, one by one.

His clothes, shoes, books, and the music box he had made with his own hands that sat on the nightstand. It was a gift for their first anniversary; when she opened the lid, it revealed miniature versions of them—him performing magic, her laughing beside him.

"Throw it away," she said.

Mrs. Wang held the items, wanting to say something, but ultimately just left.

Nina stood up and walked to the wall in the living room.

Their wedding photo hung there: Julian kneeling on one knee, holding the ring toward her. The photo was frozen in that moment.

She moved a chair, stepped up, and took the frame down. Holding it, she walked into the courtyard, placed it on the ground, and went back inside to grab a lighter.

When the flames flared up, she squatted beside them and watched.

He in the photo slowly curled up, turned black, and burned into ashes.

Footsteps sounded behind her, followed by a roar: "Nina!"

Julian rushed over like a madman, his arm slamming into Nina and knocking her aside.

She shifted slightly, her fingers curling imperceptibly at her side.

Her gaze swept coldly over his back as he threw himself into the fire, watching him slap the flames with his bare hands. The fire went out, leaving his palms bright red and blistered. He didn't care; he knelt on the ground, frantically sifting through the ashes.

He rummaged with desperation, ashes flying up and landing on his hair and clothes.

He pulled out a photo that had been hidden behind the wedding picture: Julian and Clara, leaning close together, laughing with crescent-moon eyes. He wiped it meticulously with his sleeve, cherishing it as if he were holding the whole world.

Nina’s gaze fell on the ashes of their wedding photo at his feet, the wind swirling bits of debris across his shoes.

The faint ripple of emotion in her heart, like a pebble dropped into a lake, had been crushed to nothing by the sight of him like this.

That was their wedding photo, hanging there for two years. That was the photo taken on their wedding day.

She had walked past it every day, never once thinking to turn it around to look at the back.

So, the back had always been hiding someone else's photo.

Julian turned and walked back into the house, and Nina followed him inside.

From the very back of the closet, he pulled out an iron box. From under the bed, he fished out a yellowed note. Inside a book on the shelf, he found an old hair clip.

They were all related to Clara.

The gifts Nina had given him—limited-edition magic props, custom-made cufflinks, handmade suits—he hadn't even looked at them, tossing them onto the floor.

Nina stood in the doorway, watching him finish rummaging through the last corner and stuffing those things into a backpack.

As he headed toward the door with the bag, Nina took a step forward and blocked him.

Julian stopped, eyes lifting to look at her, filled with impatience. "Move."

"Nina, this outcome is something you caused yourself," he said. "Is there any point in stopping me now?"

Nina said nothing.

"I’m telling you," Julian took a step forward, forcing her back, "you won't keep me even if you beg. Unless—"

He paused.

"Unless you go and apologize to Clara."

Nina didn't look at him. She pulled out the divorce agreement, flipped to the last page, and held it out to him.

"Didn't you say we were even?" Her voice was low, without a hint of fluctuation. "Sign this, and we'll be even."

Julian glanced down at the page, assuming it was just another one of her tactics to force him into submission. He took it, picked up the pen nearby, scribbled his name, and casually tossed the agreement back into her hands.

"I won't bow down." His eyes were cold and firm. "Nina, even if you use something like this to threaten me, I won't apologize to Clara, and I certainly won't come crawling back just to suit your wishes."

Nina caught the agreement.

She looked down at it. The characters for "Julian" were scrawled carelessly.

She lifted her head and looked at him. Her gaze was very calm.

"Are you done?"

Julian was stunned for a moment.

Nina stepped to the side, clearing the path to the door. "Go."

Julian didn't move. He looked at Nina, whose face was completely expressionless.

No entanglements, no pleas to stay—the relentless, headstrong persistence she had shown in the past was entirely gone.

Something inside Julian’s chest skipped a beat.

"Nina, you..."

"Julian!" Clara's voice came from outside the door.

Julian glanced back, but Nina didn't look at him; she had already turned and walked further into the room.

Julian stood there, bag in hand. He wanted to say something, but he didn't know what to say.

"Julian?" Clara called again.

Julian gritted his teeth and turned to walk out.

The elevator door closed.

Nina stood by the window, watching the two figures downstairs get further and further away. Julian walked in front, Clara jogging to keep up.

She withdrew her gaze, picked up her phone, took a picture of the divorce agreement, and sent it to Attorney Chen. "Process the paperwork."

Then, she lay down on the bed, closed her eyes, and sank into a heavy sleep.

Chapter 4

Nina pushed open the back door of the theater. The theater owner had asked to talk to her about the next quarter's investment; she intended to withdraw her funding and needed to be clear about it in person.

Laughter came from the end of the hallway—it was Julian’s voice.

Nina’s footsteps faltered, but she kept moving forward. As she passed the rehearsal hall, the door was left slightly ajar, light spilling out through the gap.

Through the crack, she saw Julian standing in the center of the hall, snapping his fingers, and a rose bloomed from his palm. He handed the rose to Clara, who took it and smiled, blushing. He snapped his fingers again, and the rose in Clara’s hand turned into a dove, flapping its wings and taking flight.