She wanted to witness Arthur’s happiness with her own eyes so she could finally let him go completely.

In the high-end bridal boutique, the lights were dazzling, and the pristine, white gowns made her eyes ache.

Surrounded by sales assistants, Cassie tried on gown after gown, twirling in front of Arthur.

Arthur sat on a velvet sofa nearby, holding a tablet and dealing with emails. Occasionally, he would nod, offering comments like "Not bad" or "It suits you well."

Elena said nothing, following Cassie around like a walking corpse.

Finally, Cassie tried on a more ornate and intricate fishtail gown.

The hem was studded with tiny diamonds, heavy and luxurious.

She was very satisfied and turned to show Arthur.

But the heavy train inevitably swept across a nearby metal rack.

The heavy rack lost its balance and crashed straight down toward Cassie!

Elena’s heart contracted. She instinctively lunged forward and shoved Cassie out of the way.

Cassie fell heavily to the ground, and the edge of the metal rack grazed Elena’s arm.

Blood gushed out almost immediately.

Through the intense pain, Elena saw Arthur jump to his feet in the distance, his eyes fixed straight on her.

But the next instant, he rushed to Cassie’s side and helped her up.

Cassie leaned into his arms, tears gathering quickly in her eyes: "Arthur, I’m fine. Please, go check on Elena."

Arthur didn’t move. He just looked at Elena, his voice cold as ice.

"How did that rack fall?"

Elena looked at him in a daze: "Her dress caught the rack when she turned..."

Arthur closed his eyes: "You were the only one standing closest to the rack. Did you purposely step on her hem?"

She couldn’t believe her ears: "I didn’t!"

Arthur’s gaze landed on her bleeding arm, filled with scrutiny and weariness.

"I know you don’t like Cassie. I know you don’t want us to get married."

He scooped Cassie up into his arms, his tone one of cold, professional detachment mixed with a clear warning.

"But that is no reason for you to hurt someone else. Elena, your tantrums and your tactics... they don’t work on me anymore."

Having said that, he carried Cassie out of the store, throwing a line to his assistant who was rushing over:

"Put the damages on my account. Also, you take her to the hospital."

Arthur’s assistant walked over to Elena and sighed.

"Miss Elena, I’ve made an appointment with a doctor for you. Let’s go."

Elena stood where she was, blood dripping onto the floor from her arm.

She stared blankly at Arthur’s back as he walked away without a second glance, finally realizing one thing with chilling clarity.

The Arthur who favored her unconditionally was being pushed completely out of her life.

Elena let out a wretched laugh, then followed the assistant out of the store in silence.

She didn’t know that after Arthur dropped Cassie off at home, he called his childhood friend, Julian, to a bar.

By the time he finished his third whiskey, Julian—who had been listening to him for ages—couldn’t hold back anymore.

"Arthur, are you annoyed that Cassie got hurt before the wedding, or are you just angry at yourself for saying such cruel things to the girl you’ve protected for twelve years?"

Arthur’s glass paused in mid-air.

The image of Elena looking at him with blood streaming down her arm flashed before his eyes, and his heart suddenly felt suffocatingly heavy.

He said nothing, just tilted his head back and drained the glass.

Just as he was about to say something, his phone lit up.

A message from Elena was blinking on the screen.

[Arthur, I’m home. My arm is bandaged, and the doctor said it’s not serious.]

[Arthur, I’ve figured out what my third wish is. I want to see you and Cassie get married with my own eyes.]

Arthur stared at these two messages for a long time.

Then, he picked up his phone and typed a few words.

[Fine. Don’t see me again until the wedding.]

Chapter 6

Back at the villa, Elena stared at Arthur’s reply, the light from the screen stinging her eyes.

The room was dark. As the screen went black, her world turned black with it.

She didn’t know how long she sat there before she dragged her stiff legs up.

In the darkness, she fumbled around until she found the diary she had tucked into the deepest corner of her drawer.

Her fingers traced the raised cover, and as she increased the pressure, a sharp, stinging pain pricked her fingertips.

Rrrrrip—

The moment the cover tore, she felt as if she heard twelve years of time snapping in two.

All those cherished, shameful secrets, all those obsessive words she had written down, were torn into shreds, page by page.

Paper scraps fell like snow. Elena knelt in the mess like a body without bones, covering her face tightly.

For the next two days, Arthur didn’t return home, and she forced herself not to disturb him.

But on the morning of the third day, Cassie arrived.

She was followed by a construction crew, her heels clicking against the marble floor.

The sound was crisp and sharp; each step felt like it was landing on Elena’s nerves.

She walked up to Elena with the air of a lady of the house, smiling with wicked triumph.

"Elena, your uncle said this will be my home from now on. I can renovate it however I like."

Elena stood by the railing on the second floor, her eyes as still as a pool of dead water: "Mm, I see."

Cassie raised an eyebrow and pointed casually at the massive hand-painted starry sky on the wall.

"You guys, smash this painting for me."

Elena’s pupils contracted. That was the painting she and Arthur had created when she was eighteen, his hand over hers, painting it stroke by stroke.

He had said, "Elena, this is your own private sky. I’ll keep it hanging for the rest of my life."

Elena stepped forward instinctively, her voice trembling.

"Cassie, Arthur and I painted this together. You can’t touch it!"

Cassie gave her a contemptuous glance and snapped a photo to send to Arthur.

"Let’s see what Arthur has to say about it."

Elena didn’t know what Arthur replied, but her phone buzzed a moment later.

Arthur’s cold verdict popped up: [Let her do whatever she wants. Don’t interfere.]

She froze in place, her blood feeling as if it had instantly turned to ice.

Downstairs, the construction crew swung heavy sledgehammers, smashing them ruthlessly into that starry sky—

Bang!

The canvas tore, the frame collapsed, and paint chips splattered everywhere.

That "starry sky" that had once illuminated countless nights of fear for Elena was now, in this moment, completely extinguished.

Cassie clapped her hands forcefully, her laughter echoing in the empty living room:

"Elena, now this house is finally clean, wouldn’t you agree?"

"Once Arthur and my wedding photos are hung up, I’ll send you pictures so you can see them."

Her winner’s laughter coiled around her ears. Elena clenched her fists so hard that her nails sank deep into her flesh.

"Elena, don't be impulsive... don't make things difficult for Arthur again."

This phrase washed over her mind repeatedly, finally pressing down the manic-depressive urge that had been trying to burst through her chest.

She turned and went into her room, locking the door tight.

She didn’t want to hear, didn’t want to see, didn’t want to care about anything anymore.

But it wasn't long before the call from Arthur’s assistant came through anyway.

"Miss Elena, I’ve finished translating the information for that top-tier sanitarium in Switzerland and sent it to your email. If you find it suitable, just reply to me later."

Elena was silent for two seconds, then said in a low voice: "Understood."

Hanging up, she leaned against the back of the door and took a shallow breath.

She took a deep breath and opened her email. A message was sitting there waiting.

The email detailed advanced therapies for post-traumatic stress disorder and cognitive development stagnation.

Elena skipped over the heavy technical jargon and data, her eyes landing on the final sentence:

"Based on our evaluation, we believe that through systematic therapy, there is a high probability of helping the patient, Elena, gradually catch up with her physical age, allowing for the regrowth of both cognitive and emotional functions..."

"In layman's terms, there is a high possibility the patient can become a true, twenty-four-year-old, sound adult."

"Therefore, we recommend a three-year period of isolation therapy, rather than the originally planned single course, to facilitate recovery."

Elena stared at those words for a long time.

Suddenly, a strange, almost stinging emotion surged up, hitting her chest and making it feel tight.

After a long while, she picked up her phone and dialed the international number in the email.

"I am the patient, Elena. I have decided to accept your recommendation and undergo the three-year isolation therapy."