The wedding reception process felt like a farce.

He listened to the laughter and the teasing behind the door, but not a single word registered.

It wasn't until a conversation nearby mentioned the name "Elena" that he looked over sharply.

"You know, does the groom know about those messages Cassie sent to curse that Elena?"

"How could he? Saying things like 'you deserve to have your parents die early' is way too cruel."

Arthur’s breathing stopped for a heartbeat.

The next instant, he shoved through the crowd, walked to the door, and kicked it open.

He looked at Cassie: "Give me your phone."

Cassie, immersed in her happiness, looked at him in a daze: "What?"

"I said, give me your phone."

Arthur’s voice was terrifyingly calm.

Cassie felt a pang of panic and started to say something, but Arthur reached out and fished the phone from under her pillow.

He opened WeChat and went straight into the chat with Elena.

Scrolling up, he saw a dense list of messages sent by Cassie.

[Elena, is it really necessary for you to be such a freak and keep clinging to Arthur? It’s disgusting!]

[You deserve the fact that your parents died early. Why didn’t you just die along with them!]

[Arthur has long been tired of you. He said it himself—he’s exhausted and can’t carry this burden anymore!]

Each and every line stabbed into his eyes like a blade.

The room was so quiet you could hear a pin drop.

Chapter 9

Arthur threw the phone back onto the bed and turned to walk out.

"Arthur!" Cassie screamed, chasing after him.

"Listen to my explanation! That was just a moment of impulse!"

He stopped in his tracks, not looking back.

"The wedding is off."

The four words, spoken with gravity, sent the entire room into an uproar.

Arthur strode out of the complex, pulled open the car door, and said to the driver, "To the company."

He took out his phone, dialed his assistant's number, and spoke in a hoarse voice: "How long ago did Elena leave? Can we intercept her?"

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Mr. Arthur, the flight has already taken off."

Arthur slowly closed his eyes.

The screen of the phone in his hand was still lit, the forum thread frozen on his latest reply.

He stared at the words "I will not give up on her" that he had typed, and a flash of red stained the corners of his eyes.

It was too late.

Elena had already left.

And he, he didn't even have the right to chase after her.

When the plane landed in Zurich, it was six o'clock in the morning local time.

The sanitarium's car was already waiting outside the airport.

Elena sat in the car, watching the unfamiliar snow-covered landscape outside the window; her heart felt completely hollowed out.

The car drove through vast snowfields and entered a complex isolated from the rest of the world.

The iron gate closed slowly behind them, making a dull, heavy sound.

She was taken to an office where a blonde, blue-eyed doctor smiled and handed her a stack of documents.

"Miss Elena, this is your treatment agreement. Three years of isolation therapy. During this period, you cannot have any contact with the outside world, including phone calls, the internet, or visits. Do you confirm you accept this?"

She picked up the pen and signed her name.

"Additionally, we require the signature of a family member."

"He didn't come." Elena paused. "I can sign for myself. I am twenty-four years old."

The doctor hesitated for a moment before finally agreeing.

After changing into a hospital gown, she was led by a nurse through a long corridor.

At the end of the hall stood a heavy, thick white iron door; behind it lay the treatment area.

Just as the nurse pushed the door open, the sound of rapid footsteps and the loud protests of management suddenly came from behind them.

"Sir, you cannot go in! This is an isolation zone!"

Elena turned around abruptly.

At the other end of the corridor, across the distance of the entire hallway, she saw a familiar figure.

Arthur.

He was wearing the same groom’s suit from yesterday; the red flower on his chest was crooked, his tie was undone, his hair was messy from the wind, and his eyes were bloodshot.

Two assistants followed behind him, arguing fiercely with the sanitarium staff.

He saw Elena and froze for a split second before sprinting frantically toward her.

"Elena!"

He was blocked by two security guards.

"Elena! You signed for three years? You hid it from me and signed for three years?!"

His voice was so hoarse it was almost unintelligible.

Elena stood there, her nails digging into her palms.

"Mr. Arthur, please calm down! This is a medical area!"

The blonde doctor walked forward, her tone serious.

"The patient has already signed the isolation therapy agreement. Any visits are prohibited during treatment. Please leave."

Arthur didn't even look at her; he stared fixedly at Elena.

In those eyes, there was a terror she had never seen before.

"Elena, listen to me. The wedding is canceled. I didn't marry her. I won't marry anyone. Come back with me, let's go home, okay?"

Elena’s tears gushed out instantly.

Home? Go back to which home?

The home where Cassie smashed the painting of the stars? The home where he personally said, "Don't see me again until the wedding"?

"Uncle," she spoke, her voice so calm even she found it strange, "you should go back."

Arthur’s face went pale in an instant.

"What did you say?"

"I said you should go back," she repeated. "I have already signed the agreement. Three years. I need to get better. When I am healed, I will go back."

"No—" He struggled violently against the security guards and lunged toward Elena.

The white iron door slowly closed behind her.

The nurse held her hand and led her inside. Elena looked back at him one last time.

Arthur was being held tightly by two guards; he reached out to Elena, his fingertips trembling in the air.

"Elena! Wait for me! I will come to see you! I’ll come every month!"

Through the last sliver of the closing door, Elena heard him shout—

"Please, don't give up on me!"

Chapter 10

A dull thudding sound came from outside the door, one after another, like fists slamming against the iron.

Elena stood inside, tears sliding silently down her cheeks.

I'm sorry, Arthur.

It's not that I'm giving up on you; it's that I need to first become someone worthy of standing by your side.

Outside the iron door, Arthur slid slowly down to the ground against the panel. The skin on the back of his hands was scraped raw, and beads of blood were seeping out.

Julian ran over from the end of the corridor, panting: "Arthur, I’ve looked into it. The isolation therapy at this sanitarium strictly prohibits visits. Even the director isn't allowed to see the patients. However, we can get weekly progress reports..."

Arthur looked up, his eyes filled with bloodshot veins.

"The weekly reports—I want every single one."

He paused, his voice so low it was barely audible: "And help me find out, in these three years, how I can make sure she knows that I am waiting for her."

Julian sighed and bent down to help him up.

"Get up first, the floor is cold."

Arthur stood up and took one last look at the tightly shut iron door.

Through the small window on the door, one could only see an empty corridor; there was no one there.

He turned and walked step by step toward the exit.

His leather shoes clicked against the marble floor, the sound hollow and lonely.

The snow in Zurich was heavy; it fell on his shoulders and melted quickly, as if he had never been there at all.

Three years later.

During these three years, Arthur flew to Zurich on the last weekend of every month.

Sometimes he arrived late on Friday night and left late on Sunday.

Sometimes, if he really couldn't get away, he sent his assistant.

But no matter how busy he was, he never missed a single month.

Every time, he couldn't get anything more than a printed treatment progress report.

The report from the first year read: [Patient Elena. Psychological age assessment: 12 years old. Has begun learning basic cognition and emotional management. Progress is good.]

Arthur stared at the words "12 years old" for a long time.

That was the age when he had first met Elena.

Back then, Elena didn't know anything; she would timidly follow behind him, only daring to call him "Uncle."

The second year’s report: [Psychological age assessment: 18 years old. Patient has begun learning social skills and logical thinking. Self-awareness has significantly increased.]

Arthur read the report three times.

The words "self-awareness has significantly increased" left him unable to tell whether he felt relief or panic.