"Two patrons, there is no need to make any more offerings from now on. Wear these red strings and go home."

"When the red string falls, the connection ends; a path without heirs is not a path without a way."

He bowed, recited these lines, and walked away calmly.

Two short red strings seemed to have intertwined their lives together.

Every day, while teaching flower arranging, she would always avoid the red string on her wrist, fearing it would wear out.

Yet today, it had broken completely.

It broke on the day Clara learned the truth about her infertility, the very moment Marcus uttered those words.

She and Marcus were destined to have no fruition in this life.

Clara’s fingertips trembled, and the tears she had been holding back streamed down her eyes.

Hearing the sobbing behind him, Marcus’s expression changed.

He turned around, his gaze falling on Clara’s ears.

Only after confirming that Clara was wearing her hearing aid did he soften his expression and send Dr. Lin away: "Go get the medicine quickly."

With that, Marcus gently helped her adjust the device and stroked her hair.

"What’s wrong, Weiwei? Is your head still hurting?"

Clara gazed through tear-filled eyes at Marcus’s gentle, doting look, her heart aching until it went numb.

Marcus, how is your acting so good?

So good that it completely deceived her for seven years.

The phone buzzed repeatedly, and Marcus pulled his hand back apologetically:

"Weiwei, I still have work. Your state has been poor these past few days; let Chloe take over the floral class for now, and you shouldn't go."

She could no longer remember how many times Marcus had given her things to Chloe.

She used to think it was because Marcus couldn't bear to see her working too hard, but now it seemed he was paving the way for Chloe.

Clara lowered her eyelids and nodded obediently without speaking.

The floral class, the position of Mrs. Meng—she didn't want any of it anymore.

She would never return.

Marcus kissed her on the forehead and urged: "Make sure you remember to take your medicine."

Watching his hurried retreating figure, Clara’s heart grew increasingly bitter.

After a while, Dr. Lin set down the sleeping pills and reminded her to take them.

Clara numbly picked up the medicine bottle and suddenly asked: "How many times have you put contraceptives in them?"

Dr. Lin’s expression changed, and he remained silent for a long time before telling the truth: "From the day you and Mr. Meng got together."

Clara’s face turned deathly pale as she set down the bottle, clutched the sheets, and silently felt the tiny life connected to her in her womb.

After five years of time, how hard it was to conceive this child.

Marcus might not want it, but she did.

"You may leave."

Seeing that she didn't look well, Dr. Lin immediately got up and left.

Clara flushed all the pills down the toilet and replaced them with vitamin pills.

The wedding photo on the side looked blindingly ironic, and with red eyes, she tossed it into the trash can.

In the 100-plus-square-meter walk-in closet, Clara only packed the two sets of clothes she had bought herself; everything else was returned to Marcus.

Time flew by until late at night, and Marcus did not return home.

Having gone too long without medication, her PTSD symptoms grew increasingly severe, and Clara could only rely on herself to endure and overcome them.

For the sake of the child, she had to ingest nutrients even without an appetite.

She threw up twice before managing to finish eating while suppressing the nausea, then went to bed early, only to be surrounded by anxiety and insomnia.

Waking up again in a cold sweat, Clara instinctively reached out to find Marcus, but her hand grasped nothing but empty space.

The phone beside her flashed twice.

Clara clicked on the video sent by her mother, and her parents appeared on the screen.

"Happy birthday, Weiwei! Dear daughter, you must take good care of yourself; Dad and Mom love you very much. In two days, when you and Marcus come to Australia, we’ll celebrate your birthday properly again."

Clara watched the video, teary-eyed, countless times. The next moment, Marcus called.

She froze for a moment, then gently pressed accept.

A series of suggestive panting sounds pierced her eardrums.

In an instant, Clara was plunged into an ice cellar.

Chloe’s voice came from the other end of the line, gasping in a way that was full of provocation.

"Sister Clara, I specifically asked to 'borrow' Marcus for a child on your birthday; you won't be angry, will you?"

Chapter 5

A wave of nausea crashed over her like a tsunami.

Clara’s vision went dark, and she hung up the phone, fleeing to the bathroom to dry-heave.

The sounds of their panting echoed like phantoms around her, while sharp tinnitus screamed in her ears, making her temples throb with pressure.

Countless memories flooded her mind.

On their wedding day, he had said, "Weiwei, in this lifetime, I will only love you."

But back in that private room, he had said that the one he loved was Chloe.

In the past, when she couldn't hear, she had assumed she was the object of Marcus’s special affection. Now she knew: Marcus had set a custom ringtone for Chloe; she was the true object of his favor.

With just one phone call, he would abandon her to go to her.

Could this even be called love?

Before the 4th Floral Art Competition, he had said, "Weiwei, don't participate this time. Aren't we trying to conceive lately? Don't overexert yourself."

Only afterward did she learn that Marcus hadn't let her participate because he was afraid she would block Chloe’s path.

At the studio, he had said, "Weiwei, the 'He-Ming-Wei-Guang' floral studio sign is old; the paint is peeling after all these years."

The newly made sign "coincidentally" had the wrong character for her name—changing 'Wei' to the 'Xiao' from Chloe’s name, becoming "He-Ming-Xiao-Guang."

Even her hard work of several years had been gifted by Marcus to Chloe.

Her heart felt as if it were being sliced open; the pain was so intense that Clara couldn't stand straight, her face streaming with tears.

Suddenly, a wave of warmth spread through her abdomen, as if comforting her.

Clara trembled, wrapping her arms around her stomach, her tears falling like rain.

Baby, please don't blame Mommy, okay?

It’s not that Mommy didn't want to give you a complete home; it’s that Daddy doesn't want us anymore.

It took a long time for her to calm down. She picked up her phone, which was still playing birthday wishes, and held it to her chest.

Only one day left.

In one day, she would fly to a country 2,000 kilometers away.

She would never return to this country, and she would never again have anything to do with Marcus.

The next day at noon.

A stylist and her team arrived at the villa early to prepare Clara.

By the time the sun set, Marcus, who had rushed home, was stunned when he saw Clara. His eyes were filled with amazement.

"Weiwei, I almost didn't recognize you."

He smiled and stepped forward to kiss her, unaware that his own neck was covered in glaring red marks.

Clara instinctively pushed him away, lowering her eyelashes to hide her emotions: "The makeup isn't set yet; it’ll get on your clothes."

Marcus followed her lead, kissing the top of her head lightly.

"Weiwei, I remember you don't like crowded places; I’ll just go this time."

Clara smiled bitterly in her heart and said softly, "Mom will be unhappy."

Marcus pondered for a moment and did not try to dissuade her further.

He hugged her and instructed the makeup artist: "This look is too simple. Change it; our Weiwei needs to outshine everyone else."

Clara’s heart trembled, and she sat down in silence.

She had heard that the founder of the floral industry was invited to the engagement banquet, and that veteran was famously a proponent of minimalism.

Marcus appeared generous toward her, but in reality, he was personally pushing her into the abyss of her career.

It took another two hours to reach the manor where the engagement banquet was held.

The moment Marcus brought Clara in, the mocking gazes of the guests pierced her.

The scandal of him abandoning her at Julian’s wedding seven years ago had never faded; they often brought it up to ridicule her, and this time was no exception.

Clara endured the humiliation, only for Marcus to take her hand.

With one sharp, fierce look from him, the crowd fell silent.

She stared blankly at his large hand; the constant warmth radiating from it made her heart tremble.

"Marcus."

Chloe only called out to him once, and he let go of her hand.

Clara looked at her empty palm and heard him comfort her gently: "Weiwei, rest for a moment; I’m going to go help out."