Gianna feared that her determination to go abroad and join Médecins Sans Frontières might waver if she allowed herself to get caught up in these emotions.

Taking a deep breath, she said, “You’re the renowned Dr. Thompson. Now that you’re giving me a massage for free, I should be thanking you. After all, plenty of people can’t even book an appointment with you. I must be taking a shortcut here.”

Steven frowned slightly, not responding immediately. He couldn’t help but feel her words carried a tinge of sarcasm, as if she were deliberately provoking him.

Suppressing the irritation rising within him, Steven refocused on carefully massaging Gianna’s injured ankle.

It wasn’t until he finished the first session that he finally spoke, revealing his decision.

“Chloe’s house was broken into by a thief. I’ve arranged for her to stay here for a few days.”

Gianna froze, the reason for his recent behavior suddenly becoming clear.

No wonder Steven had been uncharacteristically considerate earlier. His odd actions over the past few days—the removal of her house key, the sudden cleaning of the guest room—all made sense now. Chloe’s prolonged stay had clearly been planned well in advance.

Steven had already made all the decisions before even informing her.

Gianna gave it some thought but ultimately chose not to refuse. Her smile was faint, yet it carried an unmistakable trace of bitterness.

“It’s fine. Do as you think best.” Her light, indifferent response immediately quelled the explanations Steven had prepared in his mind. Seeing that Gianna agreed without resistance, the tension in his furrowed brows relaxed.

“You don’t mind?” he asked, his tone was laced with disbelief.

“Not at all.” Her answer came without hesitation.

Steven looked relieved. Standing up, he handed her the bottle of liniment.

“Apply it gently again in half an hour. I’ll go keep Chloe company for now—she must be bored sitting in the living room alone. I’ll check back on you later.”

Gianna nodded with a smile, but her heart marked another painful tally.

He’d gotten the response he wanted and immediately prioritized Chloe, leaving her behind once more.

Just as Steven’s hand touched the doorknob to leave, he suddenly turned back, his tone laced with a warning.

“Gianna, Chloe has always been sensitive. Next time, don’t act so impolite in front of her—it might upset her.”

He was clearly referring to how she had silently retreated to the bedroom upon arriving home.

But what else could she have done? Sit down and eat their leftovers?

Gianna gripped the bottle of liniment so tightly that her knuckles turned white. Yet, she forced a smile onto her face.

“Got it. Please apologize to Chloe for me.”

Her compliance satisfied Steven, and with a nod, he finally left the room.

The moment the door clicked shut, Gianna could no longer hold back her tears. They streamed down her cheeks uncontrollably.

This was her fiancé. The man she had loved for three years.

Not even for a single second did his heart truly belong to her.

The stabbing pain in her ankle paled in comparison to the unbearable ache in her chest. Her heart, battered and bruised, felt like it was collapsing under the weight of her grief.

When it came time for the second massage, Gianna quietly handled it herself. She had no illusions—she knew Steven wouldn’t return.

She lay alone in the cold, quiet room, listening to the laughter echoing from the living room downstairs.

Eventually, thirst forced her to leave the bedroom. Limping down the stairs, she reached the water dispenser only to find her usual cup missing.

In its place was a new cup—one she didn’t recognize.

It didn’t take much to guess whose it was.

The new cup, it turned out, was a matching set with Steven’s.

“Gianna, I’m so sorry. I accidentally broke your cup earlier. If you don’t mind, you can use mine for now.” Chloe picked up the new cup and smiled apologetically.

Gianna’s face remained expressionless, but she didn’t respond.

Steven, however, chimed in with a dismissive tone. “Chloe, don’t bother with her. It’s just a cup. We’ve got plenty at home.”

Gianna clenched her fists, her nose stinging from suppressed emotion.

That cup wasn’t just any cup—it was the one they had used to toast during their engagement ceremony, a symbol of their bond. She had cherished it deeply, treating it like a treasure.

But to Steven, it was just another cup, unworthy of any sentiment.

“It’s fine. I can just use a disposable one,” Gianna said lightly. She took a sip of water and returned to the bedroom.

As she sat down, her thoughts raced back to the Médecins Sans Frontières application form in her hands. The urgency in her heart grew stronger.

If Steven refused to sign, the hospital wouldn’t let her go. She needed to gauge his stance more carefully.

“Why are you still awake?”

Steven’s voice startled her as he entered the room. He saw her sitting by the bedside, seemingly on a phone call.

“Alright, I’ll ask him about it for you,” she said into the phone before hanging up.

Turning to him, she replied nonchalantly, “You’re not asleep either. My foot hurts too much to rest, so I figured I’d chat with a colleague.”

At the mention of her foot, Steven’s expression shifted. He suddenly remembered that he had promised to massage her ankle again but had forgotten.

Feigning concern, he lifted the blanket and carefully examined her injury.

“The swelling’s gone down a lot. You should be fine after a few more days of rest.”

Then, as if to steer the conversation, he asked, “Who were you chatting with just now? You looked like you were enjoying yourself.”

Gianna instinctively tightened her grip on her phone. If Steven had looked closely, he would have noticed that her screen was black—she hadn’t been on a call at all.

“It was Dr. Shaw from my department,” she lied smoothly.

Feigning casualness, she brought up the Médecins Sans Frontières application. “A lot of colleagues have been discussing the program lately. Dr. Shaw was just asking if you had any updates about it.”

Steven nodded without suspicion.

The topic had indeed been circulating in the hospital for some time, and the deadline for applications was approaching. Because the initial number of volunteers hadn’t met the requirement, the program had been delayed until now.

“This overseas opportunity isn’t short-term,” he explained. “But it’s a great way for those without connections to build up their résumés. Coming back with international experience is like being gilded.”

Gianna nodded in agreement, listening attentively.

Then, without warning, his tone changed.

“But it’s unnecessary for you. With the time this program would take, I could already help you secure a promotion.”

At his words, Gianna sighed softly.

She had anticipated his refusal. Still, another idea crossed her mind.

In the past, when their arguments escalated, Steven would occasionally resort to physical violence. The resolution? He’d always end up signing an apology letter to placate her.

She vividly remembered one incident. That time, she had stopped him from leaving to meet Chloe.

Unbeknownst to her, Chloe had cut her hand while cooking—a superficial wound that only needed a bandage. But that evening, when Steven returned home, he struck Gianna across the face.

“If you hadn’t stopped me, Chloe wouldn’t have gotten hurt!” he had shouted.

His words still echoed painfully in her mind.

After several days of silent treatment, it was always Steven who relented first, writing an apology letter to end their arguments. At the time, Gianna had felt heartbroken. But now, it struck her that such a method could still work. If she could coax him into signing another "apology letter," it might be her way out.

“I’ll earn my promotions with my own abilities—I won’t rely on you,” Gianna said with playful defiance.

Steven chuckled, thinking she was just being stubborn.

“Good, that’ll save me some trouble. But don’t come crying to me when no one recognizes your talent. You might end up begging for my help,” he teased as he lay down and pulled the blanket over himself.

Gianna’s lips tightened. Beneath his words, she heard disdain and indifference.

With a determined tone, she countered, “I won’t beg you. In fact, I want you to sign a consent letter for me.”

“A consent letter? What kind?”

She stood, retrieved a piece of paper, and carefully wrote the following:

[From this point forward, Gianna Wilson and Steven Thompson are to maintain strict boundaries. Gianna takes full responsibility for her actions and will not hold any person or institution accountable. Under no circumstances will her matters implicate anyone else. All consequences shall be borne by Gianna alone. Signed: Steven Thompson.]

Placing the letter and a pen in front of him, Gianna tried to steady her trembling hands, which had become clammy with sweat.

“Sign it.”

Steven narrowed his eyes. Something about Gianna’s behavior today felt off—subtly out of place, though not enough to raise clear alarms.

“Steven, are you going back on your word? Or are you too scared to sign it? Afraid you’ll secretly interfere behind my back?”

Her tone was intentionally provocative, poking at his pride. She knew all too well that Steven, with his overbearing masculinity, couldn’t stand such taunts.

Predictably, his expression darkened. He gave her a cold, mocking stare.

“Did you forget who brought you into this hospital in the first place? With your mediocre skills, you’d still be stuck in some rural clinic treating impoverished villagers if it weren’t for me.”

His words stabbed her like a shard of glass lodged in her throat, painful and impossible to swallow.

Gianna gritted her teeth, forcing herself to stay composed.

“Then sign it, Steven. Let’s see if I ever need your help.”

Her defiant tone finally disarmed his lingering suspicions. With a derisive snort, he retorted, “Fine, let’s see how far your stubbornness gets you.”

He grabbed the pen and signed his name with a flourish.

Watching him complete the signature, Gianna felt an immense weight lift off her chest. She carefully folded the letter and tucked it into her pocket like a priceless treasure.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask for your help,” she murmured silently to herself.

This would be the last tie binding her to Steven, the final step toward escaping their soured relationship.

---

The next morning, Gianna woke up early. With the consent letter in hand, she felt a new sense of freedom and ease.

As she prepared to leave for work, she walked to Steven’s car as usual, expecting to take her usual seat in the passenger side.

But as the window rolled down, a familiar face greeted her with a smug smile.

“Gianna, sorry about this. I get carsick and can only sit in the front,” Chloe said with feigned innocence, her tone playful.

Gianna froze for a moment.

She knew Chloe didn’t get carsick—she had been in the same car with her countless times.

In reality, it was Gianna herself who often struggled with motion sickness, which was why she always took the front seat.

But today, Chloe had taken her place, as if intentionally claiming her territory.