Alexis Brandt POV:

Five days confined to a dark, isolated room. Five days of silence, of my own thoughts, echoing and re-echoing the bitter truths. When Austin finally opened the door, his eyes, for a fleeting moment, held a flicker of something that looked like regret. My body felt brittle, my face gaunt.

"Alexis," he said, his voice hesitant, almost formal. "I didn't mean to push you so hard. But you messed things up. You always do." He paused, avoiding my gaze. "Once the baby is born, we'll have a proper wedding. Grand, just like you always wanted. My wife, Mrs. Alexander, that's what you'll be. Just… behave. Understand?"

I stared through him, not at him. His words were a meaningless drone. I recoiled when he tried to touch my arm. A knot of frustration tightened in his jaw.

"What do you want, Alexis?" he asked, a hint of desperation in his voice. "Just tell me. Anything."

"I want to go out," I said, my voice surprisingly steady. "And I want a welcome-back dinner. In the city. At our old spots."

He blinked, taken aback by my simple request. But then, he saw it. The faint spark in my eyes. The ghost of our past. He nodded. "Alright, Alexis. Tonight."

He drove me around the city, showing me all our old haunts. The tiny coffee shop where we' d first met, the park bench where he' d proposed, the bookstore where we' d spent hours lost in words. But each place felt hollow, a stage set for a play that had ended years ago. My face remained blank, my eyes empty. The memories were just that – memories. They no longer hurt.

As we drove past the Huangpu River, I pointed. "Let's have dinner there," I said, my voice flat. "A farewell dinner."

Austin looked at me, a strange expression on his face, but he agreed.

On the way home, his phone rang. He hesitated, glancing at me. "I need to take this," he said, his voice strained. "I'll drop you off."

"Go," I said quietly, already opening the door.

I walked into the silent house. The study door was ajar. Inside, a mess. An old cardboard box had been overturned, spilling its contents. Photos. Our photos. Austin and me, laughing, holding hands, our faces young and full of hope. My fingers traced the faded images. The memories, once so cherished, now felt like a crushing weight.

I sank to the floor, clutching the photos, tears streaming down my face. I sobbed until my throat was raw, until there were no more tears left. Then, slowly, painfully, I got up. I found a metal bucket, a lighter. One by one, I fed the photos to the flames, watching them curl and blacken, turning to ash. The past. All of it. Gone. It no longer mattered. Austin no longer mattered. My heart was a stone.

Alexis Brandt POV:

The next morning, Austin arrived promptly. He saw me in the red dress, the one he loved, the one I hadn't worn in years. His eyes softened, a distant look in them, as if he was seeing the girl he' d met all those years ago. He probably remembered how I' d helped him, sacrificed for him. Guilt painted his features.

The luxury yacht was abuzz with guests, a glittering spectacle of wealth and shallow smiles. Austin's friends, a parade of familiar faces, greeted me with forced enthusiasm, their words of praise ringing hollow. "Alexis, darling, you look stunning! Austin's been lost without you." They toasted me, complimented my resilience. "That Eva," one slurred, "she was never the real one. You are."

An odd discomfort settled over Austin. He kept glancing at me, his brow furrowed. I held my wine glass, my gaze drifting casually to the river, a quiet anticipation building inside me.

"A toast!" someone shouted. "To Austin and Alexis! A proper, belated toast! A loving cup!"

The crowd cheered, egging us on. Austin looked at me, his eyes searching. My cheeks flushed, a warmth spreading through me that had nothing to do with him. He seemed drawn in, a flicker of that old, desperate longing in his eyes.

Suddenly, his driver burst through the crowd, his face pale with panic. "Mr. Alexander! Eva! She's had an early delivery! Heavy bleeding!"

The yacht fell silent. Every eye was on Austin. His face drained of color. He let go of my hand, all traces of the old Austin vanishing, replaced by cold terror. He turned to leave.

"Austin," I said, my voice soft, almost a whisper, my hand lightly touching his sleeve.

He looked back, his eyes catching mine, confusion warring with urgency. "Alexis, this isn't the time for games!" he snapped, his voice sharp with impatience.

I released his sleeve. Slowly. Deliberately. The decision was made.

He turned, not looking back, and rushed off the yacht. I watched him go, then turned to the driver, who was still standing there, bewildered. "Here," I said, handing him the file, the one with Austin's medical report and Eva's recorded confession. "Make sure he gets this. Personally."

The driver nodded, his eyes wide, and hurried after Austin. I watched Austin's retreating figure disappear into the night. The fake smile dropped from my face. I touched my chest. No pain. Nothing. Just an empty, calm space.

My phone buzzed. A text from my father. "I' m at the dock. Ready when you are."

A faint smile touched my lips. It was over. The past was gone. And my future was waiting.

Alexis Brandt POV:

Our car sped towards the airport, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and red. I sat in silence, watching the familiar landscape recede. A memory flickered – Austin, years ago, after his first project failed, losing everything. I' d sold my car, my only asset, to help him restart. We used to ride his old electric scooter, laughing, exhilarated by the wind in our hair and the simple joy of being together.

Now, he had luxury cars, but the happiness had vanished. The sharp irony wasn't lost on me.

The night wind whipped through the open window, carrying away the heavy dust of memory, cleansing my mind. My father, sitting beside me, glanced over, his eyes filled with tender concern. He opened his mouth, then sighed, shaking his head. He reached over, patting my hand gently. "Rest, child," he murmured. "It's all over now."

And it was. I closed my eyes, the exhaustion of five years in prison, five horrible days of betrayal, finally catching up. I slept for two days straight, a deep, dreamless sleep that was more like a coma.

When I finally woke, the morning sun streamed through a large window. A man stood by the bed, tall and elegant, a stranger. "Good morning," he said, his voice soft and melodious. "Your father went out for a bit. I brought you some porridge."

I nodded, a little dazed. He handed me a bowl. As I ate, I studied him. He moved with an easy grace, pouring something into a delicate crystal glass.

"What are you doing?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

He smiled. "Experimenting with wine. Trying to find a new blend." He held out a glass. "Care to try?"

I glanced at the various bottles on the table, then at the deep crimson liquid in the glass. "It's missing something," I said, almost without thinking. "Too much oak, not enough fruit."

His eyebrows rose in surprise. "You know wine?"

"A little," I admitted.

He pushed the glass towards me. "Please, enlighten me."

I took the glass, added a splash of brandy and a hint of elderflower liqueur. Swirled it once, twice, then handed it back. He watched me, his initial amusement replaced by a keen interest. He took a sip. His eyes widened.

"Incredible," he breathed, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "You broke the balance, but in doing so, you found a deeper, more complex flavor. How did you know?"

I lowered my gaze. "Just... experimenting," I mumbled. I couldn't tell him it was Austin who had taught me, that we had spent countless evenings trying to find the perfect blend. That was a past I wanted to forget.

He seemed to understand, a gentle smile touching his lips. He didn' t press. "My name is Blaze Barton," he said, extending a hand. "Perhaps you'd like to try your hand at winemaking with me?"

I hesitated for a moment, then took his hand. His touch was warm, comforting. "Alexis Brandt," I replied. The name felt new, fresh, unburdened.