Lyra woke up to giggles from upstairs. Still half-asleep, she wandered out and spotted Joel and Renee messing around with flowers. They stood way too close, Joel showing her how to trim the stems like it was some big romantic moment.

For a second, Lyra just stood there, frozen. Back when Joel was stuck at home, she'd taught him how to arrange flowers to keep him from losing his mind. He picked it up like a pro—never needed a second lesson.

Every morning after that, he'd order fresh flowers and leave a bouquet on her nightstand. But ever since Renee waltzed back, that little tradition died.

Lyra dropped her gaze, swallowing the knot in her throat.

She ignored them, just trying to get some breakfast.

Didn't even make it halfway before—

Bam!

A heavy vase smashed into her, knocking her flat. Pain ripped through her skull, warm blood dripping down as she curled up on the floor.

Through the haze, Lyra saw Renee gliding down the stairs, all smiles.

"Oh no, Lyra!" Renee gasped, eyes wide with fake concern. "I just wanted to show you the flowers I arranged, but my hand slipped and the vase hit your head.

"You're bleeding so much—it's super scary! Should I call an ambulance? I'm just so shaken, I can't even pick up my phone.

"You're not mad at me, right? Just hold on a little longer..."

Before Renee could finish her little performance, Lyra blacked out from the pain.

A housekeeper eventually found her and freaked out, rushing her to the hospital.

When Lyra came to, it was already noon. Her head throbbed, and she reached up to feel the rough stitches—thirty of them. The doctor said she had a mild concussion and temporary blindness in her right eye. Great.

Joel stood by the bed, leaning in to see if she was in pain, helping her sit up and sip some water. His touch was gentle, but his words cut deep.

"Renee feels awful," he said, like that was supposed to fix it. "She almost fainted from guilt earlier.

"When the housekeeper brought you here, some gossip reporter snapped a pic, and now the media's all over it.

"Just say you fell and hit your head, okay? That way, her family will owe you. You know, Renee's Vesper—the one who saved my life back then..."

Lyra turned away, yanking the blanket over her head. Whether it was the pain or the heartbreak, her eyes stung as she curled up, holding back tears.

She couldn't help but remember how Joel used to be—the guy who freaked out over her low fevers and kept three private doctors on call. When cramps hit during her period, he'd spoil her all day, making sure she stayed in bed and ate properly.

But now... that guy was gone.

Joel heard her quiet sobs and hesitated, guilt gnawing at him. Just as he reached out, a nurse burst in.

"Mr. Fenwick, the young lady who came with you this morning just fainted from crying. Do you want to check on her?"

The second he heard Renee's name, Joel didn't think twice—he rushed out without looking back.

Silence fell, leaving Lyra completely alone.

Ten minutes later, Lyra's phone buzzed—a text from ReeRee Bliss.

[So what if you have thirty stitches on your head and lost vision in one eye? I don't even have to cry, and he'll come running to me.]

[Lyra, I was gone for a few years, but the second I said I wanted his baby, he agreed. You really think he doesn't love me?]

Then came a video.

In it, Joel was holding a sobbing Renee, his eyes red and puffy.

"Shh... Don't blame yourself. I promised to always protect you. Lyra just hurt her head—it's no big deal. She won't tell anyone you hit her. You're pregnant now, so take care of yourself and don't stress over this."

Lyra watched in silence, her nails digging into her palms. Without another thought, she forced herself upright, got out of bed, and left the hospital alone.

Six hours left before she was gone for good. Lyra made her way to Everlight Cathedral and found the wish slip she'd written herself—the one that said, [I want to marry Joel and be his wife.]

She tore it down, the cold wind whipping past and scattering two old slips onto the ground. They were Joel's.

The first one read:

[Marry Lyra Lebeau as my bride in five years.]

The second one made her breath hitch:

[As long as you come back, no matter when, I will always choose you.]

Of course. That one was for Renee.

Lyra let out a bitter laugh.

"Congrats, Joel Fenwick. You got exactly what you wanted."

***

Back at the villa, Lyra's phone kept buzzing with Renee's petty texts. She ignored them, sitting at her desk to write a farewell letter. She set a photo of Vesper next to it, then grabbed her suitcase and headed downstairs.

She slipped off the engagement ring Joel had given her, placed it in a gray velvet box, and handed it to Colin.

"When Joel gets back, give this to him. Let him know there's a letter on the desk."

Colin's face went pale—he'd noticed her taking off the ring earlier and knew something was up.

"Ms. Lebeau... are you leaving?"

Lyra gave him a faint smile.

"Thanks for looking after me all these years. If fate allows, we'll meet again."

With a small wave, she wheeled her suitcase to the door and called a cab to the airport.

An hour later, at the airport entrance, her best friend, Poppy Pryce, pulled her into a tight hug, refusing to let go.

"Lyra, don't you dare come back. Live your best life in Emmerica and forget that scumbag Joel ever existed!"

Lyra's eyes were red as she hugged her back. She glanced over her shoulder at the city of Lindale one last time, tilting her chin up.

'Goodbye, Lindale.

'Goodbye forever, Joel.'