Chapter 7
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Each time I visited St. Patrick’s Cathedral, I would carefully light a candle with care, kneel, and whisper the same prayer
in my
heart.
nnaད་ད་
“Please let Gaspard’s surgery go well. Please keep him safe and happy, always.”
By the time I left the cathedral that day, the sky was already dimming.
At the corner ahead, I spotted a tall, familiar figure leaning casually against the wall, as if waiting for someone.
“Nick?”
Nicolas looked at me, hesitation flickering in his eyes.
“Let me buy you a coffee,” he said. Then, after a pause, “By the way, did you know Jeremy’s getting married?”
The atmosphere in the café was so tense, it felt like it could freeze over.
“It’s Josephine Severin, heiress of the Severin Group,” he continued.
“Oh, the perfect match,” I replied, sipping my latte.
My face was as calm as still water.
His brows tightened.
“He told you?”
I shook my head, a faint smile tugging at my lips.
In the past few years, Jeremy had never lacked female company. Women
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Chapter 7
came and went, changing every few days.
They were just props in his ongoing revenge, each one testing the limits of my patience.
Yet, Josephine was different.
She came from an elite family, graceful and well–mannered–the ideal daughter–in–law approved by Jeremy’s parents.
གསར་གནསྐད་དང་ཐར ད་་དད ོང་འདད་ད།ག་དང
And more than that, she had always liked Jeremy.
Someone with her status was even willing to cook for him.
Nicolas’s tone softened, almost as if trying to comfort me.
“Eli, don’t be too upset…‘
He hesitated.
དོ་འདབ་ག་དད་རང་འདོན་ ོ ོས་དད་་དགས་ནང་ལ་ད་ཆ་བསྐོ་
Then, he added, “I remember the year you and Jeremy got married…”
I froze.
When Jeremy and I married, we only told a handful of our closest friends.
How did he know?
As if sensing my thoughts, he explained quietly.
“That day, I was outside the City Hall.‘
For some reason, I caught a faint trace of loss in his voice.
I lowered my gaze, steadying myself.
“It’s all in the past.
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“After that, he got into a car accident, became paralyzed… and I left him because I hated him.”
Silence settled between us, heavy and unspoken.
After a long while, Nicolas said my name softly.
*
“Eli.”
He looked at me steadily, warmth in his eyes.
“I believe you’re not that kind of person.”
My chest tightened, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes.
Why was it Nicolas saying I believe you, and never Jeremy?
It felt like one of those over–the–top TV dramas.
That day, I got the call. Jeremy had been in a terrible car accident.
When I rushed to the hospital in a haze, the emergency room was surrounded by men in black suits.
At the door stood an elegant, well–dressed middle–aged couple. They introduced themselves as Jeremy’s parents.
And just like that, I learned Jeremy was not some orphan without family.
He was the only heir of the Moreau family–the wealthiest family in New York–who went missing by accident years ago.
For so long, his parents had searched every corner of the country for their missing child–never realizing he’d been living right under their noses.
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