She whispered the words to herself, over and over.

Until the coppery tang of blood filled her mouth, until the pain was a dull throb she could barely register.

Then, and only then, did she finally crumple to the ground.

...

Meanwhile, somewhere else, the heavy door to Dante's confinement creaked open after a night of solitary.

His grandfather, leaning heavily on his cane, stepped inside.

Dante looked up, a flicker of hope in his eyes. "You're letting me out?"

His grandfather let out a cold snort. "Come with me."

Without another word, he turned and walked away. Dante had no choice but to push himself up and follow.

They arrived at the entrance to the family chapel. As the doors swung open, a gruesome sight greeted them: Celine, lying inside, her body a bloody mess.

Dante froze.

Even Dante's grandfather, a man not easily fazed, was taken aback by Celine's sheer, unyielding stubbornness.

Celine might not have been the Williams family's ideal granddaughter-in-law, but no one could deny she was the one who loved Dante the most.

"She took thirty-three lashes for you yesterday and then knelt here all night."

"Dante, I never approved of your marriage to her. But since you insisted, you need to start treating this seriously."

Dante remained silent for a few seconds, his breath catching in his throat. "I only married her out of spite back then."

His grandfather pressed on, "And now? Do you truly not care for her at all?"

A strange flutter stirred in Dante's chest, but then the image of Isabella flashed in his mind.

He answered, his voice flat, "No."

With that, he turned and walked out of the chapel, not looking back.

Dante's grandfather let out a weary sigh, simply instructing a maid to help Celine back to her room.

...

When Celine finally woke, the pain was so excruciating she could barely move a muscle.

Confined to her bed, she had no choice but to lie still and let her body heal.

"Is Dante okay? Did Grandfather punish him?"

The maid entered with her medicine, and Celine's first words were a torrent of anxious questions about Dante.

The maid couldn't help but marvel at how deeply the young mistress loved the young master.

"Young mistress, please don't worry. The young master is unharmed."

Only then did Celine's worried expression ease. She didn't ask about Dante again, quietly taking her medicine.

She remained bedridden for several days before she was finally strong enough to get up.

After a brief farewell to her grandfather, Celine left the family estate.

She bypassed their shared home and headed straight for a bustling shopping mall.

There, she bumped into a few of the usual suspects from their social circle, women who also happened to be friends with Isabella.

These women, who had always looked down on Celine, couldn't resist a cruel smirk at her disheveled appearance.

They swarmed around her, making sure to loudly detail Dante's recent romantic gestures for Isabella.

"Did you hear? Dante set off fireworks all over the city for three days straight to celebrate the end of Isabella's concert tour. So damn romantic."

"Yeah, and I heard when Isabella caught a fever, Dante totally ditched a meeting just to nurse her back to health. It's true, a first love is a first love. Some people, no matter how they're dressed up, are still crows at heart, never able to become swans."

They expected Celine to crack, to break down, but to their utter shock, she seemed completely unfazed.

She glided past them as if she hadn't heard a single word, leaving the two socialites fuming, their faces a comical mix of pale and flushed.

Celine walked into a nearby flower shop and carefully selected a stunning bouquet of calla lilies.

Only three more days, she thought.

As she was exiting the mall, she ran smack into a familiar pair.

Dante, fresh from lunch with Isabella, hadn't expected to see Celine.

Then, his eyes landed on the flowers in her hand.

Dante's expression soured instantly, and a cold sneer touched his lips. "You're out here looking like that, just to pick up flowers from some other guy?"

Celine replied, her voice remarkably calm, "No. I bought these myself. I'm going to visit a couple of friends."

What friends could she possibly have in this city? Dante scoffed internally, convinced she was lying.

But then, a belated realization hit him: the moment he saw her holding those flowers, a pang of something—annoyance, maybe?—had pricked him.

His tone turned even icier. "And what business is that of mine?"

Seeing Dante's reaction, Isabella tugged at his sleeve. "Dante, I need to get back to the theater."

His gaze immediately softened. "I'll take you."

They didn't spare Celine another glance, walking away hand-in-hand, as if they were the only two people in the world.

Celine stood rooted to the spot, silently watching their retreating backs.

It's normal, she told herself. He just doesn't remember what day it is.