Rain fell softly that evening, tapping against the window as if knocking on the door to someone’s final moments.Inside the spacious room that now felt unbearably empty, Jeremy lay on the bed he had built with his own hands, a bed that once symbolized love, but now served only as a velvet prison for a dying man.The ivory ceiling he once painted himself had dulled under the dim glow of the lamp. His breathing was heavy and ragged, each inhale like a knife slicing through his lungs.His body no longer felt like his own. His legs trembled just from the effort of moving. His hands shook as he tried to lift a glass of water, it slipped, shattered against the marble floor, the sound sharp and cruel in the silence.He no longer counted the days. Every morning felt like an extension of the hopeless night before.“The doctor said I’m recovering.”Then why do I feel closer to death each day?Jeremy’s gaze drifted to the framed photo on his bedside table, a family portrait. Him, Claire, and the

Laughter burst out around the table again, snapping Jeremy back to full awareness.Then Lucas’s voice cut through. Warm, friendly in tone, he smiled slightly as he said, “Come on, Mr. Hargreaves. Don’t be so hard on Jeremy. He’s a good man. Sometimes he just needs time to prove himself, right?”He looked at Jeremy with the same smile that had once appeared sincere.“Besides, he’s my friend. We hang out at that café by his shop all the time. A person who can keep me talking for hours is rare, you know.”A few heads turned to Jeremy, and Claire’s mother’s soft voice chimed in, “Oh, you know him well, Lucas?”Lucas nodded quickly.“Of course. Jeremy’s honest, even innocent, really. I always tell Claire he just needs a little push to gain confidence. Right, Jer?”Jeremy lifted his head slowly. Those words used to move him. He had once considered Lucas like a brother. But now, hearing the same lines, knowing the man would sleep with his wife and help poison him, felt like swallowing shatte

The waiter standing by the door stepped forward, his expression awkward yet unfailingly polite. He bowed slightly, a small notebook in his hand.“Excuse me, sir, ma’am,” he said softly, his tone gentle, but clear enough to draw everyone’s attention at the table.“Before you leave, may we finalize the payment for tonight’s dinner?”The words were simple, almost harmless. But they fell into the air like a crack in glass shattering the easy laughter that had filled the room. The hum of conversation died instantly. The laughter that had only moments ago brightened the table now flickered out, like a candle reaching the end of its wick.Mr. Hargreaves lifted his head, surprise knitting his brow.“The bill?” he repeated slowly, one eyebrow rising. Then his gaze shifted toward Lucas, heavy with unspoken questions.“Didn’t you say you’d already taken care of it, son?”A few of Claire’s relatives turned to look at each other, exchanging glances and faint, knowing smirks.Claire herself looked

The bedroom door opened slowly, the creak of its hinges almost drowned out by the thunderous pounding of Jeremy’s heartbeat in his ears.He still wore a faint smile, a nervous and practiced smile as he imagined Claire’s surprised face at his little “visit.”“Claire?” he called softly.No answer.“You’re not asleep yet, are you?”But the moment the light from inside spilled across his eyes, the world seemed to stop.The air in the room felt heavy. The scent of perfume far too strong, mingled faintly with the smell of spilled wine. Two wine glasses on the table. Clothes scattered carelessly over a chair.And on the bed two figures who had pulled apart too quickly, as if jolted awake from something that should never have happened.Claire froze, her face draining of color. Her hair was a mess, her breath caught in her throat. Lucas stood beside the bed, his shirt wrinkled, the top buttons undone.Their eyes met in a silence so sharp it could cut.Jeremy didn’t speak at once. He stood at t

Jeremy stood for a long time before the gate, now once again tightly closed, staring at its cold, glossy black surface. Deep down, a part of him still wanted to stay there to kneel longer, to wait longer even though his knees ached and his body had grown numb from the chill.But he knew his father.Mr. Spielberg was not a man easily moved by emotion. Once angered, it would take time and undeniable proof to change his mind. The more Jeremy insisted now, the harder that wall would close against him.He drew in a deep breath, exhaling into the biting morning air.“Alright,” he murmured softly. “If this is what I have to do… then I’ll start from the beginning.”His steps were heavy as he walked away from the mansion, but in his chest, a new resolve began to form. Regret alone would never be enough, he had to prove his change not with words, but with action.First, he needed to set everything right and draw a clear line. Claire, Lucas, and all the shadows of his past that bound him, he had