Chapter 149: No Love Exists... Only Lies...
Crystal Country is still buried beneath the snow.
It falls like slow magic in the evening light—soft, relentless, beautiful in a way that feels almost cruel. Each flake drifts downward in its own unhurried orbit, shimmering beneath the golden lights of the private terminal before settling on the frozen ground. The world is muffled, hushed, wrapped in a silence so complete it feels as though the earth itself is holding its breath.
I begin my descent down the private jet stairs.
The air hits me like a blade.
Sharp. Cold. Unforgiving.
It cuts through the thin fabric of my night clothes, finding every place I’m already hollow.
Snow touches my face, my hands, the exposed skin of my neck. It melts against the heat of my flushed body, trickling down my cheeks like tears I refuse to claim.
Guards rush forward, opening an umbrella above me, forming a small shield against the falling snow. But I feel it anyway—the cold, the silence, the weight of everything I’ve left behind.
Ian is already waiting below.
His expression shifts the moment he sees me. I watch the change happen in real time—the professional composure cracking, the careful mask giving way to something rawer.
His eyes travel over me, taking in the thin nightshirt, the loose pajama pants, the slippers.
No suit.
No perfection.
My hair is tangled and unbrushed. I’m still dressed exactly as I was when I walked out of the Stoneheart mansion.
I didn’t wait. Not even a second. I didn’t change. I didn’t dress properly. I didn’t stay in that country for another minute.
I came back to Crystal Country as fast as I could.
My body is still weak. My skin burns with a fever I refuse to acknowledge. But I barely feel any of it. The numbness inside me runs deeper than anything the snow can touch.
My final step down from the jet sinks into the soft snow. It gives beneath my weight with a quiet, almost apologetic sigh, compressing beneath the thin soles of my slippers. The cold seeps through, biting at my feet, but I do not flinch.
I do not feel it.
Ian’s gaze travels over me, from head to toe. Still processing. Still trying to understand.
Then he moves. Quickly.
He slips off his coat and drapes it over my shoulders. The wool is warm and heavy, carrying the faint scent of his cologne—something ordinary, something familiar, something that reminds me the world still turns, even though mine has stopped.
"Sir..." His voice wavers, cracking at the edges. "How could you... what happened..."
I don’t answer. I keep walking. The snow crunches beneath my feet, a steady rhythm that matches nothing inside me.
Ian hurries ahead and opens the car door. Without a word, I slide into the backseat.
The door closes with a soft, final thud, sealing me inside the warmth of the vehicle. It clashes against my feverish skin, a discomfort I cannot escape. The heat wraps around me, forcing me to acknowledge what I’d rather ignore—
My body is still here.
Still alive.
Still feeling.
I lean back against the leather seat. Warmth presses against my flushed skin while my eyes remain fixed on the window, watching the snow drift over Crystal Country—
Soft. Endless.
Indifferent to the wreckage I carry inside me.
Ian slides into the passenger seat. The car begins to roll forward. He glances at me in the rearview mirror before taking a warm bottle of water from the holder and offering it to me.
"Sir..."
I do not look at him.
"No need."
His hand remains outstretched for a moment. Offering. Waiting. Then he slowly pulls it back, his face etched with worry he cannot quite hide.
My voice is flat. Hollow. As though the words are being pulled from somewhere empty.
"Ian."
"Yes, sir?"
"Do my parents know I’m back?"
He shakes his head immediately.
"No, sir. As you ordered, I kept your arrival completely confidential."
My gaze remains fixed on the passing city—the golden lights blurred by falling snow, each flake catching the glow for the briefest moment before vanishing into the darkness.
I give a small nod.
Ian hesitates. I can almost hear the question forming before he finally speaks.
"Sir... is everything alright? You don’t look well. Should we go straight to the hospital?"
"No."
"Okay, sir."
I slowly close my eyes. The car hums beneath me, its quiet vibration settling deep into my bones.
Then the voice returns. Unwanted. Unwelcome. A blade that keeps twisting. Keeps cutting.
You’re seven weeks pregnant.
Your husband is an Enigma.
My fists tighten against the leather seat, my nails digging into my palms until crescent-shaped marks bloom across my skin.
My body remains perfectly still. My breathing never falters. But inside... Something is crumbling. Slowly. Silently. Like the snow falling beyond the window.
After a while, the car slows to a stop. Ian steps out first. He opens an umbrella before pulling the backseat door open for me.
"Sir... we’ve arrived."
My eyes open slowly.
I step out of the car.
My house.
I stand there for a long moment, simply looking at it. The windows are dark. The garden lies buried beneath the snow. The white roses I loved have disappeared beneath a blanket of white, their petals frozen, their fragrance silenced, their beauty preserved in ice.
I speak, my voice quiet but unwavering.
"Change the locks. All of them. The passcodes too. Make sure no one can enter without my knowledge."
He nods immediately.
"Yes, sir."
I walk toward the front door. Ian follows in silence, holding the umbrella above me like a silent shadow.
"Sir... if you need anything... Did you eat? Should I order something?"
I reach the door, dial the passcode, and push it open with a soft click. I step inside without looking back.
"Just leave me alone."
"Sir—"
Before he can finish, I close the door. The sound of it closing is soft, almost gentle. Yet it feels like a door slamming shut, sealing me away from the outside world.
The silence that follows is thick.
Heavy. Suffocating.
A long breath slips from my lips. I step forward, and the automatic lights flicker on, casting their golden warmth across the familiar space.
My house. My peaceful world.
Before him.
Now every corner carries his memory. The kitchen where he made me soup. The couch where we fell asleep tangled together. The hallway where he waited for me with that quiet smile. The bedroom where I learned to let someone in.
I sink onto the couch, leaning back against the soft cushions, my gaze fixed on the golden ceiling lights.
How foolish of me.
To believe him so easily.
My vision blurs. Tears gather, pressing against my eyes until they can no longer be held back.
How could I forget?
There is nothing true in this world.
No love exists. Only lies.
I have always known that. The world taught me early— People use. People take. People wear beautiful masks to hide the rot beneath.
So I built my walls high and kept everyone at a distance. Then he came. Quiet. Patient. Persistent.
And I believed him. I unlocked the door I had kept sealed for so long... And let him walk straight into my heart.
I close my eyes. The tears keep falling. A shaky breath escapes my lips—silent sobs, despite my efforts to control myself. They come anyway, quiet and broken, filling the silence.
I whisper into the empty room, my voice cracking until the words are barely more than a breath.
"Why the hell did you do this to me?"