His voice was hoarse. “Home.”

The driver, compliant as ever, steered towards the Ferguson Mansion.

Then, from the backseat, some words cut through, “To LunarLakeBay Villas.”

The driver hesitated for a moment. Glancing at Bryant through the rearview mirror, he made a U-turn at the next intersection.

The rain was still falling, tapping against the car’s exterior, but Bryant felt as if it was pounding on him instead. Bit by bit, it seemed to extinguish the pride and dignity that was ingrained in his bones, inch by inch.

The car stopped within the courtyard of LunarLake Bay Villas, and before the driver could offer an umbrella, Bryant stepped out into the downpour with determined strides.

Stepping back into the villa, into the marriage home he shared with Jane, felt surreal. It was as if it was only yesterday when he’d come home from a night out, and Jane would be there to greet him, helping him to the couch. Carefully preparing him a hangover remedy.

“Sir, you’re not returning to Ferguson Mansion tonight?” Emma emerged from the bedroom as she heard the noise, flicking on the light with a snap, illuminating the room.

Bryant squinted against the bright light. “Hmm.”

take a hot shower,

a long-standing figure in the Ferguson household, acted both as a servant and a

way upstairs alone, settling into the sofa by

he; only Emma remained, guarding the traces of their three-year marriage. Jane couldn’t bear to face it. And he, filled with guilt and reluctance, couldn’t

a bowl of hangover soup on the table. “You’ve been out again tonight, haven’t you? I learned this recipe from Mrs. Ferguson; she adjusted it several times until it was just

smiled, his voice barely a whisper,

in such a dispirited state, Emma couldn’t help but ask,

Ferguson had passed away. Mrs. Ferguson was gone. And around Bryant… there was no one left who truly

chuckled softly. “Emma, was

could that

he gave

provided

was

on

looked up,

“Love.”

might have been happy with the kind

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