"I mean it, Grandpa," Hailey said solemnly, setting her chopsticks down. "Until I finish school and can stand on my own two feet, I won't even consider another relationship. I want to stay focused—on myself, on my future, and on taking care of you."
Old Mr. Tang gave a slow, approving nod. "That's a good mindset. You're still young. There's no need to rush into anything. Take your time."
Hailey smiled gently, but she didn't say what she truly thought deep down.
Because the truth was—she wasn't just avoiding relationships for a few years. She had no intention of falling in love again. Ever.
Not after everything she'd been through.
Meanwhile, Ethan Yu had been working non-stop all day at the company.
When he returned to his luxurious penthouse that evening, the moment he stepped through the door, he froze in place.
The house was quiet. Too quiet.
The scent in the air had changed. There was no lingering trace of her shampoo. No faint smell of her jasmine tea. No soft humming from the kitchen. Nothing.
It was as if her presence had been scrubbed out of existence.
A maid walked up cautiously, sensing something off.
"Young Master, dinner is ready," she said softly.
Ethan didn't respond right away. His jaw tightened. After a moment, he slipped off his tailored jacket and flung it carelessly onto the back of the couch.
Then he said, coldly, "Pack up all of her belongings. Every last thing. Send them back to the Tang residence first thing tomorrow."
The maid blinked. "Sir?"
Ethan didn't repeat himself. He simply turned and walked toward the dining room without another word.
He was halfway through his meal when a housekeeper brought the wireless phone over.
"Sir, it's Madam He on the line."
He accepted the phone, his tone flat. "Hello."
"Ethan?" His mother's voice came through with a mix of confusion and worry. "I just spoke with Mr. Tang. He said you and Hailey are getting divorced. Is that true?"
"Yes," Ethan said plainly.
There was a pause. "Why? What happened? Are you the one who wants the divorce?"
"She's the one who asked for it."
"What?" His mother sounded shocked. "Hailey wants the divorce?"
Ethan didn't respond. His silence was confirmation enough.
A moment later, Madam He actually laughed in relief. "If she's the one asking, then that's easy to fix. All you have to do is refuse. You don't have to agree, Ethan."
"I already agreed."
The laughter on the other end died instantly.
She sighed, her voice growing quiet. "So that's how it is… I had always hoped that, over time, you'd start to care about her. That even if you didn't love her at first, you'd eventually grow to feel something. I thought if there was even a sliver of emotion… you wouldn't be willing to let her go. I guess I was wrong."
"It's better this way. For both of us." His voice was calm, detached—too calm.
Because the truth was, he had started to feel something. And that terrified him.
Before those feelings could grow, before he lost control, he needed to cut the tie.
He needed to end it.
"I see," Madam He said softly, still sounding unconvinced. "Well… if it's truly over, then make sure you treat her well on her way out. She's still a child at heart. And she really loved you, Ethan. She loved you with everything she had."
"I'll compensate her. Whatever she wants—she can have it."
"…We'll talk more about this later."
After the call ended, Ethan set the phone down and continued eating as if nothing had happened. But the chill in his eyes, the ice in his voice—left the whole room feeling like winter.
The next morning, before Mrs. Zhang even had the chance to head back to collect Hailey's things, a group of men from Ethan's estate had already arrived at the Tang family residence.
Hailey had slept unusually well the night before. It was the first time in a long while she hadn't woken from nightmares or lain awake staring at the ceiling.
At sunrise, she stepped out onto the balcony, enjoying the crisp morning air. She stretched lazily, soaking in the early warmth.
Then she spotted the movers.
Down in the courtyard, several suitcases, boxes, and storage bags had been neatly arranged near the garden gate. Mrs. Zhang was directing two servants to start moving them inside.
Hailey leaned over the railing. "Mrs. Zhang, what's all that?"
The woman looked up. "It's your luggage, Miss. The Young Master had everything sent over this morning."
Hailey blinked.
So he really did it.
He'd packed up her entire existence from that house and had it shipped over without even a message.
She stared for a moment, then nodded. "I see."
She didn't say anything else.
But deep down, she understood what he meant.
It was Ethan's way of drawing a hard line in the sand. He wasn't just agreeing to divorce. He was making it crystal clear—he wanted nothing more to do with her. No shared belongings. No lingering traces.
Just… gone.
Clean break.
Hailey stood there in the morning sun, her fingers lightly gripping the balcony railing. A breeze caught her long hair, tossing it behind her like silk.
She closed her eyes for a second.
It's better this way, she told herself.
Now we can finally stop hurting each other. Finally start over.
Inside, as Mrs. Zhang helped unpack the boxes, she couldn't stop herself from sighing repeatedly.
"Miss, this all feels so sudden. I still remember how much you loved the Young Master. You'd do anything for him…"
Hailey said nothing. She merely unpacked a stack of sketchbooks and quietly placed them on the desk.
"People say time heals all wounds," Mrs. Zhang murmured, "but… I don't know. Sometimes I think the deeper the love, the harder the scar."
Hailey finally spoke, her voice calm but distant. "That's why I don't plan to love anyone again."
The older woman looked up in alarm. "Miss?"
"I've used up all the love I had in my last life," Hailey whispered, almost to herself. "There's nothing left to give."
Mrs. Zhang didn't fully understand what she meant, but the sadness in her eyes was unmistakable.
Later that afternoon, Hailey sat down at her drafting table and flipped open her latest design sketch.
A brand-new home for orphans.
A place where no child would feel abandoned or unloved again.
She picked up her pencil and began to draw, each line precise, full of purpose. Her past might have been drenched in heartbreak, but this—this was something she could give back to the world.
No more crying over the past.
No more waiting for someone to save her.
From now on, she would save herself.
And maybe, just maybe, save others too.