My Final Wish Is to Walk Away from You

As he was leaving, he called me back, his eyes filled with sorrow.

“Nina, wherever you go, tell Grandpa. If that day truly comes, Grandpa will come to see you off on your final journey…” My nose burned, and tears welled up.

I wiped my eyes and nodded with a faint smile.

After burying my parents, I packed up all my belongings, preparing to donate them to charity.

The marriage certificate slipped to the floor. In the photo, Xavier held me close, his gaze tender and full of love.

Five years later, that same face looked at me only with contempt.

Sometimes, even I couldn’t understand—how could I, who prided myself on my judgment, have made such a mistake?

If only I had asked one more question back then, maybe things would be different now.

Maybe I was just too greedy.

For as long as I could remember, Xavier had been the most dazzling figure among New York’s elite.

Handsome, brilliant, and effortlessly charming, he exuded a noble confidence that drew everyone in.

Wherever he went, admirers followed.

Unlike the other heiresses, I didn’t wear heavy makeup, wasn’t skilled at socializing, and preferred to keep to myself.

I only dared to steal glances at him from afar—over a book, across a crowded banquet hall.

When he was twenty, an earthquake struck while he was watching a play. The theater collapsed, and he was injured, slipping into a coma.

I was the doctor assigned to care for him.

Fortunately, his injuries weren’t serious, though he lost all memory of the events before the quake.

When he woke up, the first person he saw was me.

He pulled me into a sudden embrace. “You saved me, didn’t you? Without you, I would’ve died…”

I froze, flustered, and quickly waved my hands, insisting it wasn’t that serious—it was my duty as a doctor.

But the very next day, Xavier announced to everyone that he would marry me.

People struggled just to catch a glimpse of him, yet he wanted to see me eight times a day.

He despised waiting and early mornings, yet he insisted on driving me to and from the hospital daily, even preparing my meals himself.

We skied in the Alps and watched the Northern Lights in Iceland.

He flew to Switzerland, spent a billion dollars to buy a rough pink diamond, and spent months designing an engagement ring for me.

My long-hidden crush suddenly returned, and I felt as if I were living in a dream.

Our families had already planned a marriage alliance, and since we were in love, we quickly held a grand wedding.

We became the golden couple of New York’s social circles.

Every time he looked at me with that deep affection, I felt God had blessed me—allowing true love to blossom in a marriage of convenience.

But dreams always end.

On our second wedding anniversary, our friends booked a hotel to celebrate.

Xavier arrived late. When everyone urged him to drink the nuptial wine, he sat still, his face dark.

I squeezed his hand, asking softly what was wrong.

The next second, he shoved me away, splashing red wine all over my face.

“Nina, are you comfortable sitting in this stolen seat as Mrs. Spencer? How dare you celebrate here?!”

His voice was colder than the wine, his eyes brimming with mockery and loathing.

Gasps filled the room. My face burned painfully, my eyes swelling shut.

My carefully chosen gown was drenched in red. I stared at him in confusion and disbelief.

How could Xavier, who once knew me so well, forget my severe allergy to alcohol?

He showed no remorse—only threw a stack of photos at my face.

“The person who saved me that day wasn’t you. You played me for a fool. All this—just to marry into the Spencer family and lift your own.”