Seven Days to Say Goodbye

I was three months pregnant when the car crash happened.

In those final moments of fading consciousness, I frantically dialed Damian’s private, encrypted line—the one meant only for emergencies.

He never picked up.

By the time I was rushed into surgery, I received a crushing blow: Damian had forcibly reassigned my lead private physician to the South District. He needed the best doctor to treat his childhood sweetheart, Evelyn, who had just been widowed.

When I finally drifted awake through a haze of agony, my trembling fingers swiped open Instagram. I saw Evelyn’s latest post:

“I knew that no matter the distance or the time, Damian would move heaven and earth to reach me. He even brought his Chief Physician just to help me heal from my grief.”

In the accompanying photo, Damian—a man known for his cold, lethal eyes—was gazing at the woman beside him with a tenderness I hadn't seen in years.

While I was clawing my way back from the brink of death, fighting to save our child, my husband was playing protector to another pregnant woman.

A hollow, self-deprecating laugh escaped my lips. Without a second thought, I slid the wedding band off my ring finger. I opened my inbox and hit "Confirm" on the invitation from the world’s most elite International Finance Institute.

If Evelyn is all he cares about, I’ll give them my blessing.

In seven days, I will vanish from his world forever—and I’m taking my baby with me.

Damian finally returned to the estate shortly after I sent my confirmation email.

I was sitting on the sofa when he walked in. The moment his sharp eyes landed on me, they frosted over with suppressed rage.

"Selena," he began, his voice tight. "Are you satisfied now?"

"I just received a summons from the Commission."

"They’re claiming that as the Moretti heir, I misappropriated family medical resources, leading to a shortage. Even the Don gave me a dressing down. In this entire family, who else would be petty enough to snitch on me but you?"

He strode over, looming over me like a shadow, his face twisted with disgust.

"Evelyn just lost her husband. She’s pregnant and vulnerable. You’ve never been a mother, Selena; you have no idea how hard it is for her. Stop acting out. Be sensible for once, okay?"

The corners of my mouth quirked into a ghost of a smile, though my chest felt like it was being hollowed out.

Evelyn lost a husband, so he became her guardian.

And me? I nearly lost our child, yet I was merely a "nuisance."

"I’m sorry. It was my fault," I replied tonelessly.

Damian froze.

He had clearly prepared for a screaming match—he was ready for the accusations and the tears. My sudden composure left him visibly unsettled, flickering between irritation and unease.

He exhaled a long sigh, attempting a pivot toward reconciliation.

"As long as you understand. Here—I picked this out specifically for you. Top-tier silk. You’ll love it."

He handed me a pink silk scarf from a high-end luxury brand.

My eyes burned.

Only half an hour ago, I had seen that very scarf on Evelyn’s feed. It was crumpled in a corner in the background of her photo.

Her caption read: “Damian keeps stuffing these dated rags down my throat. So tacky—I wouldn’t even give this to a beggar to use as a muffler!”

Meanwhile, Evelyn was wearing the custom ruby ring Damian had promised me for my birthday—a symbol of his gratitude for my ten years of devotion.

He had once told me, "This ruby represents my truest heart. Only the woman I love most is worthy of it."

Now, he was offering me Evelyn’s discarded trash as a "gift," while giving my promise to someone else.

"What is it? You don't like it?" he asked, frowning at my silence.

I folded the scarf neatly. "I love it," I lied, flashing a practiced, elegant smile.

He looked relieved. As he turned toward his study, he asked over his shoulder, "By the way, you were calling me like a maniac the other day. What was that about?"

I buried the cold deadness in my eyes. "Nothing. I just wanted to know if you were coming home for dinner."

The moment the door clicked shut, my phone rang. It was Professor Clark.

"Selena, I received your confirmation. You realize that once you join the Lausanne Institute, there’s no turning back. Are you certain?"

"I've never been more sure."

Professor Clark sounded delighted. "Excellent. I’ll have a team pick you up in seven days."