She Left Without Hate, But He Lived With Regret

Vivienne stood at the doorway, watching. A cold, piercing chill slithered through her veins.

She lingered for a moment, then let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh.

What was she feeling sentimental about? Vivienne, weren’t you always just an outsider?

Without another glance, she turned and left.

For the next few days, she didn’t step foot in the hospital. She buried herself in finalizing the paperwork, tying up every loose end.

Three days before her departure, Rafael was discharged.

The moment she entered the house, she was greeted by an all-too-familiar scene. Freya was carefully helping Rafael onto the couch; her touch was gentle, and her expression was full of concern.

Rafael’s gaze snapped to Vivienne the second she walked in. His expression darkened.

“I just came back to grab a few things. I won’t be in your way.”

She barely spared him a glance as she turned away. “You two go on.”

“Vivienne!”

Rafael shoved Freya aside and limped toward her, his voice sharp with frustration. “Can’t you even look at me properly?”

“I was in a car accident! I was hospitalized for days; do you even care? If it weren’t for Freya’s timely blood donation, I might have—”

Freya bit her lip and gently rolled up her sleeve, revealing faint bruises beneath the delicate skin.

Rafael let out a cold laugh.

“But you, Vivienne… You didn’t visit me. Not once. You have no heart. You’re completely cold-blooded.”

Vivienne tilted her head, watching the man before she seethed with rage. Amusement flickered in her eyes.

“Don’t you have Freya?”

“You love her, and she loves you. So why does it matter whether I look at you or not? Do you expect such respect from a mere servant?”

Rafael let out a sharp, bitter laugh, his fury barely restrained.

Freya, sensing his temper spiraling, quickly stepped in and helped him upstairs, murmuring soothing words.

Vivienne stood still, her gaze following his retreating figure. Absentmindedly, she touched her arm.

To donate blood for him, she had pushed her frail body to its limits; her limbs had trembled uncontrollably, sweat dampening her skin.

Her entire arm was swollen, but he never noticed.

Forget it—there was no need for him to know.

She was leaving soon anyway. If he wanted to hate her, so be it.

Ever since Freya had donated blood, Rafael’s affection for her had only deepened. The pretense of loving Vivienne had crumbled entirely.

The media feasted on their so-called romance. Everywhere she turned, there were photos, images of Rafael kissing Freya in public, of him holding her close. Their love, displayed for the world to see.

Before, Rafael had cared enough about his reputation to keep such images out of the public eye.

Now, he no longer bothered. In the comments, he openly declared Freya as the love of his life.

Freya, glowing with pride, accompanied him on strolls through the garden, by his side during hospital visits.

Lost in their affection, they embraced and kissed in public without restraint.

For days, the media was flooded with their photos, sparking heated discussions.

Vivienne heard enough whispers to last a lifetime.

“At the very least, she’s still his fiancée. This is just too humiliating.”

“So tragic. For a woman to end up like this....”

“It’s all that scumbag Rafael’s fault!”

But to Vivienne, those comments were fleeting and insignificant, disappearing before they could leave a mark.

The next time she saw Rafael was the day before his birthday.

“You’re coming,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Grandfather has already decided that our wedding date will be announced at the banquet. Don’t even think about running away.”

His expression darkened. “Freya will be there too. Take care of her.”

Before Vivienne could respond, Rafael added coldly, “And when you make the cake, be mindful. Freya doesn’t like sweets. Use strawberries; she’s allergic to mangoes.”

Vivienne nodded, but a sharp pain tore through her chest as if an old wound had been ripped open.

Once, he had known her preferences just as clearly.

And now…

Forget it.

She turned toward the kitchen without another word.

The higher-ups had already informed her she would be leaving in the next couple of days.

Since this would be the last birthday cake she ever made for Rafael, there was no point in lingering on anything else.