Those who don't love me, I don't want them anymore

The air froze.

Lucas’s face turned pale, his fists tightening at his sides, yet he said

nothing.

I turned away and went into the kitchen to turn off the faucet.

Only then did I realize the water had overflowed, running down the white

tiles and pooling at my feet.

Suddenly, a hand reached from behind me and twisted the valve shut.

Lucas’s voice brushed against my ear, low and tight with restraint.

“Are you really going to leave?”

I didn’t look back.

“Yes,” I said softly. “I already gave you my heart. What else is there

for me to stay for?”

He was silent for a few seconds.

When he finally spoke, his tone was a bitter blend of laughter and sigh.

“You’re too naive, love. Without me, you’re nothing.”

I turned to face him.

“Then after I’m gone,” I said, meeting his gaze, “let’s see whose heart

stops first.”

I picked up my bag and walked to the door.

The moment it closed behind me, a gust of wind swept in, brushing

against my face.

And right then, I understood—

I had once saved his heart, but now, I was finally learning to save my

own.

Nova’s laughter still lingered in the air, sharp and thin, pricking at

my eardrums like needles.

I stood there, barely breathing.

That dress.

That color.

That fragment of a past he had once buried—

now draped across another woman’s body.

It hit me then: this house had never belonged to me.

I had lived here for five years—

washing his shirts, cooking his meals, sorting through his files—

a machine disguised as a wife, programmed to serve.

And even that title, wife, turned out to be nothing more than a

convenient lie.

Nova leaned against his chest, her face upturned, smiling.

Her lips brushed his jaw in a featherlight kiss.

“You once told me,” she murmured, “that after your surgery, you never

wanted to remember those dark days again.”

“Yes,” Lucas answered quietly, his gaze soft, almost tender—so tender I

barely recognized him.

“I just want to live again.”

For a moment, I nearly laughed.

Live again?

The only reason his heart still beat today was because I had spent those

endless nights begging, pleading, searching for a way to keep him alive.

I remembered that snowy night at the hospital—

the hallway lights going out one by one,

my knees pressed against the freezing tiles as I signed the

authorization form.

“Are you willing to donate part of your own tissue? The match rate is

low, but it might save him.”

I hadn’t hesitated.

Back then, I believed love meant giving away pieces of your heart—

even if it had to be cut out by hand.

But now, that same heart gave me no warmth at all.

“Me?”

Nova’s voice pulled me back from the memory.

She tilted her head, lips curling in that sugar-sweet, taunting smile.

“Do you think this dress is pretty? Lucas said this color reminds him of

spring—fresh, young, alive.”

Alive.

I almost laughed again.

So that’s what I was now—

an empty shell of the woman who once saved him.

“It’s pretty,” I said at last.

Then I lifted my head, meeting her gaze, my tone calm—almost gentle.

“But that color’s too bright. It’s not really suitable for being around

a heart patient. It might... excite his heartbeat.”

The air went still.

Nova’s smile froze on her lips.

Lucas’s brows drew together, a faint twitch betraying the discomfort he

didn’t want to show.

I looked at him and added, almost casually,

“Didn’t the doctor say your heart still can’t handle too much

stimulation?”

His expression shifted—subtle, but unmistakable.

That was the past he never wanted mentioned again—

the night of the failed heartbeat, the surgery that nearly ended him,

the same fear I had lived with for five long years.

He never thought I’d bring it up.

Not in front of her.