Chapter 2

Lila Hart POV

My heart felt like it was being squeezed by an invisible hand, then slowly submerged in ice water. The cold spread to my limbs, freezing everything.

On the dining table sat a thermal container I'd brought before leaving.

Inside was chicken soup I'd simmered for three hours, hoping Nina could have something warm after her surgery.

Ethan noticed it too. He stood up, his long legs carrying him straight over.

"Click."

The container opened. Rich aroma instantly filled the space.

"Smells good," he commented.

A ridiculous hope flickered in my heart. Perhaps...

The next second, he picked up the container and tilted it.

That soup I'd so carefully prepared for my daughter—soup she never got to taste—he poured every last drop into the golden retriever's gleaming steel bowl without hesitation.

The thick broth hit the bottom with a muffled "plop."

"Fluffy got scared today. He deserves something good." Ethan's tone was casual.

The golden retriever wagged its tail excitedly and immediately buried its head in the bowl, making happy gulping sounds.

That sound was like a dull knife, sawing back and forth across my already shredded heart.

The world went completely silent.

From my worn bag, I pulled out the divorce agreement I'd printed but never touched since. I gently placed it on the coffee table in front of him.

Ethan's gaze shifted from the bowl to the papers. He sneered.

"You're throwing another tantrum? Lila, can't you give it a rest for one day?"

He seemed to find my very existence unbearable. He waved his hand dismissively, about to sweep those pages to the floor.

But his hand struck something I'd been clutching in my palm.

The card warmed by my daughter's hand.

The card flew out lightly, landing directly in Fluffy's water bowl nearby.

I could clearly see Nina's red crayon heart—drawn with all her strength—instantly blur and fade upon touching the water, dissolving into a dirty smudge along with the crooked words "Daddy I love you."

That was the last tangible trace Nina left in this world.

Ethan knew nothing of what he'd done. He didn't even glance down, still looking at me with that superior attitude, probably waiting for me to break down crying and begging pitifully like I'd done countless times before.

But I didn't.

I didn't cry. I didn't make a scene.

I just slowly, step by step, walked to that water bowl. Under the golden retriever's puzzled gaze, I bent down and solemnly fished out that soaked, ruined piece of paper from the cold water.

Then, right in front of him, I carefully folded that wet scrap and placed it in my breast pocket.

Ethan Foster, from this moment on.

You and I—we're mortal enemies.