Chapter 3

Lena POV

I don't know how I made it back to the Manhattan villa.

Everywhere held traces of my life with Ethan. The slippers by the door, side by side. The sofa I'd picked out. And that room on the second floor. The private architecture studio Ethan had spent a fortune building for my eighteenth birthday.

I pushed open the door and walked wearily upstairs.

However, when I reached the second floor, I froze.

The door to my treasured studio was wide open. Maids were going in and out, carrying my expensive German drafting table. My rare architecture books. Piles of drawings I'd poured my heart into.

Vivian stood in the middle of the room, wearing an oversized men's shirt. Ethan's shirt. She held a cup of hot milk, looking at me innocently.

"Oh, Lena, you're back. I'm so sorry. I had the maids clean the room today. These things looked old, so I thought they were trash you didn't want and had them thrown in the storage room. You're not upset with me, are you?"

"Stop!" My whole body trembled as I rushed over to block the maids. "Who gave you permission to touch my things?!"

Vivian jumped in fright, backing up a step, her eyes instantly reddening. "Lena, I'm sorry... I didn't know this was your room. Ethan said this room has the best lighting and is most suitable for my dance studio..."

"This is my studio!" I said, eyes red, like a small beast protecting its food.

"What's all this noise in the middle of the night?"

A deep, cold voice came from behind. Ethan strode upstairs, his brow furrowed.

Vivian immediately threw herself into his arms like a frightened rabbit, her voice choked. "Ethan, did I make Lena angry? I'm sorry, I don't want this room anymore. I'll move out tomorrow..."

"Nonsense." Ethan put his arm around her waist, patting her soothingly, then looked coldly at me. "Lena, Vivian is a professional dancer. She needs a practice room with good lighting and space. Can't you draw those plans of yours anywhere? Clear out the room for her."

I looked at him in disbelief.

"Ethan, have you forgotten how this studio came to be?" My voice trembled. "This was your eighteenth birthday gift to me! You said this was my exclusive space, that no one was allowed to touch it!"

A flash of discomfort crossed Ethan's eyes, but it was quickly replaced by coldness. "It's just a room. When did you become so selfish and petty? Vivian is my fiancée, and this villa is mine. You're going to fight with her over these things?"

Selfish? Petty?

Looking at this familiar yet strange man before me, I suddenly felt utterly ridiculous.

He trampled on my heart's work to please another woman, then turned around and accused me of being selfish.

"Fine." I closed my eyes, swallowing the sourness in my throat. "I'll clear it out."

I turned around without looking at Ethan again, bending down to pick up the scattered drawings from the floor, one by one.

Ethan watched my thin, stubborn back, an inexplicable irritation flashing through his heart. He stepped forward, trying to pull me. "Let the maids clean up tomorrow. You should rest early."

"Don't touch me." I avoided his hand, my tone as calm as stagnant water. "Don't dirty your hands, and don't dirty my drawings."

Ethan's hand froze in midair, his expression instantly darkening. "Lena, do you have to speak to me with this strange attitude?"

"I wouldn't dare." I stood up holding the drawings. "I'm just clearing space for Vivian."

That night, I didn't sleep. I packed everything from the studio into boxes.

I was leaving in two weeks. I wouldn't leave any of these things behind.