Chapter 20
After talking to Joseph, Harry became increasingly aware of just how despicable he had been in the past.
Again and again, he scrolled through Samantha’s social media, watching as she became more and more. successful, as well as more and more attractive. The guilt Harry felt got so intense that it felt like he was
going to explode.
He wanted to explain himself. He wanted to tell her that he had woken up, that he no longer had anything
to do with Lydia.
Every day, Harry waited downstairs at Samantha’s apartment building, longing for just one chance to
speak to her.
Rain was pouring down heavily, draping the whole city in a damp gloom.
Harry was so soaked that his expensive suit was clinging to him. His hair was plastered messily to his
forehead as he stood downstairs.
He had been there for seven days in a row, waiting from morning till night, just to see her once.
He didn’t even know what exactly he was holding onto anymore. But he did know that he couldn’t live
without her now.
“Sam…” His voice was so hoarse that it barely sounded like someone speaking.
When he saw that familiar figure step out of the building, he immediately took a few steps forward to
catch up. “I’m sorry, Sam. I was wrong. Please come back, okay?”
Holding a black umbrella, Samantha brushed past his shoulder without even so much as a sideways
glance, not stopping at all.
Raindrops slid off the umbrella, splashing against the ground.
She didn’t even look at him as she said calmly, “Mr. Wright, things between us are over.”
Harry reached out to grab her, only to catch a handful of cold, empty air.
Watching her walk away, he felt like a knife was being twisted into his heart.
The next day, Harry sold the villa they had once lived in together and moved into a high-rise that was directly across from Samantha’s apartment.
The first thing he would do every morning was stand in front of the window and watch Lionel wait for her downstairs. They would walk out together, side by side, talking and laughing as he took her to work.
In the evenings, he would watch them return together, carrying fresh groceries. Sometimes, there would even be a bouquet of flowers.
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Like a pitiful voyeur, he used binoculars to watch the warm glow that was coming from the opposite window. He would watch as Samantha busied herself in the kitchen while Lionel sat on the couch reviewing her draft designs, occasionally moving over to kiss her on the cheek.
The warmth that had once belonged to him now belonged entirely to someone else.
At night, Harry sat alone in his empty living room, looking through old photo albums. In the photos, Samantha was always quietly standing in the corner, smiling at the camera. Yet, he realized that he had never truly looked at her properly.
It was then that he realized he couldn’t even remember what she liked to eat, what colors she loved, or even her birthday.
He traced the smile of the woman in the photos, as if he was trying to carve her into his memories. “Sam, I’m sorry…”
A tear slid down his cheek, and he eventually fell asleep clutching the photo tightly.
Harry wanted to apologize and stood outside her apartment building the entire night. But when she
passed by on her way home from work, she didn’t even spare him a glance.
He said, “Samantha! If you don’t want to see me, then I’ll stand here waiting until you do!”
He refused to give up and continued to wait there stubbornly. But that night, a heavy storm descended.
The next morning, a passing security guard found him collapsed by the flower bed, burning with a fever.
The guard quickly rushed him to the hospital.
In the hospital room, he opened his eyes weakly and immediately said, “Did she come?”
Jack hesitated for a moment before saying awkwardly, “She had her assistant send this over.”
He handed over a small slip of paper, on which the words “wishing you a speedy recovery” were written
coldly.
Harry stared at the note for a while before he suddenly laughed. His eyes turned red. “She doesn’t even
want to hate me anymore.”
When his fever finally broke, Harry stood on the hospital rooftop, looking toward the direction of
Samantha’s apartment.
He thought of the countless nights she had waited for him to come home, of the shirts she had quietly
ironed for him and of the soup she would make for him whenever his stomach ached.
And yet, all he gave her in return was coldness, neglect, and betrayal.
Taking out his phone, he called his lawyer.
His voice was eerily calm. “Add one more clause to the property transfer agreement. Transfer all my
Chapter 20
shares in the Wright Corporation to Joseph, to be managed by Samantha on his behalf.”
After hanging up, he took one last look at the apartment, which was glowing with warm light in the distance, and left.
