Met My True Love Afrer Escaping the Billionaire Twins

The next morning.

There were only twenty-four hours left until that grand and absurd wedding.

Dragging my body, which was still throbbing with dull pain from the D&C surgery, I returned to the master suite in the Johnson estate for the last time.

The place was filled with the luxury and bustle of pre-wedding preparations.

On the lawn below, workers were setting up white floral arches. The bedroom was packed with couple's items, and stacks of high-end gift boxes tied with white ribbons sat on the table.

In the huge wedding photo on the wall, Gavin wore a tuxedo and looked at me with deep affection, while I smiled like a fool who thought she owned the world.

I walked to the fireplace and lit the wood inside.

The dancing flames illuminated my pale face.

I began to clear out everything related to him from the past seven years, like taking out the trash.

The first thing thrown into the fireplace was the thick kraft paper diary.

It recorded every detail of our love.

[2019, Gavin turned down a multi-million transnational contract to fly back from London overnight for my birthday, personally baking me an imperfect cake.]

The flames licked the paper.

He did make it, and the candlelight and embrace that night were real.

But I later learned that he rushed back because Elena casually mentioned she wanted red velvet cake from a century-old shop in London.

He bought the shop's recipe and gave it to Elena as a souvenir.

And I only deserved the failed product he made for practice, with burnt edges.

Back then, I was moved to tears, not knowing he gave the most expensive "thought" to Elena and left the "practice" scraps for me.

[2021, I was hospitalized, and Gavin stayed by my bed for three days and three nights without closing his eyes, growing stubble.]

This was also true.

But while he guarded me, his hand clutched his phone tightly, his earphones constantly connected to a voice call with Elena.

Just because Elena said she was afraid of the dark alone in Switzerland, he video-called her for three whole nights.

While holding my hand with the IV drip in one hand, he used the other to order a priceless pink diamond for Elena on his phone, just because she said the hospital white was too monotonous and she wanted something sparkly.

So, his love wasn't fake.

It was just too cheap, too crowded, and too clearly distinguished between "primary" and "secondary."

He gave his complete, expensive, unreserved love to Elena.

Then he packaged the remaining, insignificant scraps as "deep affection" and doled them out to me.

And while I was weeping with gratitude, he was probably marveling at his own "generosity" and "balance."

I watched the items carrying beautiful memories turn to ashes in the fire without shedding a tear.

A dead heart sheds no tears.

After disposing of all the letters, photos, and dolls, I took out the black velvet gift box I had prepared long ago.

It was the wedding gift I originally intended for Gavin—a pair of custom cufflinks.

Now, I replaced it with another "grand gift."

I took out the plain diamond ring stained with my blood from my pocket.

When I fell down the stairs yesterday, it cut my palm and witnessed the departure of the flesh and blood in my womb.

The blood had dried, dark red stains clinging to the cheap diamond, looking shocking.

I threw it into the box.

Then, I put in a legal document that had already been notarized—[Declaration of Severance of Relationship] and [Commitment to Waive All Property Gifted by the Johnson Family].

At the end of this document, I signed my name and pressed a red fingerprint.

After doing all this, I closed the lid and tied it with a black ribbon.

I called the estate butler.

"Please deliver this to the President's Office of the Johnson Group. It must be opened by Mr. Gavin Johnson personally. Just say it's... a pre-wedding surprise."

The butler took the box without asking questions, just bowing respectfully.

He didn't see the card hidden in the interlayer of the gift box.

It didn't have my name on it, just a line of neat but resolute English:

[To Gavin: From the person you never truly knew.]

Watching the butler walk away, I took one last look around this luxurious but cold prison.

Goodbye, Gavin.

Goodbye, my absurd, laughable, and self-sentimental seven years of youth.

3:00 PM.

I changed out of my designer clothes and into a simple windbreaker, carrying a marching pack, and appeared at the private tarmac of JFK International Airport.

A transport plane painted with the Red Cross logo was waiting for takeoff.

The huge engines roared, surrounded by rushing medical personnel and mountains of relief supplies.

"Dr. Ivy! Over here!"

The team leader waved at me, looking anxious, his voice somewhat broken in the wind.

"The war situation in Damascus has escalated; we need to take off immediately. Are you sure you want to go with us? That's a real battlefield; people die at any moment."

I walked up the ramp facing the whistling wind, without looking back at the prosperity behind me.

"I'm sure."

"Compared to there, New York is the hell that suffocates me."

As soon as I sat down, I took out my phone.

Dozens of missed calls flashed on the screen.

All from Gavin.

And countless iMessages popped up:

[Ivy, where are you? The wedding rehearsal is about to start; the priest is waiting.]

[Stop throwing a tantrum and come back. Elena is here too; she says she wants to see you in that dress. Don't disappoint her.]

[Kalen said he didn't find you in the bedroom, only a pile of ashes. What on earth is wrong with you?]

Looking at these words, I only found them incredibly ironic.

Even now, he still thought I would choose him, still thought I loved him.

He had no idea that I was no longer in his script.

I didn't reply.

I calmly took the SIM card out of the phone.

I snapped it with my fingers.

*Snap—*

The small card carrying all my past connections and concerns broke into two pieces.

I raised my hand and threw them into the trash bag.

Even if there were bullets and plagues ahead.

As long as there was no Gavin, no Johnson family.

For me, it was heaven.

"Let's take off."

I said to the captain.

The plane taxied, accelerated, and soared into the clouds.

Through the porthole, I watched the bustling, indifferent city below grow smaller and smaller until it was completely hidden by the clouds.

Gavin.

This time, I really don't want you anymore.