Chapter 181 Walking Away From Love

The penthouse, once a sanctuary of whispered promises and stolen kisses, now felt hollow, every corner heavy with the echo of what they had almost built. Genevieve's slender hands trembled as she folded the silk blouse he had bought her in Florence, the memory slicing sharper than any blade. Her chestnut hair, loose around her shoulders, caught the late afternoon light filtering through the floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a halo she neither saw nor felt. The suitcase on the bed gaped open, half-full, half-empty, like her heart.