Vanessa Sterling spent an entire night sorting through her emotions.

She shouldn’t have held onto any illusions in the first place. Losing them just meant returning to her previously solitary life, and with that thought, it seemed like there wasn’t anything she couldn’t overcome.

Early the next morning, Vanessa Sterling left the hotel.

Miles Sterling received a call from the hotel staff, informing him of Vanessa’s checkout, and he promptly left as well.

Vanessa returned home. Though it was her own house, she hesitated outside for a long time before mustering the courage to input the code into the door lock.

She was somewhat afraid that Richard Sheffield might still be inside, scared that the scene from last night would replay itself.

When she anxiously pushed open the door and saw the shocking scene inside, Vanessa froze at the entrance.

The room looked as if it had been ransacked by robbers, with things scattered messily all over.

Richard’s belongings had almost all been removed.

In her mind, Vanessa could picture the scene of Richard smashing things last night.

"Meow—" Blackie emerged from the corner, its cautious tone revealing a hint of fear, as if frightened by the scene from last night.

Vanessa bent down to scoop Blackie into her arms, staring at the two large words written in red paint on the white wall of the living room—"Bitch."

In the bedroom, messy dye was splattered across the bed and floor, and horrifying patterns were drawn on the bathroom mirror using lipstick. Lipstick tubes and caps of various shades lay shattered on the ground along with makeup...

Miles noticed the door was ajar and assessed the state of the room from the entrance. Seeing the mess inside and the glaring words on the wall, his heart ached slightly.

The person he couldn’t even bear to touch was persecuted by a man who didn’t know how to cherish her, and the anger within him stirred a sense of impulsiveness...

Vanessa came out of the bedroom, and upon seeing the shadow of a person by the hallway, her body trembled slightly.

Miles hesitated for a moment, collected his thoughts, and said, "... My place is empty. Why don’t you come over for now? I’ll find someone to help you clean up."

Without thinking, Vanessa immediately refused, "No, please leave."

Miles opened his mouth to speak but paused, pursing his lips before stepping back from the doorway. Clumsily comforting her, he said, "... Don’t be too upset. A man like him isn’t worth it."

Vanessa’s movement to close the door halted; she looked up at Miles, as if finding such words coming from him quite strange.

Or perhaps, the Miles without his lost memories seemed a completely different person from the Miles before.

After the door closed, Miles stood at the entrance for a long time.

He couldn’t think of any way to help Vanessa. At that moment, he felt even more furious inside than she did.

Half an hour later, in an art exhibition training studio, about a dozen men dressed in black stormed in without a word, starting to spray graffiti on the paintings hanging on the walls.

The staff were dumbfounded for a moment, only reacting after a few seconds, shouting, "Who are you?! Stop immediately!"

One bald man said, "Who are we? Ask your boss whom they’ve offended!"

Hearing the commotion, Richard Sheffield came downstairs, a bandage on his forehead covering a wound.

Seeing his beloved paintings downstairs being destroyed, his eyes widened, his feet faltering as he clutched the staircase railing tightly to avoid rolling down the stairs.