After arriving at the hotel, Chase unpacked and collapsed onto the bed, sleeping soundly. Thick curtains blocked out the setting sun. He awoke to darkness. The unfamiliar room disoriented him for a moment. He showered, opened his laptop, and began working on his study abroad preparations. His professor had sent him contact information for a mentor at Darovia Medical School; he needed to reach out beforehand. Chase knew some basic Darovian, but to live there, he needed proper instruction. He used his card to enroll in a language course, then checked his account. Only his old scholarship funds remained; the Quinn family had covered his mother's final medical expenses. He still had some scholarship money left, a debt he intended to repay. He needed to find a way to support himself.

He reopened a long-dormant blog, containing essays from his school days. His writing had always been well-regarded; classmates had frequently asked him to ghostwrite love letters. He used to post regularly, charging a small fee from his second entry onwards. To his surprise, people were still paying to read his work. Even more surprisingly, a significant sum was awaiting withdrawal. He withdrew it all. He found his phone under the bed—it must have fallen there while he slept. The screen was unresponsive at first, but powered up after charging. As soon as it reconnected to the network, messages and missed calls flooded in. He assumed they were from his professor, perhaps with more details about the Darovia program. Instead, they were all from Wendy. The messages were a torrent of demands: "Joy has a fever and needs porridge. Where are you? Why aren’t you home? Where’s the rice? Are you seriously throwing a tantrum right now? A kid is sick and you’re sulking? Get back here!"

Chase laughed. Joy was Henry’s child, not his. Why should he care? The house was Wendy's; she'd lived there five years and didn't even know where the rice was kept. It was laughable. They were getting divorced; further entanglement was undesirable. He didn't reply. Wendy persisted. Just as he was about to put the phone down, it rang again—this time, her sister, Stella. Stella immediately berated him: "You really have no conscience, do you? A child’s sick, and you don’t even care? My sister told you to come back and make porridge! The whole family’s waiting on you!"

Chase frowned. "Who's waiting on me?"

"Wendy, Henry, Joy, and me. That’s four people! Get back here and cook. Joy wants a homemade pizza. She doesn’t like the ones from restaurants. You make them.”

The demanding tone was almost absurd. Chase sat up straighter. "First, Joy isn't my child. I have no obligation to care for her. Second, if you want to wait for me, go ahead. I won’t be coming. And lastly, pizza is medically unsuitable for a sick child; it's difficult to digest.”

Stella was stunned. "Is that Chase? Let me say a few words to him." Visibly annoyed, she handed the phone to Henry. "Chase, we haven’t met, but I want to apologize. I shouldn’t have entered your home without permission. It’s just that Joy is sick and uncooperative. If it bothers you, I’ll leave with her. But you shouldn’t avoid your own home because of us.”

Henry's words put Chase on the defensive, making him sound petty. Years of appeasing Wendy and his naturally conciliatory nature left him struggling for a response. But he wouldn't return. "Mr. Henry, we haven't met because when I rescued Wendy from that accident, you were already gone. Regardless, we don't need to meet."

From the background, Stella shouted, "What do you mean ‘his home’? That house belongs to my sister! She can bring whoever she wants! What right does he have to make decisions?”

"Stella," Wendy's voice cut in sharply, "Enough."

But Stella continued, "Am I wrong? You bought that house. What’s it got to do with him? He’s just a leech trying to scam money!" She'd always been prejudiced against him, and her animosity had intensified after the marriage. Stella idolized Henry and believed Chase had usurped his place. Their mother had repeatedly explained that Henry had married someone else overseas, but Stella refused to believe it.

Chase didn't need to hear more. "She's right. That's not my home." He hung up and silenced his phone. Stella and Henry stared at the disconnected line, momentarily stunned. "Did he just hang up on me?! Does he even want to come back?!"

Wendy, however, felt something else—panic. She couldn't explain it, but sensed she'd missed something crucial. She'd called Chase that afternoon to apologize for forgetting his birthday and planned to take him to dinner. She hadn't anticipated this escalation. Years of wielding power had warped her temperament; she couldn't humble herself to reconcile with Chase.

His screen lit up with a new message: "Get back here right now. If you don’t, I’m changing the fingerprint and password. You’ll never get in again. A clear threat.”

Chase shook his head, sighing helplessly. They'd already signed the divorce papers. If she wanted to revoke his access, so be it. He replied, "Okay."

Wendy, furious, called immediately. He didn't answer. His desire to write had vanished. He sat motionless before his computer, stiff and unyielding. He couldn't comprehend how his life had unfolded. If he hadn't married Wendy, he might be a renowned surgeon by now, showcasing his skills in the operating room. The dim room was illuminated only by the computer screen, casting shadows on his colorless profile. He was undeniably handsome; girls had pursued him since middle school. But he'd never had time for love; his focus had always been on his studies. He never wanted to squander his potential. Until he met Wendy. Wendy wasn't the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen, but her tears... they'd fallen directly onto his heart at the worst moment of his life. They hurt too much for him to refuse. It was a cycle with no escape. If he hadn't married her, his mother wouldn't have received the care she needed; she might have died sooner. There was no way out. Thank God it only lasted five years. He'd made it through. Now he could start over. His love for Wendy had been eroded by years of disappointment; only regret remained—regret that he never received her love, perhaps even a touch of envy toward Henry. His phone lit up again. Wendy wrote, "I’m giving you one last chance. Tell me where you are. I’ll come get you.”

Chase stared at the message, confused. Come get me? For what? To watch you and Henry play happy family?