CHAPTER 115: CHAPTER 115- HUMILIATED.

Lilian carried the cake home with a smile, her heart as light as the frosting she’d just finished. It was still early, so she took her time making the apartment perfect.

Candlelight.

Soft, warm scents drifting from the aromatherapy.

Dinner from his favorite restaurant, delivered right on time.

And herself—dressed in a flowing white tulle dress.

By seven o’clock, Morrison arrived.

The moment she saw him, Lilian’s face lit up. She ran into his arms, pressed a kiss to his lips, and whispered with a smile,

"Happy birthday."

Morrison’s gaze swept over her—her dress, the candles, the scent in the air. A flicker of surprise passed through his deep eyes.

He hadn’t expected her to go to such lengths for his birthday...

Especially not tonight. Not when the reason he’d come clashed so painfully with the world she had prepared for him.

Lilian didn’t notice the heaviness in his expression. She took his arm and urged gently,

"Go wash up. Dinner’s ready."

His eyes lingered on her face instead.

A touch of makeup, light but perfect.

Fair skin, luminous eyes, delicate features he could never quite forget. Her pearl earrings caught the candlelight, matching the white of her dress so well.

He’d never seen her wear this dress before. Didn’t know when she’d gotten it.

White—pure as a bride’s gown.

The sight made his already unsettled heart twist tighter.

Talking about something was one thing.

Doing it... was something else entirely.

Like marriage.

After that night with his classmate—the night he’d come home from drinks and collapsed into bed—he’d woken from a dream in the middle of the night. In the dream, he was married. He didn’t remember the bride’s face, but the thought of spending the rest of his life bound to one woman had filled him with a suffocating fear.

And that fear had never left.

He was used to freedom. To leaving whenever he wanted. He had once believed he could marry her, willingly. But now, faced with the reality of it, he was afraid.

The one who promised to marry her was him.

The one about to walk away... was also him.

Selfish. Cruel. He knew it.

But his own feelings had won.

He lowered his eyes, forcing the words out.

"Lilian."

Her smile faltered.

He swallowed hard, each word tasting like ash.

"Let’s break up."

He looked away, unable to meet her eyes.

He didn’t have to.

He already knew what expression she must be wearing right now.

Lilian had been smiling—radiant, warm—her arm looped through his.

But the moment his words sank in, that sweetness froze.

She stared at him, as if she hadn’t heard right.

But when his voice echoed again in her mind, the smile began to fade.

Bit by bit.

Along with every trace of color from her face.

The bright, lively girl from just seconds ago turned pale in an instant.

Her hand slipped from his arm.

She took a small step back, her teeth sinking into her lower lip.

In the space of a single heartbeat, she’d fallen from heaven into hell.

One second, she’d been anticipating this evening—waiting to celebrate his birthday.

The next, she was being cast aside.

And yet, in the middle of this emotional freefall, Lilian clung to the lessons her mother had drilled into her since childhood:

No matter how bad it gets—do not cry.

Do not make a scene.

Do not lose control.

If it’s already bad news, tears and hysteria will only strip away the last of your dignity.

So even as her eyes filled instantly with tears, she forced them back.

She straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and let out a quiet laugh.

"Alright."

No sobbing.

No begging.

No accusations.

Morrison’s head snapped toward her, startled. She was smiling—brightly, almost too brightly.

"Even though we’ve broken up," she said gently, "I still want to thank you. Thank you for teaching me so much."

Thank you for teaching me what it means to love someone.

Thank you for letting me taste the sweetness of love... and the bitterness that follows.

While Morrison was still reeling at her calmness, she smiled again.

"Sorry, I have something to take care of. I’ll head out first."

Then she lifted her skirt with quiet elegance and walked out the door—leaving him alone in the warm, romantic apartment she’d prepared just for him, his world tilting in the silence she left behind.

Outside, Lilian didn’t stop for a single step.

The white tulle gown Bert had designed for her was meant for galas, its hem long and sweeping. She clutched the fabric in one trembling hand, stumbling her way out of the building.

Messy.

Humiliated.

Her face streaked with tears.

She hadn’t cried in front of Morrison.

She’d kept her chin high, her voice steady, clinging to the last shreds of her pride.

But the moment she stepped out the door, the dam broke.

Hot tears surged down her cheeks, unstoppable, blurring her vision again and again. She swiped them away with the back of her hand, only for more to spill over.

This was her home—yet she was the one leaving.

And what else could she do? If she’d stayed, she would have shattered in front of him. She refused to let him see her fall apart.

She would never use tears to beg anyone to stay.

From the moment he’d said those two words—break up—she hadn’t even thought about holding on.

Once, she hadn’t dared to hope for love or marriage.

He had been the one to make her believe in them.

And now, he had dealt the cruelest blow of all.

She didn’t want to save something that had already killed her.

But her gown’s long hem tangled around her ankles, her mind too clouded to notice the uneven ground. Just as she stepped out of the building, her heel caught on a shallow pit in the pavement.

Pain shot through her ankle as she stumbled—then collapsed hard onto the ground.

She didn’t move.

The strength she’d used to act composed in front of him... it was all gone.

Head bowed, she sat there, crying quietly into the summer dusk.

At seven o’clock, the light was still soft and golden, enough for Bert—watching from his car—to see everything.

The sight made his chest tighten.

The long, white gown.

The tears streaking her face.

Her small figure hunched on the pavement.

He shoved his door open and strode toward her.

He had been here the whole time. Ever since she’d left the cake shop earlier, he’d followed and parked nearby. He needed to know if that mysterious boyfriend of hers was really Morrison.

And he’d gotten his answer.

Bert had watched Morrison’s car pull up. Watched him sit there smoking for a long while before finally heading upstairs.

The confirmation had sent shockwaves of disbelief and fury through him.

He’d wanted to go up immediately, to stop whatever was about to happen. But then he’d hesitated.

It was Morrison’s birthday. She’d worked so hard to prepare for it.

She clearly cared about him—why else would she have learned to bake a cake herself?

If Bert barged in, all he’d do was ruin her night and her effort.

So he’d decided to wait.

Until she came running out.

Until he saw her fall.

"What happened?"

He crouched in front of her, his hand gentle as he helped her up.

Her tear-filled eyes lifted to his. She said nothing—only pulled free from his grasp and turned to go.

But there was no way Bert would let her walk away like this.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her path, and guided her toward his car.

She didn’t have the strength to fight him.

So she let him lead her, her small hand limp in his as he settled her into the passenger seat.