This time, Vincent was gone for a long while.

It was as if he was deliberately avoiding her, not sending any messages, not making any calls, pretending that if he ignored it, nothing had happened.

In seven long years, Lucia had never experienced such silence.

She looked at a photo of the two of them, her thumb gently stroking Vincent's face, and then, with a small smile, she tore her own half away.

The floor was littered with picture frames. She did the same to every single photo.

By the time she finished with the last one, she rolled her stiff neck and realized the sun was already rising.

She never knew they had so many photos together. It had taken her all night to sort through them.

Lucia lit the fireplace and tossed all the torn pieces inside.

As the flames rose, she noticed a few unread messages. They were more provocations from Scarlett.

"I bet you didn't know Vincent wasn't in a meeting. He was with me, having a candlelight dinner. He even said my steak was delicious." The message included several intimate photos.

Lucia didn't even bother to look up. She just deleted the message. She called a crew to come to the mansion and replace all the dark-toned furniture and curtains that reflected her personal style, changing them to the bright, modern aesthetic that Vincent preferred.

Over the next few days, she personally oversaw the transformation, turning the house into a space that belonged solely to Vincent.

Standing at the doorway, seeing that not a single trace of her remained, Lucia smiled with satisfaction.

Just then, her phone rang. It was Vincent. Perhaps his guilt had reached its peak, or maybe he couldn't stand the cold war anymore. He was the first to break.

His voice was tinged with grievance. "Lucia, I've been gone for so long, and you haven't called me once! Don't you love me anymore?"

Lucia chuckled softly but said nothing.

Hearing her low laugh, Vincent's heart clenched. He felt a rising panic.

"Lu... Lucia... what are you laughing at?"

Lucia looked at the newly decorated house and said, her voice laced with amusement, "It was our anniversary recently. Did you see the gift I got for you? I have another surprise for you too."

Vincent paused. "The gift... I've been so busy, I haven't opened it yet. I'll look at it as soon as I get home tonight!"

"Lucia, what do you want for dinner? I'll buy the ingredients. It's been a while since I cooked for you..."

"Don't bother," Lucia cut him off coolly.

She was about to tell him that her people were coming to pick her up tonight. That there was no more 'us'.

But there was a lot of noise on Vincent's end. He glanced impatiently at a chattering Scarlett and said apologetically, "Lucia, it's a bit loud here. Let's talk when I get home. I'm on my way back now anyway."

He hung up in a hurry.

Lucia looked down at the dark screen and smiled faintly.

Dinner together? No need.

All of her luggage had already been taken away. Lucia stood outside the mansion, taking one last look back.

The lights inside were warm and inviting, exactly in the style he loved.

That was good.

The roar of helicopter blades grew louder overhead as a black chopper descended from the night sky.

It landed on the mansion's helipad, and Lucia walked towards it without a moment's hesitation.

At the same time, Vincent, carrying a bag of fresh groceries, was pulling his Ferrari through the estate gates.

He glanced up idly and saw the helicopter bearing the Moretti family crest. His eyes went wide.

In the next second, he saw Lucia climbing aboard.

He slammed his foot on the gas. The sports car roared to life, tearing through the grounds toward the mansion like a mad beast.

His mind was in chaos. It felt like something vital was being ripped away from him. His heart hammered against his ribs, threatening to burst.

But he was too late.

By the time he frantically sprinted up to the rooftop helipad, all he could do was watch helplessly as the black helicopter lifted off, flew over his head, and disappeared into the glittering New York night.