Chapter 2

"Mr. James, the neurosurgeons in New York are the best in the country. If you go there, you might stand a chance."

That was my doctor's advice. I had a brain tumor.

Lately, I had been passing out frequently. Sometimes, my vision would go completely black. The doctor said the tumor was pressing against my optic nerve, and I would eventually go blind.

I didn't want to die so young, but the disease was progressing faster than expected. I just wanted to buy myself a little more time.

As for Hathaway... I was done trying.

Right after I landed, Hathaway’s call came through.

"James, what is the meaning of this? What kind of game are you playing?!"

Her voice was raspy, dripping with anger.

I looked up at the clear blue sky. It was a beautiful day, and surprisingly, my chest felt lighter.

"Hathaway, yesterday was my birthday."

The line went dead silent for a second. Then, she muttered, "I'm sorry. I..."

"I know. You landed the NICE account. Congratulations."

My voice was incredibly calm, even to my own ears.

"Just sign the papers. I'll be back in a month to finalize it."

To my surprise, Hathaway didn't snap. Instead, she said coldly, "Since you're in a bad mood, go take a vacation. But divorce is out of the question!"

"I—" Before I could finish, she hung up on me. I let out a bitter laugh.

A second later, a notification popped up on my phone. She had wired a massive amount of money to my account—more than enough for me to live like a king for a month.

What a waste. I didn't have the time to spend it.

I went straight to the hospital, checked in, and then took a cab to our old university campus.

This was my alma mater. I had followed Hathaway all the way to Princeton and spent four years here.

Looking back, it felt like it all happened yesterday.

Walking down the familiar tree-lined path, I remembered how I used to stage "accidental" run-ins with her here.

Every time, Hathaway would smile faintly and say, "James, that's the third time we've run into each other today. Is there something you want to tell me?"

My face would turn bright red. After a long pause, I'd stammer, "Do... do you want to eat steak? I can cook for you!"

Hathaway, who was used to expensive flowers and luxury gifts, never expected a boy to offer her a home-cooked meal.

One Tomahawk steak was all it took to win her over.

Later, when we finally became official, it was also over a dinner table. She wiped her mouth, looked at me, and said, "Want to give us a try?"

Suddenly, a sharp, excruciating pain shot through my head. I dropped to my knees on the gravel path!

The pain radiated from the back of my skull, and my vision went pitch black.

I hurriedly fumbled in my pocket, swallowed two pills, and waited a long time before the darkness receded.

Just then, my phone buzzed. It was a text from that same anonymous number.

"You think running away will change anything? James, just give up."

This was the first time the sender had texted me actual words instead of just photos.

It seemed he was getting desperate too.

I let out a soft laugh. I don't care anymore.

I blocked the number, finished my walk around the campus, said my silent goodbyes, and checked into the hospital.

For the treatment, they shaved my head.

Staring at the pale, sickly man with a bald head in the mirror, a wave of sadness washed over me.

But the anonymous harasser wouldn't stop. He used another number to text me, and before I could block it, he sent a video.

It was Hathaway and Harry at a dimly lit lounge.

Under the warm lights, they were sitting incredibly close, their fingers intertwined. Their smiles pierced my eyes like hot needles.

Hathaway, so this is what you meant by letting me "clear my head." You just wanted me out of the way so you could have your fun.

I took a deep breath. A text popped up: "Just walk away. You don't deserve her."

Hilarious. I had already walked away, but Hathaway was the one refusing to let go.

Of course. She was a high-level corporate executive. If a nasty cheating scandal broke out, her career would be ruined.

Poor guy. This anonymous sender clearly hadn't thought about that.

Or maybe he had, but he just didn't care.

Or maybe he thought I would quietly swallow my pride and handle it privately, leaving them to act without consequences.

What a clown.

I didn't reply and blocked this number too.