Five Years Wasted Now They Beg Her Back novel Chapter 300

It was her favorite flavor.

In that moment, Grace's eyes suddenly started to sting.

It seemed there was still a little bit of sweetness left in this cold world.

After thanking the server, Grace closed the door, sat right down on the floor, opened the cake box, and scooped a spoonful of cream into her mouth.

It was sweet.

Sickeningly sweet.

Sweet like the first time Damien made her noodles. It had been too salty to eat, but she had finished every last drop, even the broth.

"Damien…"

Grace whispered to herself, and a tear fell onto the cake without warning.

"I miss you."

"But I can't forget the past…"

"And I hate myself, because I still can't forget you."

Outside, the black car slowly pulled away, disappearing into the night.

As if it had never been there at all.

Grace was sick.

It wasn't a physical illness, but a sickness of the heart.

Even with the funding from her "anonymous benefactor," even as her research made incredible progress in the lab, solving one problem after another that had stumped Professor Hans for years, when night fell, she was still a broken person.

"No! Don't touch my data!"

"I won't sign it! I didn't plagiarize!"

"Damien… save me…"

Grace jolted awake from the nightmare, drenched in a cold sweat.

The tranquil moonlight of the Evershade Marches streamed through her window, but all she could see was that rainy night in Jarrow City.

She saw Ethan's cold divorce papers.

Lilian's triumphant smirk.

And the ashtray Lucian had thrown at her.

With a trembling hand, she fumbled in her nightstand for her pill bottle.

Antidepressants.

She shook out two pills and swallowed them dry.

Passing students and researchers hooted and applauded.

Such romantic displays weren't uncommon in the open culture of Europe.

If this had been the old Grace, she might have blushed or been at a loss for words.

But the woman she was now just stared quietly at the roses, so red they were almost jarring.

She thought of Damien.

That man never gave her flowers.

He would just toss a black card at her and say, "Buy whatever you like."

Or he would crush the people who bullied her under his heel and say, "Anyone who touches her answers to me."

Domineering, brutish, and yet, he had been her only source of security.

"I'm sorry, Mark."

Grace's voice was calm, almost cold. "I don't like flowers, and I don't like you."

Mark's smile froze on his face. "Why? Am I not good enough? Or do you not find me handsome?"

"It's not you," Grace said, walking past him toward the lab. "It's me."

Mark, not ready to give up, reached out to grab her hand.