The impact sent a dull ache through Yvonne's body. She couldn't help but think that Bennett's years in the military had clearly paid off. He was much more muscular than before; even through his clothes, she could feel how solid his abs were.

But this wonderful Bennett was no longer hers.

A wave of sadness washed over her. She silently stepped back, creating distance between them.

"Thanks. I should go," she said coolly. Without another word, she walked past him and headed out of the cemetery.

Bennett remained where he was, watching her leave before his gaze returned to the headstone before him.

In the small photo on the stone, Flora's smile was as gentle as ever, just like when they were young, watching their antics with an amused and helpless fondness.

...

Meanwhile, the Rogers family's car had long since left the cemetery, driving smoothly along the main road.

It eventually pulled into the driveway of the Rogers family's estate.

Oscar stepped out of the car, dressed entirely in black, exuding an air of cold authority.

When he entered the villa, Queena was cleaning with the household staff. Seeing him, she immediately rushed over and gingerly took the jacket from his hands.

"Oscar, I...” Queena began, but Oscar walked straight past her without a glance, heading upstairs.

The nearby maids saw this and shot her looks of disdain; one even let out a stifled laugh.

Queena's face paled, and her eyes reddened with humiliation.

But Oscar didn't even notice. He had already disappeared into his study.

He worked in his study until evening. Feeling tired, he leaned back in his executive

chair and closed his eyes. After a while, he drifted off to sleep.

His dreams were filled with Flora's face-her vibrant, youthful beauty as a girl, the blush on her cheeks as a newlywed. But then, that shy face slowly twisted, her eyes weeping tears of blood until it became the horrifying, pale, and bruised face he remembered from her death.

Oscar jolted awake, his breathing ragged. He sat in his chair for a long moment, steadying himself.

It was probably because he had just come from the cemetery that he had dreamed of her.

He subconsciously pulled open the

drawer of his executive desk. Inside

lay a photo of him and Flora,

along

with the ultrasound scan from her last check-up.

On the scan, the baby's face was blurry, but its features were already fully formed.

Oscar's thumb gently caressed the image of the child's face on the paper, a dull ache spreading through his chest.

He still remembered the day Flora died. They had just finished her check-up at the hospital.

He had received a call from the company and had to rush back immediately.

Flora had always been

understanding. She held his hand

and looked up at him with her gentle, serene face. "If something's come up at work, you should go. I can take care of myself and the baby."

Oscar had stroked her hair, gave her one last look, and then turned to leave.

She stood behind him obediently, watching him go, and called out, "Oscar, come home early tonight. The baby and I will be waiting for you."

His steps grew heavier, but he never looked back.

A sharp knock on the door suddenly shattered Oscar's reverie.

He looked toward the door with a cold glint in his eyes as Queena pushed it open and walked in.