Chapter 187

Looking at those cards that represented immense wealth, she felt nothing but bitter irony.

She wanted nothing to do with his money.

Back then, they clashed relentlessly, consumed by tangled love and bitter resentment, tearing each other to shreds in endless torment.

But now...

Angela looked at the man before her, his eyes holding nothing but her, so utterly humbled.

She thought back to all the grudges, the hatred, the unwillingness to let go — and was startled to realize it all felt like something from another lifetime.

After everything she'd been through — brushing against death, losing a child, and this illness that had nearly taken half her life with it.

All that hatred she once thought she could never get over seemed to have been slowly washed away through the long years and the grinding pain of sickness.

Until almost nothing was left.

So it was true — time really could heal everything.

When life teeters on the edge, all that so-called hatred and love becomes so small it barely matters.

The hospital room fell quiet. All that could be heard was the soft sound of their breathing.

The last light of the setting sun fell over them both, tracing a gentle golden outline around their figures.

Angela looked at Lucas's stubborn face.

Then, suddenly, she smiled.

It was a faint smile — one that didn't quite reach her eyes — but it carried less of her usual coldness and distance, and just a trace of something rare: relief.

Lucas froze the moment he saw it.

A second later, he smiled back, dazed and helpless — and a single tear slipped silently down his handsome, worn face.

Outside the window, a soft breeze stirred the leaves with a gentle rustle.

In that moment, two battered souls finally found a quiet understanding between them, and smiled at each other across the space.

Angela leaned back against her pillow, her face still pale.

But perhaps because she'd just woken from sleep, she seemed a little more alert than usual.

There was even a rare brightness in her eyes.

Lucas was holding a warm, damp cloth, wiping her slightly swollen fingers with the lightest touch.

The care on his face was the kind you'd give something irreplaceable.

"Lucas."

Angela called his name softly.

His hands stilled. He looked up immediately, his eyes full of both worry and tenderness. "What's wrong? Are you uncomfortable somewhere? Are you thirsty?"

Angela saw the alarm on his face and let the corner of her mouth lift slightly. She shook her head, her voice quiet but carrying a calm she hadn't had before:

"Tell me... about you and Cora."

Lucas went rigid. Every bit of color drained from his face in an instant.

His fingers tightened around the cloth, knuckles going white.

His eyes flooded with panic, helplessness, and resistance all at once.

He dreaded hearing that woman's name from Angela's lips.

That name was like a festering wound that would never heal — a constant reminder of the devastating damage he had done to her.

Watching the guarded, braced look on his face, Angela let out a quiet sigh.

She wasn't angry. There wasn't even a trace of resentment in her clear eyes. She spoke the way an old friend might, after a long time apart, bringing up some old story that no longer had much to do with either of them:

"Don't be tense. I'm just a little curious. I want to know what happened between you two — why you loved her so much back then... and why you couldn't even see me."

She asked it so calmly. So easily.

And that very stillness — that complete absence of storm — cut into Lucas like a dull blade, so deep he could barely breathe.

If she had cried or raged, he might have dropped to his knees and begged her forgiveness.

But now there wasn't even hatred left. Only the quiet detachment of someone watching from the outside.

Lucas clenched his jaw and looked down, turning away from her gaze.

He said nothing. Stubborn and silent, refusing to give up a single word.

He didn't want to talk about Cora. He didn't want that vicious woman to taint even this fragile, hard-won moment of warmth between them.

"Why won't you say anything?" Angela looked at the top of his bowed head and said softly, "I'm not angry. I really am not."

"Well, I am."

Lucas snapped his head up, his voice raw with barely contained fury and pain.

"Angela — every time I think about what she did to you, about how she killed our child, about what she's done to you now — I want to kill her with my own hands. How could I ever bring myself to say her name in front of you?"

Angela looked at the near-wild hatred in his eyes, and let out a short, self-mocking laugh.

"Honestly..."

She turned her head toward the window, watching the dappled shadows of the leaves outside, her voice drifting like a breath of wind.

"The person I hated most was probably never her. It was you."

Lucas's breath stopped.

His heart seemed to seize. The blood drained from his body, leaving his hands and feet cold.

Of course. He was the one truly responsible.

If not for his indulgence, his blind eye — how would Cora have ever dared to hurt her so freely?

"Angela..." Lucas's throat was dry, his voice shaking.

"Just tell me."

She cut him off. Her brow furrowed slightly, and a thin sheen of cold sweat appeared on her forehead.

She closed her eyes, and when she spoke again, there was no hiding the pain and exhaustion in her voice: "I'm really hurting... Lucas, just talk to me. Give me something to focus on. Please."

She had just finished her second round of CAR-T therapy.

The pain was back now — deep in her bones, like countless ants gnawing through the marrow — rising like a tide, swallowing her whole.

It was the kind of pain no painkiller could fully touch.

The moment he heard her, Lucas panicked.

He dropped the cloth and leaned forward, hands trembling, wanting to hold her but afraid to press too hard. "Where does it hurt? Angela — let me rub it, okay? Let me help—"

Angela shook her head weakly, her fingers digging into the bed sheets.

"...It hurts. Just talk to me... anything. Please."

Watching her tremble, her face drained of color, Lucas felt his eyes burn red. The ache in his chest was almost unbearable.

He would have given anything to be the one lying in that bed instead of her.

He would have taken every bit of that pain onto himself if he could.

But he couldn't. All he could do was watch her suffer.

"Okay. I'll talk. I'll talk."

Lucas took her hand — the one clawing at the sheets — and wrapped it gently inside both of his, his warmth folding around her fingers. The tears he'd been holding back finally fell.

Angela forced her eyes open and looked at him. She gave a small, bitter smile.

"Go ahead... I want to know. Call it my last wish — I want to die understanding. I want to know where I went wrong."

"You didn't lose."