Chapter 11: Ethan’s Breakdown

Ethan was half lying on the sofa.

His brows furrowed, one hand pressing his stomach, face pale.

The girl beside him had red eyes, tearfully watching him.

Holding a cup of warm water, but not daring to hand it over.

A friend called twice more, still no answer.

Had to put down the phone and patiently persuade, "Hurting like this, better go to the hospital."

"Don’t tough it out. Just take some medicine, you can’t be in pain forever."

The girl hurriedly offered the water.

But Ethan pushed the cup away. "You go out."

"Ethan..."

"Out. Stop bothering me."

His cheeks were pale, voice weak.

But his eyes were shadowed and fierce.

The girl didn’t want to leave, but was clearly scared of him.

Crying, looking back every few steps, she left.

"What’s wrong with you, why snap at her?"

The friend was puzzled.

Ethan just lay there motionless.

His spasming stomach finally eased.

He was drenched in sweat, his back sticky.

He glanced at the medicine boxes on the table.

Then at his quiet phone.

Suddenly sneered.

After so many years, so many times in bed,

This was the first time she acted up in front of him.

"Did you and Mariah have a fight?"

"Why mention her?"

The friend laughed. "So you did."

"But Mariah’s temper is so good, like a kitten with you. How could you two fight?"

Ethan’s voice was calm. "She’s being dramatic herself."

Instead of living well, she insists on causing trouble.

Saying she’s dating, has a boyfriend.

He knew women’s little tricks best.

Just playing hard to get, wanting him to make it official.

But she forgot—he told her from the start.

He’s not the marrying type.

"Want me to call Mariah for you on your phone?"

Ethan’s face went cold. "Don’t."

"And stop mentioning her to me."

"That serious?"

"Yeah, we’re done. I don’t know her anymore."

After saying that, Ethan habitually turned his watch.

But his gaze stopped.

This watch was the first gift Mariah gave him.

He hadn’t taken it off since.

Ethan found it an eyesore.

Took it off and tossed it to his friend. "It’s yours. Throw it away if you don’t want it."

The gesture was harsh, final—like he was trying to erase every trace of me from his life.