He Chased His First Love Through the Snow-and Lost Me Chapter 07

He Chased His First Love Through the Snow-and Lost Me Chapter 07

He was right. 

For a decade, my entire existence revolved around 

the desperate hope of becoming his legitimate wife. I had discarded my dignity, ignored my pride, and bore his child out of wedlock just to stay by 

his side. Even when the tabloids plastered his 

endless trysts with Natasha across the front 

pages, I didn’t dare to ask for an explanation. 

But it was too exhausting. Loving Garett was a 

slow, agonizing poison. I simply didn’t have the 

strength to play this game anymore. 

I turned my back on the villa and walked out into 

the night, carrying nothing but my scars. This time, 

it was Garett who was left standing under the 

grand chandelier, watching my retreating figure. 

vanish into the dark. 

I retreated to a small, secluded property my 

mother had left exclusively in my name before her 

passing. The rooms were packed with Andy’s old 

toys and drawings. Unable to process the reality 

of my boy’s absence, I locked myself away, 

spending days crying until my lungs burned. 

I lost all track of time. I only ate when my stomach. 

cramped, and only slept when my brain shut down from exhaustion. Eventually, my failing health 

caught up to me, and I collapsed onto the hardwood floor. 

As darkness took me, a comforting thought surfaced–I had no family left to mourn me; 

perhaps my body would rot here, and no one would ever notice. 

But the man who broke into the house and 

dragged me back to the living world was Garett. 

When I opened my eyes, the stark white ceiling of 

a private VIP hospital room came into focus. 

Garett was sitting silently by my bedside. The 

moment he saw me wake, he quietly signaled the 

nurse and instructed his assistant to bring in a 

fresh bowl of clam chowder. 

He actually remembered. Years ago, whenever I 

fell ill, I would throw a tantrum and demand he 

make me clam chowder. Back then, he would wear 

a terrible scowl and refuse, yet a steaming bowl 

would always find its way to my nightstand 

anyway. I would look at him with pure joy, tugging his sleeve and giggling, “Garett is the best!” 

He would look away, his ears turning a bright crimson as he forcefully fed me the soup. Those 

tiny moments were the fuel that kept my unrequited love alive for ten years. 

I used to believe those flushed ears meant he 

shared my affection. It wasn’t until later that he shattered the illusion, telling me he only played 

servant because my mother held a financial knife to his throat. It was all an embarrassing, one–sided 

delusion. 

I turned my face toward the wall, refusing the spoon he held out. 

My rejection instantly dissolved his fragile patience, the silver spoon clattering loudly against 

the porcelain bowl. “Vivian, look at yourself in the 

mirror! You’re practically a skeleton!” 

“Is it truly necessary to destroy your own body just 

for that man’s bastard child?!”