Drake reached toward James. “Let me see that.”


    James handed over his phone.


    Drake clutched the device, watching the birthday video over and over, tears flowing uncontrobly.


    Trump’s face darkened with anger. “Looking at you like this makes my blood boil! Pull yourself together!”


    Margaret pulled at his arm. “Our son is lying here after trying <i>to </i>kill himself<b>, </b>and you’re making things worse? What do you mean, ‘pull yourself together‘? Wasn’t he the one who secured that investment for yourpany? Without Drake, yourpany would have gone bankrupt by now!”


    Trump maintained his rigid expression without responding further. He gave Drake one long, prating look before turning and walking out.


    Sienna, watching Drake obsessively reying Thalia’s video like a man possessed<b>, </b>couldn’t bear to stay any longer and also left.


    “Honey, you need to forget about that woman,” Margaret wiped away her tears, her voice breaking. “I’ll introduce you to someone much better.”


    James sighed deeply. “Drake,e on man, there are plenty of fish in the sea. Why fixate on just one? I can hook you up with anyone you want.”


    Drake stared at the video vacantly, saying nothing.


    Mason shook his head helplessly. “Let’s give him some space. He needs time alone.”


    “No way!” Margaret objected. “I’m not leaving him by himself again! What if he tries to kill himself again?”


    Teresa’s bone marrow transnt was sessful. She showed no signs of rejection, and her life was no longer in danger. Thalia could finally turn her attention to other matters.


    These past few days, she had been busy preparing case materials and attending court.


    After learning about Drake’s desperate suicide attempt, Thalia no longer felt safe staying at her Tribeca t.


    Asher had purchased a new apartment for her at Pan Penins in Canary Wharf, about four miles from herw firm–not too far, making for a convenientmute.


    That Saturday, Thalia hired a housekeeper to pack her belongings and called a movingpany.


    95.2%


    As thest suitcase was being carried out, Drake emerged from the lift.


    He looked deathly pale, with sunken eyes and dark circles beneath them. He appeared utterly haggard, having lost a


    considerable amount of weight.


    Drake saw the movers carrying out luggage and stopped, his mncholy gaze turning toward Thalia.


    “You’re moving out?”


    Thalia merely nodded without saying anything. As she stepped toward the lift, passing Drake, he suddenly grabbed


    her wrist.


    “Thalia, please don’t go,” Drake’s tone was pleading, his eyes filled with fragmented emotions. “I promise I won’t bother you anymore. Please don’t move away. I just want to be near you, quietly by your side.”


    Thalia lowered her gaze to Drake’s hand, her voice ice–cold. “Let go!”


    Drake maintained his grip.


    Thalia tried forcefully to pull away.


    Drake tightened his hold.


    “Drake, you’re hurting me!” Thalia cried out with a furrowed brow.


    Drake released her immediately, as if he’d been shocked.


    Guilt shed across his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Thalia. I didn’t mean to–I just… I just don’t want you to leave.”


    Thalia rubbed her reddened wrist, speaking in a detached tone: “I’ve made myself perfectly clear. We can never go back to the past, nor can we start over. There’s no need for these self–pitying dramatics.”


    She took a few steps forward, then suddenly seemed to remember something. She turned back, looking directly into Drake’s eyes. “I heard about your suicide attempt. Drake, if you’re truly this unstable, I can only be grateful that I left you, not touched that you supposedly love me so much you can’t live without me.”


    Thalia continued calmly: “Don’t try anything like that again. I don’t want a failed rtionship to end with blood on my hands.”


    With that, Thalia entered the lift with the movers.


    Drake stood rooted to the spot, reying Thalia’s parting words in his mind.


    She had said, “Don’t try anything like that again.”


    Didn’t that mean she still cared about him?


    95.4%


    Chagne Bi


    She cared witherther the lived or died. She didn’t want him to devalue his own life.


    At this thought. Drake’s eyes reddemed


    He knew in–Thalia couldn’t be so cold–hearted.


    There was still hope.


    The apartment Asher had bought for Thalia was in the prestigious Pan Peninsplex at Canary Wharf. offering spectacr views of the Thames and the dds.


    Siming on the balcony, one could see the vast riverscape and the impressive London skyline.


    The apartment came fully furnished with top–quality appliances, and the interior design matched her preferences perfectly–evidence of Asher’s thoughtfulness.


    Thalia directed the movers as they ced her belongings in their appropriate locations.


    She had left most of the furniture and appliances at her Tribeca t, bringing only her personal items to the new ce.


    Once everything was settled, Thalia took a shower and enjoyed a restful sleep in thefortable, spacious bed.


    Mason was concerned that Drake was developing psychological issues.


    He constantly deluded himself that Thalia still loved him.


    When Mason visited, he often heard Drake talking to himself. Listening carefully, he realized Drake was having conversations with “Thalia“-an imaginary version he had created in his mind.


    Mason ced a hand on Drake’s shoulder. “Dude, you’re seriously freaking me out.”


    Drake appeared not to hear him, continuing his conversation with the imaginary “Thalia,” seemingly quite happy in his delusion.


    At mealtimes, he would set an extra ce at the table, saying Thalia would be joining them.


    Mason strongly urged Drake to see a psychiatrist.


    Drake adamantly refused, insisting there was nothing wrong with his mental state.


    Eventually, Mason and James had no choice but to forcibly take Drake to the hospital.


    The psychiatrist was a woman in her thirties named Dr. Emiliana Hawards. With her practical short haircut, she exuded intellectual elegance.


    One workday afternoon, shortly after her lunch break, Dr. Hawards arrived at the hospital for her <b>shift</b>.


    She had barely settled into her office when Drake was brought in.


    As an experienced psychiatrist in the city, Dr. Hawards had encountered countless patients over the years<b>. </b>Honestly, patients like Drake were exceedingly rare in her experience.


    This young Mr. Ashcroft was handsome and wealthy. By conventional social understanding, the wealthier one was, the less likely one would be troubled by love, as money typically made obtaining love easier.


    As the joking meme went, “Young, sessful<b>, </b>and driving a Bentley–love is just another game to y.”


    For someone of Drake’s social standing, love often seemed insignificantpared to their usual concerns<b>: </b>reputation, status, power, and wealth.


    Drake showed extreme resistance to treatment.


    “What the hell are you doing? There’s nothing wrong with me! Let me go–I want to go home!” Drake shouted.


    Dr. Hawards found the situation concerning.


    She quickly recognized the severity of the problem.


    This Mr. Ashcroft wasn’t merely unwell–his condition was serious.


    Dr. Hawards swiftly entered her professional mode, engaging Drake with her therapeutic approach.


    The agitated Drake gradually calmed down and began following the psychiatrist’s conversational lead.


    Dr. Hawards informed Drake that his current mental state was dangerous.


    In his condition, he was at high risk of further extreme behavior.


    Drake gave a bitterugh. “I’ll be honest with you–I’ve already gone there.”


    Dr. Hawards frowned.


    Drake murmured: “A few days ago, I tried to kill myself. Unfortunately, I didn’t seed.”


    As he spoke, Drake pulled up his sleeve, showing the psychiatrist the ghastly scar on his left wrist. “This scar is proof of my love for her.”


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