Farewell to Love: The CEO's Desperate Chase novel Chapter 125

Waiting for them at the dock were familiar faces—members of their own team.

There were no unexpected twists, no heart-pounding dangers left to face.

All that remained was the way she looked up at him, her gaze unwavering.

Her eyes were smiling—full of trust and determination.

In those eyes, there was only him.

Sitting in the car now, Tyler suddenly felt as if he couldn't breathe.

He rolled down the window, hoping for relief, but the suffocating pressure in his chest wouldn't ease.

It felt as though someone's hand was gripping his heart, squeezing hard, making it ache.

From the car idling beside them at the red light, music drifted over—some pop song, melancholy but gently hopeful.

The lyrics spilled out: "Listening to what the cloudy sky says, lost in the dusk, I want to tell the world that no matter what, happiness still finds us in the gray…"

It was Eason's "Gloomy Joy."

That day at the pier, after they came ashore, the sky had been overcast.

The sea, just after a snowfall, was cold and beautiful. She had clung so tightly to his hand.

He found himself missing her again.

"Tyler, everyone online says this pendant you got me is beautiful," Vivienne's voice chimed in beside him.

Tyler blinked, drawn back to the present, glancing at Vivienne. The pendant around her neck caught the light and sparkled.

He managed a small nod. "Yeah. It suits you."

"Right? I thought so too." Vivienne's smile grew brighter.

Tyler cast his gaze down, lips pressed into a thin line.

Vivienne had less than six months left.

Her illness was his responsibility—a guilt he couldn't shake.

He was already in the process of getting divorced from Emilia.

Back then, she hadn't understood how much that child would mean to her. She'd thought that after the abortion, she'd start taking the meds and move on with her life.

But then, the child was gone. She'd spent days in the hospital, her car in the shop, and the medication was forgotten, left in the glove compartment until now.

Emilia hesitated, but finally took out a box of pills.

She tried to open the packaging, but suddenly felt too weak; her hands trembled and couldn't tear through the foil.

Tears splattered onto the box, each drop heavy and hot, as a wave of delayed pain crashed over her.

It had been ten days since she lost the baby. She'd woken up in the hospital, numb and empty, feeling nothing—no happiness, no sorrow, nothing at all.

But now, these pills were like a blade slicing right through that numbness, yanking her back into a world that hurt too much to bear.

Her tears soaked the box.

For the first time since it happened, she broke down and wept.

She was overwhelmed by grief.