What about his world? What was left besides endless meetings, deal negotiations, financial statements, galas, and a home that had always waited for him only to be ignored? Lily's name flashed across his screen once more. He declined the call and typed a quick text, "Rest your ankle.

I'm extremely busy lately. Please do not disturb." Then he muted his phone. He needed to think.

No, not just think, but face things. Face his entitled arrogance over the past three years and face the woman he had pushed away. And face the strange, vast emptiness within his own heart.

Early the next morning, just as dawn broke, Ethan left his hotel. He didn't call a car, walking by memory to the vicinity of Nie En Studio. He didn't enter, choosing instead an inconspicuous spot across the river to watch from afar. Chloe arrived right on schedule, wearing her simple cotton linen clothes, bare-faced, carrying a canvas tote.

She greeted Clara, who was returning from morning grocery shopping, with a warm smile. Then she stepped into the workshop courtyard. Soon, the rhythmic whir of the pottery wheel echoed from inside, accompanied by faint snippets of conversation between her and Master Miller. Though he couldn't hear clearly, the atmosphere felt light and joyful.

Ethan stood there for a long time, like an outsider peering into someone else's happiness. He watched Chloe knead clay with intense concentration, listen humbly to the master's guidance, beam with bright eyes when a step succeeded, and crinkle her nose at a failure before patiently starting over. Those vivid, expressive emotions were treasures he had never witnessed in three years of marriage.

Near noon, Chloe washed her hands, said goodbye to Master Miller, and stepped out. She didn't return to the lodge, taking a familiar turn deep into an alley toward Uncle Bob's noodle diner. Ethan hesitated for a moment before following at a distance. The diner was cozy with only four or five tables packed with early tourists and locals, bustling with lively energy.

Chloe seemed well acquainted with the owner, smiling as she ordered the usual before settling into a corner table by the wall. She poured herself a cup of barley tea and waited peacefully. Standing outside, Ethan watched her sit there with ease, seamlessly fitting into the lively surroundings. She was no longer the Mrs. Vance who had to frequent high-end dining spots and constantly maintain immaculate composure.

She was simply an ordinary person grabbing a bowl of noodles when hungry. Yet her back was straight, her eyes bright, looking far more grounded, confident, and serene than ever before. Ethan's feet felt rooted to the pavement. He suddenly lacked the courage to step inside and disrupt this piece of tranquil, vibrant life that belonged to her.

The owner placed a steaming bowl of pork and pickled vegetable noodles in front of Chloe, chatting cheerfully with her. Chloe smiled, nodded, picked up her chopsticks, and took a deep, satisfying bite. Ethan suddenly remembered that in three years of marriage, he had never once asked her what she liked to eat. Home meals were always prepared according to his preferences and nutritionist plans.

She had never been a picky eater and had never voiced a request. Only now did he realize she loved a simple, piping hot bowl of noodles. He turned around silently and left the noisy alley. Walking along the river under the bright sunlight, he realized with piercing clarity that what lay between him and Chloe wasn't just Lily, the airport abandonment, or 7 days of silence.

Between them stood his condescending arrogance, his blind indifference, and his complete failure to ever try and understand the world that belonged to Chloe. And he was now paying an unprecedented price for that arrogance and neglect. Chloe knew Ethan hadn't left. A man like him rarely backed down easily once he set his mind on something.

Their talk at the studio gate was less of a clean break in his eyes and more of a temporary setback, a pause where he needed to reevaluate and strategize. She knew him all too well. The decisive corporate titan Ethan Vance would never allow anything or anyone to slip out of his control, including his marriage or rather his possession. But this time she was no longer the possession waiting for his verdict.

She stopped caring whether he was still in town or where he was staying, throwing all her time and energy into her pottery studies. Throwing clay on the wheel was foundational and the toughest hurdle, controlling force. Moisture, feel, and focus had to align perfectly. A single slip and the clay would collapse or warp.

She endured countless failures. Blisters formed on her hands, popped, and turned into calluses, yet she never entertained the thought of giving up. Clay was honest: whatever heart and soul you put in, it reflected back. It was far simpler and more straightforward than human hearts.

Master Miller was a veteran artisan in town and immensely skilled, a man of few words. Seeing Chloe's quiet focus and steady hands, he recognized her potential and taught her with great care. From kneading clay to wheel throwing, trimming, and drying, Chloe immersed herself step by step, feeling as though she had returned to her college days, pulling all-nighters in the design studio, pure, focused, and brimming with the joy of creation. As expected, Ethan didn't rashly disturb her again, but he didn't leave Riverbend either.

He booked a room at a quieter inn next to Seven Clouds Lodge. During the day, he appeared to manage corporate affairs remotely, laptop glued to his hands with back-to-back conference calls. But, whenever Chloe headed to the studio, went to the noodle diner, or took her evening stroll along the river, he would miraculously appear at a subtle distance, not speaking, not approaching, just watching. At first, Chloe felt a bit uncomfortable, but she soon let it go.

He could watch, she would live her life. She even began ignoring his presence, much like ignoring a unique boulder by the riverbank. Her world was being filled with the pottery taking shape in her hands. Master Miller's occasional nods of approval, the hot soup Clara brought her, and the extra scoop of toppings Uncle Bob threw into her noodles, filling her life piece by piece until it felt real and warm.

That was until an uninvited guest arrived a week later, shattering the delicate balance. That afternoon, Chloe had just completed a straight-sided vase she was pleased with and was carefully setting it on the drying rack when a sharp click-clack of high heels echoed from outside the courtyard gate, along with a delicate, complaining female voice. "Ethan, you're staying in a place like this? It took me forever to find you."

Chloe's hands paused almost imperceptibly. She had only heard this voice through muffled sobs on the phone that rainy night, but now it sounded gratingly clear. She turned around to see Lily wearing an extravagant dress that clashed horribly with the ancient town, wobbling into the yard on stiletto heels. She looked aggrieved and discontent, while Ethan followed a few steps behind her, frowning with a grim expression.

Lily scanned the courtyard before her eyes quickly landed on Chloe, taking in her clay-stained apron and muddy hands. A flicker of disbelief flashed through her eyes, followed by overt contempt and a knowing smugness. "Miss Shen." Lily raised her chin, her tone carrying a patronizing edge.