Another two years passed. Vivian turned twenty-one this year, and as time moved on, he could feel his life slowly slipping away.

The coughing grew worse with each passing day.

He coughed up blood almost every day now.

His face stayed pale no matter how much he rested.

Hiding it from his family became harder and harder. Even smiling felt like work.

His family noticed. They took him to many physicians and healers.

Again and again, they checked his body, his blood, his breath, his pulse.

But no one could say what was wrong with him.

There was no clear answer, no clear cure.

For Vivian, that was a small relief. As long as they did not know, they would not panic.

Still, even without words, his family understood.

His face kept losing color. His body grew thinner.

His strength faded little by little. They watched him closely, worry always in their eyes.

And as for Charlotte, things had not changed.

After what happened two years ago, she would visit from time to time.

She tried to speak with him. She tried to stay.

But Vivian ignored her every time. He acted cold. He kept his distance.

The pain this caused was deep for both of them.

Charlotte felt it. Vivian felt it even more.

But he knew the truth. He did not have much time left. And because of that, he believed distance was kinder than hope.

So he endured the pain in silence, letting time take what it wanted, while pretending everything was still fine.

Besides all of this, Vivian carried another fear in his heart.

He believed that after his death, his family would be completely broken.

He feared they would lose their will to live and be unable to move forward.

Because of that fear, he made a cruel choice.

From the past year, he started behaving coldly toward his family.

He spoke less. He smiled less. He kept his distance even from those who loved him the most.

He wanted them to slowly get used to a Vivian who no longer cared.

To create disgust in their hearts, he began doing things that should never be done by the heir of the Zenithara house.

He started going to taverns and red-light districts.

From morning until evening, he stayed in taverns, drinking alcohol again and again.

By night, he would head toward the red-light districts within the Zenithara territory.

Rumors spread quickly. Whispers followed his name everywhere.

He drank until his vision blurred and his body could barely stand.

But even then, when he entered those places, he never touched a single woman.

He would choose a woman, bring her into a room, and tell her to stay there for a while.

Nothing more. No closeness. No warmth.

The reason for this was tied to Charlotte.

No matter what harsh words he had said to her, no matter how cold he acted, his heart had not changed.

As long as he lived, he knew he could not look at another woman. His heart would not allow it.

So he spent his remaining days like this, walking down a path filled with rumors and shame.

He tried to carve disgust into the hearts of his family, hoping that when the time came, their pain would be less.

But every step he took hurt him far more than it hurt anyone else.

And despite doing all of this, what confused Vivian the most was that his family never stopped caring about him.

No matter how badly he behaved, no matter what rumors spread outside, they never turned their backs on him.

Like tonight.

He had just returned from the red-light district, a few bottles of alcohol hanging loosely in his hands.

His steps were unsteady, his head heavy.

The moment he entered the main hall, he froze.

"Son…"

His mother's lips trembled as she spoke. She was standing there, wide awake.

It was already two in the night. She had not slept.

And she was not alone. His younger brother Edward was there.

His father stood beside him. His grandfather sat quietly, his face filled with pain.

All of them were waiting.

For a brief moment, Vivian wavered.

His grip on the bottles tightened.

Something sharp cut through his chest.

But he bit down hard on his tongue, forcing himself to stay cold.

He raised one bottle and gulped down the alcohol right in front of them.

After swallowing a mouthful, he wiped his lips and spoke casually.

"You guys haven't slept?"

"Vivian."

His grandfather spoke, his voice heavy.

Before he could say anything else, Vivian suddenly threw one of the bottles at him with full strength.

"Shut up, old man."

The bottle flew through the air, but his grandfather caught it easily.

Still, the pain in his eyes deepened. It was not from the bottle, but from the words.

Edward's stomach twisted.

The brother he once admired was gone. The man standing before him felt like a stranger.

Edward walked forward, reaching out.

"Brother… you should stop drinking—"

Smack.

The sound echoed in the hall.

Vivian slapped Edward across the face. Edward staggered back, shock written all over him.

"Stay in your limit, Edward."

Vivian's voice was cold. Empty.

There was not a single trace of warmth in his eyes as he looked at his younger brother.

But inside, something broke quietly, where no one could see it.

His father, who had been watching everything in silence, let out a deep sigh and walked toward Vivian.

There was deep pain in his eyes, but there was also understanding.

He could tell that his son's sudden change was connected to his illness. …

That much was clear. But why Vivian chose to walk this shameful path, he did not know.

He stopped in front of his son.

Vivian looked at him and spoke first.

"What do you want?"

"Vivian, you—"

"Don't lecture me. I'm fine. Go do your own work."

There was no respect in his voice. No warmth. It was as if he was speaking to a complete stranger.

"Vivian, listen. Your mother—"

Before he could finish, Vivian let out a cold snort and sneered.

"Rich words coming from you," he said. "From the man who killed his mother the moment he came into this wo—"

Smack!

This time, his father could not control himself.

His hand came down hard across Vivian's face.

Vivian's head turned to the side from the impact.

Elena's eyes widened in shock. Edward froze.

Even his grandfather stiffened. Everyone felt their hearts ache.

It was the first time anyone had ever raised a hand against Vivian.

Slowly, Vivian straightened his head. He did not shout. He did not glare. He showed nothing at all.

He clicked his tongue and jerked his jaw slightly.

"If you're done," he said calmly, "then I'll take my leave."

With those words, he turned his back on them and walked toward the stairs, his expression colder than ever.

After Vivian left, the hall sank into complete silence.

His father slowly fell to his knees. His body felt heavy, as if all strength had left him.

Pain and loss were clear on his face as he stared at his hand.

His hand was trembling without control. Tears slipped down his face.

It was the first time he had ever hit his son.

These were the same hands that had held Vivian the moment he was born.

The same hands that had promised to give his child everything in this world. Yet now, he had given him nothing.

His son was coughing up blood. His son was slowly dying.

And he could not save him.

The rest of the family did not know the full truth, but he did.

He knew Vivian's condition was getting worse with each passing day.

He knew this pain might be the reason behind his son's sudden change.

Vined stared at his shaking hand.

Disgust rose in his heart. Helplessness crushed him.

"Smack. Smack. Smack."

He began slapping his own cheeks again and again.

"Incompetent!" he shouted. "I'm useless!"

As he raised his hand once more, it was suddenly caught.

Elena grabbed his wrist. Tears were flowing down her face as she looked at her broken husband.

"Don't…"

That was all she said.

She pulled him into a gentle embrace, holding him tightly, as if afraid he would fall apart if she let go.

Meanwhile, Vivian watched everything from the corridor.

Pain filled his eyes as tears slid down his face. He quickly wiped them away.

"I'm sorry, Father… but this is for the best," he whispered.

He lifted the alcohol bottle and took a long gulp.

He did not enjoy drinking. He never did.

But now, near the end of his life, alcohol was the only thing that helped him.

If he drank enough, he could fall asleep without struggling against the pain and coughing.

After emptying the bottle, he looked at his family one last time.

Then he turned away and walked toward his room.

As he moved down the corridor, a bitter smile appeared on his face.

"They still love me…"

The words felt heavy in his chest.

He did not know whether to feel happy or disappointed.

He wanted them to hate him. He wanted them to let go, so the pain would be less when he was gone.

But no matter how badly he behaved, their love never faded.

He reached the door of his room.

A maid was standing there.

Her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep, and unease could be seen on her face. She bowed respectfully.

"Good night, Young Master Vivian."

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