CHAPTER 163: RETURNING BACK HOME

Returning to the villa, Lucas was indeed not home.

The rooms remained impeccably clean and tidy, but a few suits and shirts were missing from their shared wardrobe—clear evidence he wouldn’t be back for days.

An inexplicable sense of loss settled over her.

*Who was he traveling with this time?*

Sitting cross-legged on the carpet, she tilted her head in thought when her phone buzzed with a message.

Surprisingly, it was from Nathalie—the first time the woman had ever reached out to her.

The text flashed on the screen: *"Beauty, I heard you scraped your knee. Feeling better now?

Just so you know, I’ll be traveling with Lucas these next few days.

If you can’t reach him, feel free to contact me anytime!"

The tone was breezy, almost caring—but the real intention?

Only Nathalie knew.

This was her way of flaunting that she was with *her* man, and they’d be together for a while.

*Was this a deliberate provocation?*

Had *he* allowed this?

Was he so eager to watch her heart shatter?

She sat at the vanity, meticulously smoothing her hair before applying a sheer layer of lipstick.

Since the injury had forced her to give up her favorite foods, she’d lost weight, her complexion dull.

The lipstick was the only thing lending her face any color.

Every afternoon, the doctor came to change her bandages and ointment.

The scar had formed now, the fine sutures still visible, though it looked better than days prior.

"Madam, starting today, we won’t need to bandage it anymore.

The weather’s getting warmer, and covering it might hinder healing.

If you don’t mind..." "It’s fine," she interrupted lightly.

"I’ll just get bangs to cover it.

After a while, I’ll get used to seeing it.

Really, it doesn’t bother me."

And it didn’t.

The scar meant little to her—appearance hardly mattered now.

Freedom was already lost.

She’d married Lucas, legal and binding.

Even with a marred face, she was still the wife of a man who commanded attention.

After the doctor left, Beauty examined the scar in the mirror closely—it resembled a tiny, twisted worm.

A bitter smile tugged at the corner of her lips before she grabbed her purse and headed out.

Inside the upscale salon, Beauty was a VIP black card member.

The amount she spent here each year could easily cover an average person’s living expenses for twelve months.

"Miss Beauty, are you absolutely certain about cutting off all this beautiful hair?"

The stylist looked at her as if she were a walking gold mine, grinning from ear to ear, his tone dripping with reverence.

After all, every visit from her could sustain his livelihood for a month—or even longer.

In the mirror, her reflection stared back—porcelain skin, rosy lips, almond-shaped eyes, and a delicate nose.

The only flaw was that scar marring her temple.

Originally, she had only intended to get bangs to hide it.

But suddenly, she felt the urge to chop off the chestnut-brown cascade she’d grown for *someone*—hair that flowed like a waterfall.

Time for a fresh start.

The stylist hesitated, unable to hide his reluctance.

"Miss Beauty, are you *really* sure?

Such gorgeous hair... It’s such a shame!"

Beauty nodded firmly.

"Cut it.

I want a change.

The short styles here are nice—just trim it to shoulder length."

She gestured with her hand to indicate the length, and the stylist immediately nodded in understanding.

"Don’t worry, Miss Beauty. I’ll give you the perfect short hairstyle.

And with your stunning looks, you could pull off *any* style.

I guarantee this will make you even more radiant."

She was already a petite, doll-like figure next to Lucas.

Would going even shorter make her look like some delicate little thing?

Would people think he was some old man preying on a young girl?

*Ugh!*

Beauty shook her head violently.

What did her haircut have to do with that pervy old man?

Why did *everything* somehow circle back to him?

The designer’s slender fingers danced through her silky hair, and in no time, a chic short hairstyle took shape.

Beauty brushed aside the bangs framing her forehead, a faint smile playing on her lips.

It seemed these bangs could perfectly conceal the scar on her forehead—not only that, they made her face appear smaller and her age even younger.

Staring at the reflection in the mirror—those bright eyes, plump lips, and the doll-like girl staring back—she could hardly recognize herself.

"Absolutely perfect!

This hairstyle was made for you," one of the designers gushed.

Amid the chorus of admiration, Beauty rose gracefully and strode toward the checkout counter, her VIP card glinting in her hand as she moved with effortless elegance.

--- Pushing open the hospital room door, she stepped inside to find Sarah feeding her mother a bowl of nourishing soup.

The moment Sarah spotted her, she set down the porcelain bowl, eyes widening in shock as she took in the transformation.

"Beauty, what on earth possessed you to chop off all your hair?"

Beauty grinned, her eyes crinkling into crescents.

"Well, I might not have my personal freedom anymore, but at least I can still decide my own hairstyle!

Besides, don’t you think this makes me look fresh-faced and adorable?"

Sarah nearly choked, clearing her throat dramatically.

With mock sternness, she retorted, "You were already adorable to begin with.

Rub it in any more, and my fragile heart might just give out!"

Beauty laughed carefree.

"Every age has its own beauty, Sarah.

Sure, you’re older than me, but your poise and charm are leagues ahead of us fresh-out-of-school girls.

To me, you’ll always be the timeless red rose." Sarah rolled her eyes playfully.

"Timeless roses are plastic.

Nothing compares to a fresh, blooming flower like you standing right in front of me!"

Sarah gently stroked Beauty’s shoulder-length hair with a tender smile.

Beauty pouted her rosy lips playfully and grinned at her mother.

"Sarah takes after you, Auntie —a natural beauty through and through.

In my eyes, she’s the most gorgeous one of all."

Her words drew a soft laugh from Sarah’s mother, bringing a faint flush to her otherwise pallid cheeks.

The toll of chemotherapy was evident—her hair had thinned, her complexion lacked vitality, and deep wrinkles etched her face.

Yet, traces of her youthful beauty still lingered beneath the weariness.

After spoon-feeding her mother some nourishing food, Sarah watched as she drifted back into a fitful sleep.

The two young women sat side by side on the hospital corridor bench, wrapped in heavy silence.

Beauty cast a glance at the frail figure in the hospital bed and whispered, "How is Auntie doing?

What did the doctors say?"

"Right now, it’s just medication keeping her going.

She’s so weak..." Sarah’s voice trembled.

"The doctors told me to... prepare myself.

That’s why I refuse to leave her side, even for

a second.

I’m terrified that if I blink—"

A tear slipped down her cheek as she leaned her head lightly against Beauty’s shoulder.