The Masterpiece of Leaving：Prepared A Perfect Stand-In For Him novel Chapter 3

The dinner ended in a cloud of tension.

On the drive home, Lysander steered in stony silence while Navier gazed out the window, feeling nothing but emptiness.

Then came the screech of tires.

Both looked up to see a car careening out of control straight toward their lane.

Before Navier could react, there was a deafening crash. Their car lurched violently, then everything spun.

Navier’s head slammed against the window. Darkness rushed in, swallowing her whole.

Somewhere in the haze, she heard Lysander’s ragged breathing.

Forcing her eyes open, she saw his arm stretched across her body as if to shield her.

A flicker of warmth ignited in her chest.

But the next moment, her heart turned to ice.

Lysander wasn't shielding her at all—he was protecting the necklace lying next to her—the one Ophelia Belmont had given him.

Blood smeared across the delicate silver chain, and Lysander didn’t even seem to notice his own injuries.

A thin crack ran through the necklace. His eyes flashed with distress as he pulled out his phone and made a call.

“Get me the best restoration expert. I need a necklace repaired. Immediately.”

Looking at the man before her, Navier felt an indescribable wave of desolation wash over her.

His wife sat in the passenger seat, severely injured, covered in blood, in too much pain to move—yet he hadn't spared her a single glance.

He cared nothing for her injuries, hadn't even called an ambulance. Instead, he staggered out of the car, focused only on repairing that damn pendant.

Then her vision blurred, her body giving out.

The last thing she saw before losing consciousness—

Was his back.

In the operating room, harsh lights shone down on Navier's pale face.

Drifting in and out of consciousness, she heard a nurse's anxious voice. “We can’t reach her husband! No one’s here to sign the consent form for surgery!”

“How can a man just disappear when his wife is in this condition? What could possibly be more important than his wife's life?"

A bitter smile twisted Navier's lips.

Of course. In Lysander's mind, Ophelia and anything associated with her obviously mattered more than his wife's life.

While she—a living, breathing human being—couldn't even get him to look at her.

The car cruised smoothly along the highway, scenery rushing past outside.

Neither spoke, until suddenly Lysander stopped typing, his gaze fixed intensely on something outside.

His breathing quickened, fingers gripping the door handle as if he'd spotted something he'd been desperately longing for.

Following his line of sight, Navier saw a figure in the crowd—a girl in a white dress with slightly curled hair and a silhouette just like Ophelia’s.

"Stop the car!" Lysander's voice shot up sharply.

The driver slammed on the brakes, pulling over to the roadside.

Lysander flung the door open the instant the car stopped, his eyes still locked on the retreating figure.

Then he glanced back at Navier, his tone cold and hurried. “Find your own way back. I have something to do.”

Navier froze, fingers clutching the wheelchair armrests until her knuckles turned white.

She opened her mouth to speak, but Lysander had already pulled her and the wheelchair out of the car, then ordered the driver to turn around.

The car swung around and sped off in the direction where the figure had disappeared, leaving Navier stranded alone in her wheelchair by the side of the expressway.