Seth returned to the Diaz residence.

The somber funeral parlor was nearly empty, with only a few servants silently bustling about.

Dressed in a sleek black suit, Seth stood rigid and silent before the hall, his gaze solemnly fixed on Patty's black and white portrait. It was unclear what was going through his mind.

Time seemed to drag until Charlie burst in with urgency, "Mr. Diaz, the Ellis family has sent someone."

"Considering we're practically in-laws, it seems rather harsh to leave me out in the cold, doesn't it?" Lana's icy, sarcastic voice cut through the silence, and seconds later she appeared at the entrance to the hall, flanked by two muscular bodyguards.

Seth remained motionless.d2

Lana stepped inside, moving to one side. She picked up a flower, approached Seth, and without so much as bending, nonchalantly tossed the flower in front of Patty's portrait.

"I'm so happy for you that your son has such a good mother. Got what you wished for. Your son personally sent his beloved woman straight to jail. Are you pleased with him now? What's the look on your face? Happy? Relieved? Joyful?"

Seth stood still, silent as a grave.

Her biting remarks soaked Charlie in a cold sweat. "Ms. Lana, the deceased deserves some respect."

Lana let out a cold laugh, "Which word of mine has disrespected her? I'm helping her leave without worries. And I've brought her a gift that will surely make her grin from ear to ear down below."

With that, she raised her hand and one of the bodyguards handed her a document. She tore open the envelope, pulled out its contents, and turned them towards Patty's portrait.

"See clearly now? Divorce Settlement Agreement. And Share Transfer Agreement." She enunciated each word with venomous precision, her laughter revealing a profound loathing. "Aren't you so happy now? Look how reasonable Cicely was to get you such a thoughtful gift."

Charlie watched on, heart pounding, glancing at Seth who stood like a lifeless statue.

Divorce settlement agreement and share transfer agreement. These documents alone inspired dread.

Lana's smile eventually faded as she stepped closer to Patty's portrait, gently caressing the warm, generous smile on her face. "Now that you've got your gift, shall we settle our own scores? Did you really love my brother that much, hmm? Tod lied to you, didn't he? Was he unkind to you after the wedding? He didn't love you, but did you love him? Your actions, where did they leave him? You wanted everyone to love you, yet you couldn't love anyone in return. You chose to die, but why, why drag my brother down with you? How could a selfish woman like you ever be worthy?!"

In a furious motion, Lana smashed Patty's portrait to the ground. The frame shattered on impact, its breaking echo unnaturally clear in the empty hall. She proceeded to knock down all the flowers and anything else within sight, unleashing her boundless rage.

Had it not been for Patty's selfishness and obsession, would the Ellis family have ended up like this?

"Ms. Lana!" Charlie's heart skipped a beat, wanting to intervene but was blocked by the men Patty had brought.

"Mr. Diaz!" With no other recourse, Charlie turned to Seth, who remained impassive, coldly observing Lana's tirade.

The funerary arrangement was minimalist, and Lana's destruction was devastatingly simple. Chaos reigned. She seemed not to have vented enough but had no choice but to stop.

Her anger still apparent, her hair slightly disheveled. She picked up the documents from the floor and thrust them into Seth's chest pocket. "She said to sign these as soon as possible, and she's eager to get back to her cell."

Seth's dark, calm eyes flickered imperceptibly at her words.

Lana's lips curled with cruel satisfaction. "I finally understand why Cicely, even as she was about to be taken by the police, needed to confirm over and over if you loved her."

Despite her words, Lana was overwhelmed with an infinite sadness.

Using love as punishment, wasn't this the most intangible yet most heart-wrenching method?

So much love, yet inflicted with such cruelty.

Shaking her head, her cold, thin smile was a boundless irony. "Perhaps you were right to be confident. Cicely did love you. So, do you feel it now? The more she loved you, the more she hates you." Seth's chest heaved violently, his pupils contracting, fists clenching tightly.

Lana left, and Charlie, taking in Seth's demeanor, began to restore order to the desecrated hall.

Only after a long while did Seth move. He took out the documents Lana had left him, unfolded them, and saw the words 'Divorce Settlement Agreement' in bold.

The contract was straightforward: mutual incompatibility, no children, no financial disputes, a voluntary separation.

Below, in familiar handwriting, flowed the signature he imagined Cicely making.

Was she expressionless? Undoubtedly determined?

He clenched the papers tightly, then abruptly left the hall.

Charlie jumped, following quickly. "Mr. Diaz, where are you going?"

Cicely, clad in a sleek black silk suit, her hair gathered low, was an unusual sight in the hall.

The once vibrant girl, now in such somber attire, stood out starkly even in the mourning atmosphere.

She knelt quietly, staring at Creighton's portrait with a calm, vacant gaze, her eyes bone-dry, devoid of tears.

When Lana returned, seeing Cicely unchanged from the moment she left, her heart twisted with sorrow. "Cicely, birth, aging, sickness, and death are the natural order. Each life has its destiny. No matter the grief, there is a limit. Think of how dearly your father loved you. If you're not well, how can he rest in peace?"

Cicely's body moved slightly, her gaze calm as she spoke, "Did he sign?"

"No, he didn't."

"I see." Cicely's voice was a mere whisper, devoid of emotion as she turned her gaze away.

"Don't be a fool, Cicely. Patty's death wasn't your fault. I'll file an appeal for this case. Otherwise, you'll ruin your life, do you understand? You have a whole life ahead of you. Without Seth, you'll find a fresh start. You'll meet a kind man, have a couple of beautiful kids, and lead the simple life everyone dreams of."

Cicely's eyes flickered at the mention of children. She closed her eyes, momentarily forgetting the unborn life stirring within her.

The housemaid entered quietly, peeking at Cicely before softly informing Lana, "Mr. Diaz is at the front gate."

Despite the hushed tone, Cicely overheard. "Don't let him in. My father doesn't want to see him."

Addressing Cicely directly, the housemaid relayed, "Mr. Diaz insists on seeing you."

"I said no. If he's brought the signed divorce papers, just take them from him," Cicely replied, her voice barely above a murmur.

Lana gave the housemaid a look before stepping out herself. At the gate, she faced Seth, "You still have the nerve to see her after all you've done? Planning on locking her away for life?"

Through the gate, Seth met Lana's gaze with a steady one of his own. "You're filing an appeal, aren't you?"

Her eyes narrowed, "She'll have to request it herself."

Seth stood still, the divorce papers in his grip already creased from the tension. The veins on his hand stood out, a silent testament to the force he'd used.

Time seemed to slow before Seth finally spoke, "Charlie, give me a pen."

Charlie flinched, and even Lana was taken aback.

"Mr. Diaz..." Charlie hesitated, not sure what to say. But even without a divorce, how could Seth and Cicely possibly move forward under these circumstances?

"Give it to me!"

Seth's command left no room for doubt. Charlie pulled a pen from his pocket and handed it over.

Seth took the pen and signed his name outside the gate, his usual confident script now shaky. The pressure of the pen against the paper was palpable, his signature flowing from the pen as if branded by fire. Once he finished, he folded the papers and passed them through the gate to Lana. "If she agrees to the appeal, give this to her."

"Aren't you afraid I'll just hand it to her?"

Clutching the pen tightly, Seth's voice was stiff and solemn, "I think you want her to appeal even more than I do."

Taking the papers, Martha looked at the signature, a wave of bitter sorrow washing over her. She didn't even know how to hate this man.

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