Declan wasn't here to visit his sick fiancée.
Someone had tipped him off that Maeve was at this hospital.
Ever since he and Nancy officially announced their engagement, Maeve had blocked his number.
Desperate for news about Naomi, Declan—who had been binge-drinking at home for two days straight—didn't even bother to wash his face before rushing to the hospital to intercept her.
Only to overhear such a soul-crushing statement.
He and Naomi had no Marital Fate?
No. He refused to accept that.
Maeve knew she shouldn't despise Declan. His situation was undeniably tragic.
But thinking about Naomi being forced to flee, she felt zero sympathy for him.
"A man who can't even control his own marriage would only make Naomi suffer."
"Since you've already announced your wedding to that Grover bitch, let Naomi go. And let yourself go, too."
Declan blocked her path.
"I just need you to answer one question. Are Naomi and I truly destined to be apart?"
"According to your fortune, yes," Maeve replied flatly.
"During the gathering on the third day of the New Year, you hinted at this."
Declan was a chronic overthinker and highly sensitive. He could connect the dots with the slightest hint.
Maeve neither confirmed nor denied it.
"My personal motto is that My fate is my own."
"If you just accept whatever fate hands you, how are you any different from a puppet?"
That was exactly why she could see the destinies of those around her but rarely intervened.
Destiny was always meant to be held in one's own hands.
If Declan insisted on carrying his dead brother's burden and letting his family enslave him, no amount of advice would save him.
Furthermore, Maeve had no desire to blindly interfere with someone else's karma.
If Declan had been willing to fight destiny for Naomi's sake, she might have offered him a helping hand.
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