Liam didn’t come home the entire night, and early the next morning I went to meet with a lawyer to discuss drafting the divorce agreement.

When I got home, the living room was a mess, and the study door was half open.

Vanessa was sitting on Liam’s desk, her blouse unbuttoned, lips swollen. Liam stood between her legs, his tie loose, one hand gripping her thigh, while Vanessa traced her fingers lazily along his shoulder.

A wave of nausea surged through me. I bit my lips hard enough to taste blood, rubbed the burning sting in my eyes, and turned back to the bedroom to pack my luggage.

I stuffed old clothes into the suitcase—clothes I’d bought before marriage. Three years, and I hadn’t added a single new piece.

The photos from our dating days, the DIY couple figurines, the plastic ring he used when he proposed—all thrown into the trash.

The sound of the turning lock echoed just as I was bent over pulling the zipper of my suitcase closed. Liam walked in, carrying a perfume scent—one that wasn’t mine.

“Clara, I’m sorry.” He approached quickly, his voice intentionally soft, reaching out to touch my shoulder, but I moved away.

“What happened yesterday was my fault. I was swamped and forgot the anniversary. I shouldn’t have hung up on you, either.” His apology skimmed the surface—his eyes showed no guilt, only the impatience of quieting a disturbance.

I said nothing and continued packing the scattered books. I knew this routine all too well.

“What are you doing?” Liam finally noticed the overflowing trash bin and frowned.

“Just clearing out some old things, putting everything back where it belongs.” My voice was calm, emotionless.

Yes—back to my design career, and the trash back in the trash.

Liam blinked, then relief washed across his face, as though I had sensibly saved him from trouble.

“That’s why you’re considerate, Clara.” His tone relaxed, riding the momentum. “Actually, I wanted to talk to you. Vanessa’s under a lot of pressure with the project and the client’s pushing hard. Her apartment is too noisy, she can’t concentrate. I thought our home is quiet, so she can stay here for a few days until the bidding’s done.”

My hand froze. The edge of the book cut my fingertip, and beads of blood surfaced. So his apology wasn’t for me—it was to pave the way for another woman to move in.

“Prepare the guest room. You’ll move there for now.” Liam didn’t even notice the blood and continued, “Vanessa is the company’s key player. This bid depends on her. Take care of her meals and don’t make trouble.”

“My house—why do I have to move?” I lifted my gaze and met his eyes, my voice trembling beneath restraint. This was our marital home. I guarded it for three years. Why should the woman destroying my marriage take my place?

Liam’s expression darkened, his tone sharpening. “Clara, why are you being unreasonable? Vanessa is critical right now, can’t you cut her some slack? It’s just a room, it’s not like I’m asking you to leave. Don’t be so petty.”

Before he could finish, light footsteps came from the hallway. Vanessa walked in wearing a delicate dress—the brand I used to love before marriage. Afterward, I never bought it again; Liam always said it was too expensive, that money should be spent where it mattered. Seven days ago, I saw that exact dress on his shopping list, and I naïvely thought it was an anniversary gift for me.

Yet here it was, on Vanessa’s body.

“Clara, I’m really sorry for the intrusion.” Vanessa spoke timidly, but triumph flickered in her eyes. “Liam means well. I truly have nowhere else to go. Once this phase is over, I’ll leave right away.”

She spoke while naturally strolling into the bedroom, her gaze landing on the skincare products on my vanity. She picked up a bottle and opened the cap, inhaling. “Wow, this serum smells great. Women get older—they really should take better care.”

Before I could respond, her eyes fell on the stack of design drafts I had sorted on the table—the very drafts I stayed up countless nights drawing, the ones that helped Liam build his rise in the design industry.

Vanessa picked up the pages, flipping through them fast, a mocking smile tugging at her lips. “These are the ‘outdated works’ Liam mentioned? The lines do look old-fashioned, and the colors are average. Definitely not presentable.”

“Vanessa, don’t talk nonsense.” Liam gave a symbolic scolding, without a trace of reproach, then turned to me. “Clara, Vanessa is focused on the project. She speaks straightforwardly. Don’t take it personally. Just accommodate her.”

My fist tightened, nails digging into my palm until the metallic taste of blood rose in my throat. Those drafts were my sleepless nights turned into visions—and Liam, the man I poured everything into, was now stepping on them with another woman.

I didn’t argue. I turned and walked toward the kitchen. Ever since last night’s decision to leave, I’d been busy researching the details of this bid. I hadn’t eaten yet and was planning to make lunch.

I tied the apron around my waist, and Liam squeezed his way in, bumping my arm. Heat flared across my wrist as hot oil splattered onto my skin, blistering instantly.

He didn’t even look. Instead, he said, “Vanessa likes light food. Don’t make anything greasy. Girls are delicate and picky—prepare something nutritious.”

He never stepped into this small, smoky kitchen before. He always said he had more important things to do—that the kitchen was where women belonged.

I sucked in a sharp breath, instinctively pulling my arm back.

He carefully sliced a plate of fruit before finally glancing at my blistered arm, his voice flat as if commenting on the weather: “It’s just a small burn. No need to be dramatic. Run it under cold water.”

When he finished, he didn’t look at me again. He rushed toward the living room, his voice carrying a tenderness I’d never heard directed at me:

“Vanessa, try the apple. You need vitamins, staying up late is hard on you.”

Vanessa’s sweet, delicate thanks floated back into the kitchen. I stood still, cold water running over the burn, yet feeling no coolness—only the creeping chill spreading through my chest.

I turned off the tap and stared at the blisters on my skin, a faint, self-mocking smile on my lips.

Liam. Vanessa.

Without my help this time—let’s see how the two of you plan to win this bid.

At three in the morning, I was startled awake by a faint noise outside the guest room door.

Moonlight slipped through the gap in the curtains, outlining a slender figure hovering near the master bedroom—Vanessa.

When I packed last night, I left my laptop on the desk in the master bedroom, still powered on.

Silently, I got up and pressed my eye to the crack of the door. Vanessa was bent over my laptop, her fingers flying over the keyboard, the screen’s blue glow casting greed across her face. Her flash drive was plugged into the USB port, and the soft ticking of the loading bar felt deafening in the stillness of the night.

Inside that computer was the first draft of the bidding design I drew after staying up all night.

I gripped the doorframe, my knuckles turning white, but I didn’t rush out. I wanted to see how Liam would react to this.

Soon enough, Vanessa pulled out the flash drive, closed the laptop carefully, and turned with a triumphant smile tugging at her lips. She tiptoed back to the guest room as if nothing had happened.

That design draft was one I discarded. At first glance, it was captivating, but once executed, it had serious structural flaws—something only the inexperienced would miss. That was why I didn’t stop Vanessa when I saw she had copied it.

Vanessa was our junior in college. Even after I’d been a housewife for years, the one who believed most firmly in my abilities turned out to be the woman destroying my family.

When morning came, Liam rushed into the living room, unable to hide his excitement. Vanessa followed right behind him, clutching his arm with practiced shyness, holding the printed proposal in her hand.

“Clara, look!” Liam shoved the proposal toward me, voice overflowing with exhilaration. “Vanessa is incredible! This concept is flawless. The client is going to love it—this bid is ours!”

I looked down at the paper. The core concept, the spatial routes, even the color palettes—all identical to the draft on my computer, just under a different title.

“Liam, this proposal is mine.” My voice was dry, each word scraping its way out. “Vanessa copied the initial draft from my computer and made minor edits.”

Vanessa’s face drained instantly, her eyes reddening as she shrank behind Liam like a startled rabbit. “Clara, how could you say that? I spent three nights drawing this. How could it be yours?”

Liam’s expression soured, his gaze full of impatience and doubt. “Clara, are you done making a scene?”

“I am not making a scene!” My voice rose, finger landing on a key part of the blueprint. “This ‘suspension pathway concept’ is my original design. It only exists in my draft—you can check the laptop’s activity history!”

“What’s there to check?” Liam cut me off, his tone laced with undisguised contempt. “You haven’t touched design in years. You said yourself—you wanted to stay home as my wife and never return to the industry. How could you produce something like this?”

He wielded that promise like a knife, driving it into my chest. It was a compromise I made for his pride, yet now it had become the weapon to erase my worth.

“You’re jealous Vanessa can help me, aren’t you? Trying to take her credit?” Liam shielded Vanessa, pressing forward like a prosecutor. “Clara, can’t you be more mature? Vanessa gives everything for the company. Stop nitpicking over little things—you’re disappointing me.”

Watching Liam defend her, my heart sank to the bottom of the abyss.

I turned and rushed to the guest room, rummaging through the iron box in my suitcase and pulling out the original proposal—Liam’s first project, the one that opened doors for him in the investment world, also drawn by me. Its core logic and Vanessa’s proposal were unmistakably cut from the same cloth.

“Look!” I threw the draft in front of Liam. “This is the proposal that got you your first investment—it was drawn by me! Vanessa’s proposal follows the same conceptual lineage. I updated the design philosophy—how can you say I’m incapable of producing good work?”

Liam’s eyes flickered, pupils tightening as recognition crept in. But before he could think, Vanessa tugged his arm and cried, “Liam, don’t let Clara fool you. Similar concepts exist everywhere in this industry. You can’t accuse me based on this.”

Like her tears snapped him awake, Liam’s face hardened. He snatched the draft and tore it to pieces.

The scraps floated down, landing on my face and hands, sharp as needles.

That wasn’t just a draft—it was the proof of my devotion, the foundation of his career. Now destroyed by his own hand.

“Old paperwork from the past—stop embarrassing yourself.” His voice was ice. “Clara, I’m warning you for the last time—stop this, or there will be nothing left to talk about.”

Vanessa stood beside him, feigning concern. “Liam, don’t be mad. Clara probably just wants to help—that’s why she’s acting this way.” But triumph glimmered in her eyes.

I looked at the scattered paper, at Liam’s cold face, and finally understood—my sacrifice meant nothing to him.

That afternoon, Liam’s company held an internal review meeting. Vanessa sent me a message, asking me to “come support Liam.” I knew she wanted to claim my work in front of everyone—to reduce me to nothing.

I still went. I wanted to see just how heartless Liam could be.

The conference room was filled with the company’s core members. Vanessa stood before the screen with the stolen proposal in hand, presenting confidently. Her explanation was full of holes—she couldn’t articulate the core logic—but applause still followed every slide.

During the Q&A segment, a staff member asked, puzzled, “Vanessa, this pathway concept is very innovative. What inspired it?”

Vanessa’s eyes flickered, instinctively glancing at Liam. Liam stepped in immediately, “She developed this after many sleepless nights. Vanessa’s talent speaks for itself.”

Emboldened, Vanessa turned toward me in the corner, a taunting smile curling her lips. “It’s really nothing complicated. Mainly, Liam trusts me and gives me opportunities. Not like some people—holding the title of wife but only good for cooking and laundry. If someone like that handled this proposal, the bid would be doomed.”

Laughter swept through the room. Liam, seated at the head, didn’t stop it; he joined in, his glance toward me filled with disdain.

The laughter felt like countless slaps across my face. My fists clenched, nails digging deep into my palms, the taste of blood flooding my mouth. I stared at the screen displaying my creativity, at Vanessa’s smug face, at Liam’s indifference—even knowing this draft was a trap I planted, I still felt every last thread of patience snap.

I remembered when industry leaders competed to collaborate with me. I remembered locking all that glory away for Liam’s pride. I remembered bedridden after miscarriage, while he visited Vanessa. I remembered him saying I couldn’t survive without him.

The youth and devotion I treasured so deeply—were fed to a dog.

Liam seemed to notice my expression shift, frowning—not with concern, but warning. “Clara, stop making a scene. If you don’t want to stay, then leave.”

Slowly, I stood. My gaze swept the room, finally landing on Liam and Vanessa. My voice was calm—terrifyingly calm—yet firm with finality.

“Liam, Vanessa, for what you’ve done today—you will pay the price.”

Maybe it was the sleepless nights spent drafting the design proposal, but I suddenly came down with a high fever.

My whole body felt trapped against burning steel, every breath searing, and the burn on my arm throbbed with a pain so sharp it felt bone-deep. The blisters had ruptured, and pus mixed with sweat soaked through my sleeve.

I tried to sit up, but my limbs refused. My head felt weighed with lead, darkness flickering at the edges of my vision.

The housekeeper pushed open the door and froze when she saw me. “Madam—what happened to you?” She reached out and touched my forehead, gasping. “Oh God, you’re burning up! You definitely have a fever—I’ll get a doctor right now!”

When the doctor arrived, the thermometer read 40°C. The burn had grown infected, and with my immunity weakened from stress and suppression, the situation wasn’t looking good.

“We’ll get your fever down first, then deal with the wound,” the doctor instructed. “You must rest. No more overworking.”

After prescribing medication, he left.

The housekeeper wiped my sweat and fed me medicine, tending to me tirelessly. And the husband who should have been by my side—never appeared.

In a haze, I heard the housekeeper calling Liam, her voice anxious.

“Liam, madam has a fever—forty degrees—and the burn is infected. The doctor said it’s serious. Could you come home?”

Whatever Liam said made the housekeeper’s expression worsen. After hanging up, she let out a long sigh.

“Madam, Liam said there’s a sudden issue with the bid on Vanessa’s end. The client wants the proposal changed last minute. He said he really can’t leave and told me to take good care of you.”

“Can’t leave.”

Those three words stabbed through the fever burning in my chest. I was bedridden, in pain—but he was busy accompanying another woman to handle a “crisis,” unable to spare even a moment to ask if I was alive.

I slept fitfully through the day. When I woke again, another figure was in the room.

Vanessa stood by my bed holding a beautifully wrapped fruit basket, feigning concern. She wore a designer dress; a new diamond bracelet glittered on her wrist under the daylight, bright and sharp to the eye.

“Clara, I heard you’re sick, so I came to see you.” She stepped closer, pretending to reach for my forehead, but made sure her bracelet flashed in front of my eyes. “Liam wanted to come with me, but the client’s urging us nonstop. He sent fruit and asked me to persuade you—stop overthinking and rest.”

I turned my head away from her touch, my voice hoarse. “Spare me the act.”

Vanessa’s smile stiffened briefly, then returned with practiced ease. She picked up an apple and began peeling, her tone full of calculated pride.

“Clara, look at this bracelet. Liam bought it for me—he said I’ve been exhausting myself revising the proposal and wanted to treat me.” She shook her wrist slightly; the diamonds caught the light and pierced my eyes.

“Oh, and Liam was afraid I couldn’t handle all the details, so he hired a top-tier designer to assist me. Someone who won an international award.”

Vanessa seemed satisfied with her performance. After saying what she came to say, she left.

The moment she mentioned the designer’s name, I knew—it was my former apprentice. When I withdrew from the industry, I recommended him to influential contacts. I never imagined he’d now be hired by Vanessa to perfect the proposal stolen from me.

A sudden cough tore through me, pulling sharp pain across my abdomen—the familiar aftermath of miscarriages.

The agony stabbed through me like invisible knives turning inside my body. I curled up, clutching my stomach, cold sweat soaking the sheets, my face drained of color.

Trembling, I reached for my phone on the nightstand and dialed Liam.

It rang a long time before he answered, voice full of impatience.

“What now? I’m busy. The client is pushing for changes—you’re interrupting important work.”

“Liam… my stomach… it hurts… really bad…” I could barely form words. “Can you… come home and take me to the hospital?”

“Stomach pain? That’s nothing.” Liam sounded even more dismissive. “Where’s the housekeeper? Have her take you. Or call an ambulance. I told you—I can’t leave.”

“I… I can’t move…” The pain darkened my vision. Tears spilled uncontrollably.

“Tsk. Such trouble.” Liam exhaled sharply. In the background, Vanessa’s honeyed voice floated through,

“Liam, the client’s asking again. Don’t waste time on irrelevant people—we need to respond.”

“Got it.” Liam answered her, then spoke quickly into the phone. “I’m hanging up. Figure it out yourself.”

The line cut off. The dial tone pounded like a hammer in my chest.

Irrelevant person.

In his world, I had become “irrelevant.”

Curled on the bed, the pain in my abdomen worsened, the fever blurred my thoughts, and the dizziness dragged my consciousness toward the edge. The burn on my arm hurt, but the despair was worse—overwhelming, suffocating.

I remembered the last miscarriage—the same blinding pain while Liam “traveled for work,” spending those nights with Vanessa. I remembered three years of sacrifice. I remembered “I’ll take care of you.” I remembered his coldness, his betrayal.

Every promise had been a lie. Every sacrifice—wasted.

I don’t know how long passed before the pain finally eased, leaving me limp and exhausted on the bed. Silent tears soaked the pillowcase. The housekeeper entered with medicine, saw me and hesitated, but eventually said nothing—only wiped my tears quietly.

I took the phone again, fingers trembling as I dialed a number buried in dust.

“Uncle Li, it’s me, Clara.” I forced the tremor out of my voice as the call connected.

Uncle Li had been my mother’s longtime partner at the design institute, a respected figure in the industry, and one of the judges in this bidding project. When I retired, he had lamented losing talent, telling me I’d always be welcomed back.

“Clara? Is it really you?” His voice brimmed with joy. “You finally made up your mind?”

“Yes.” I drew in a shaky breath, but my voice steadied. “Uncle Li, I want to participate in this bid.”

“Good! Excellent!” He agreed without a second thought. “I know your talent better than anyone. If not for you giving everything up for Liam…” His tone shifted solemn. “Rest assured, Clara. I’ll make sure you have a fair chance—and that your talent is seen.”

After ending the call, I stared up at the ceiling as the despair inside me began to harden into resolve.

Liam, Vanessa—you think stealing my proposal guarantees your win?

You think my illness makes me weak enough to trample?

You’re wrong.

Everything I lost—I’ll take back with my own hands.

And everything you owe me—you’ll repay double.