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.

The harsh lights in the living room were still on deep into the night. When I got up to get some water, I walked right into Liam and Vanessa hovering over the coffee table, both faces ashen.

Blueprints were scattered across the table. Vanessa was hunched over them, crying, her finger trembling as she pointed at the laptop screen.

“Liam, what do we do? The client found structural flaws during review. They said the load-bearing design is completely unrealistic. If we don’t correct it, the bid is dead!”

Liam paced restlessly, tugging at his hair, his voice sharp with agitation.

“How could there be a flaw? Didn’t you hire a top designer to perfect it?”

“He said the core logic was too complex—he couldn’t figure it out. He only fixed the surface details. I didn’t expect the issue to still be there!” Vanessa sobbed in panic. “There’s only one day left before final submission. It’s impossible to redesign anything in time!”

I stood there with the water glass in my hand, eyes glancing over the glaring error on the screen—it was one of the “traps” I intentionally left in the draft.

I knew Vanessa didn’t understand the core logic. Copying it would only make her imitate blindly. That load-bearing system looked convincing but required a unique optimization algorithm to work—and the actual solution was only in the complete proposal I held.

“If you change the horizontal beams into an interlocking pattern and add supportive nodes…” I suggested quietly out of pure professional instinct, tone flat like casual commentary—because I knew they wouldn’t listen.

Both turned their heads toward me at once. Suspicion flashed in Vanessa’s eyes; Liam frowned like he’d just heard a joke.

“What do you know?” Liam snapped with outright sarcasm. “Don’t think saying a few technical terms makes you look like you know design.”

Then he shot me a warning look.

“Stop standing around getting in the way. Go prepare supper.”

I didn’t argue. I simply turned and went back to the guest room.

My phone buzzed—it was a message from my former apprentice:

> *Master, Vanessa doesn’t understand the core logic at all. She’s been copying your draft word for word. With my ‘guidance,’ the flaws are now even worse. If she dares present this tomorrow, she’ll be the biggest joke in the industry. Also—do you need me to pick you up for the bidding conference?*

Everything was ready. All that was left was the scene itself.

—

The next day.

The bidding conference was packed. Industry leaders and the judging panel took their seats. Camera flashes went off one after another, illuminating the confident, almost triumphant smile on Liam’s face. Vanessa stood on stage in a tailored professional suit, holding the laser pointer, pretending to speak with ease as she explained “her” proposal.

But as her presentation went deeper, frowns began appearing across the panel.

“Vanessa,” a judge seated at the center spoke first, his tone sharp with doubt, “a similar concept was used last year, and your logic has obvious gaps. The user needs you emphasized at the beginning have no practical implementation in the final design. How do you explain this?”

Vanessa’s face turned pale instantly. The hand holding the pointer trembled.

“This—I optimized based on latest trends and the logic—”

Her voice faltered. Not a single complete sentence escaped her lips. Every rehearsed line vanished.

Another judge leaned forward, tone even more severe.

“And the load-bearing structure modification—you only changed its surface. The core flaw still exists. If this ever went into construction, the risk would be enormous. Is this the level of the ‘top designer’ you claimed helped perfect the design?”

The relentless questioning hit Vanessa and Liam like brutal blows. Vanessa’s tears collected along her lashes, helplessly glancing toward Liam. The audience murmured louder, camera flashes targeting them, capturing every second of humiliation.

Liam panicked completely. His face darkened as he stood, attempting to salvage the situation—but a judge raised a hand, cutting him off cold.

“Liam, we are evaluating the proposal itself. Save unrelated explanations.”

He froze mid-step, fists clenching tight, sweat beading on his forehead. The bid was collapsing in real time, the company’s reputation on the line. And then—suddenly—something seemed to strike him.

His hand shook as he pulled out his phone and dialed my number.