The next morning, I had barely made it downstairs when I saw Vivien lounging on my favorite spot on the couch, wearing the silk nightgown Bartholomew had given me for my birthday.

He was peeling cherries by hand, feeding them to her one by one, his fingertips brushing the juice from the corner of her lips with a tenderness that turned my stomach.

“Slow down. You're like a little kitten begging for treats.”

“Bartholomew, you're so good to me.”

I gave a mocking smile."Indeed, how about I divorce Bartholomew and the two of you get married?"

Vivien ducked her head, coy and blushing, but the moment she spotted me, she flinched like a startled rabbit. She scrambled to her feet, tripping over herself to apologize.

“Kay, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to wear your clothes or sit in your spot……I'll go change right now.”

The tears spilled as she spoke, perfectly timed, perfectly pitiful.

Bartholomew pulled her back down immediately, his cold gaze cutting toward me like a blade.

“Kay, can you show a little class? Vivien is pregnant. She's fragile. It's a nightgown and a seat. Do you really have to make her feel this way?”

I stared at the scene in front of me, and all I felt was the absurdity of it.

My husband, in my home, hand-feeding another woman fruit.

My best friend, wrapped in my things, sitting in my place. And I was the one expected to be gracious about it.

Looking at her now, I started to wonder whether the girl I remembered had ever been real.

Back in school, when other kids picked on me, Vivien had grabbed a broom and charged in to shield me. ：“Anyone who touches Kay goes through me first.”

When my first boyfriend broke my heart, she stayed up with me until dawn, drinking and talking. ：“Forget him. Men are nothing. I'll always be here.”

After I donated my kidney for her, she had dragged herself out of her own hospital bed to collapse at the side of mine, sobbing until she passed out, gripping my hand.

“For the rest of my life, you will be the person closest to my heart.”

I had believed it then. I believed friendship outlasted love. I believed she was the light in my darkest hours.

But now she had taken my husband, was carrying his child, had moved into my home, and still had the nerve to play the victim.

“Bartholomew,” my voice trembled, but I forced it steady, “this is my home. What gives you the right?”

Vivien only cried harder.

“Kay, please don't say that……it's all my fault. You can yell at me, hit me, anything, just don't fight with Bartholomew. I just love him too much, and I can't give up this baby.”

“Enough!”

Bartholomew's voice cracked through the room like a whip.

“Kay, if you keep pushing Vivien, don't blame me for what happens next.”

I closed my eyes. There was nothing left to say. I turned and went back upstairs.

The moment I was back in my room, a message arrived with the driving records from the night of the accident, tracing Vivien's brother Neville's route.

I opened my laptop. The first thing that filled the screen was our photo, the three of us together.

Almost involuntarily, I clicked into an old folder. It was full of memories, all of us, from before.

I scrolled through the pictures one by one, and every swipe felt like a thousand needles driven into my chest.

I didn't understand how we had ended up here.

My thoughts were still churning when the door opened. Vivien walked in carrying a cup of warm water, an apologetic look painted on her face.

“Kay, I know you're upset. I made you some soup. Please don't let the anger make you sick.”

I didn't want to acknowledge her.

But she leaned in close, and her hand jerked. The entire bowl of soup tipped onto my arm. Scalding heat seared through my skin, and the breath hissed between my teeth.

I shoved her away on instinct. She stumbled backward, and the tears fell instantly.

“Kay, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to!”

As she spoke, she dropped to her knees in a show of panic, gathering the broken shards of the bowl, and dragged a piece of porcelain deliberately across her finger. A bead of blood welled up and rolled down.

My arm was swollen and angry red. I had no patience for her theatrics. I turned toward the bathroom to run cold water over the burn.

Before I could take a step, Bartholomew came rushing in, drawn by the commotion.

One look at the scene and his expression twisted.

“Kay, you!”

He went straight to Vivien, pulling her up from the floor, cradling her bleeding finger with exaggerated care while her eyes stayed swollen and red from crying.

She kept her head low, tears streaming down her face like rain on blossoms.

“Bartholomew, don't blame Kay. Maybe she didn't like the soup I made, so she knocked it over……I made a mess of her room, but please don't be angry with her. She didn't mean it.”

His face went dark. He didn't even glance at me. He seized my wrist and snarled in my face.

“Do you have any idea how long Vivien stood in that kitchen making soup for you? You couldn't even be grateful, and then you let her kneel on the floor picking up broken porcelain? How can you be this cruel? Apologize to her. Now.”

“She spilled it on me herself!”

The burn screamed against my skin, but I kept my voice cold and steady.

“Let go of me!”

I couldn't stand looking at either of their faces for another second. I just needed the pain to stop.

“And you still have the nerve to argue! Is this how you carry yourself as Mrs. Vance?”

My defiance sent him over the edge. He called the bodyguards and had them drag me out to the garden.

“Take her outside. She doesn't come back in until she apologizes to Vivien.”

The bodyguards dragged me outside, and I stumbled hard into a marble pillar. The impact sent tremors of pain through my whole body.

Bartholomew carried Vivien past me, his eyes churning with rage. He didn't so much as glance at the blisters already rising on my arm. He gave me one cold scoff, then turned and took her to get bandaged.

“Let her learn her lesson. She doesn't set foot inside until I'm back.”

Vivien looked at me from the cradle of his arms, triumph written all over her face.

The bodyguards had their orders. Every door was locked within seconds.

I fought with everything I had, but it was useless.

The midday sun was brutal. An hour passed. Sweat drenched my hair and ran into my eyes, and the burn on my arm had gone past pain into numbness.

My legs buckled with every step. I kept telling myself to hold on, just hold on.

I don't know how long it had been when the world went black and I hit the ground.

When I opened my eyes again, the smell of antiseptic filled my nose.

The nurse standing by my bed saw me stir. Her brow creased.

“Ms. Simmons, you really need to take better care of yourself. You're pregnant, and on top of that you've got heatstroke and a burn injury!”

My mind went blank.

I pressed my hand to my stomach, disbelief flooding through me. Pregnant.

Tears fell without warning, landing on the back of my hand, scalding hot. I flinched.

This baby. The worst possible timing.

I squeezed my eyes shut and dug my nails into my palms, using the pain to force myself to think clearly.

After a long time, I opened my eyes. Whatever had been alive in them before was gone. I spoke to the nurse, my voice raw.

“Schedule a procedure for me. Five days from now. I want a termination.”

The nurse froze.

“The baby is perfectly healthy. Are you sure you don't want to keep it?”

I nodded. “I'm sure.”

She didn't say another word. She turned and went to process the paperwork.

I lay on the hospital bed, perfectly still. My fingertips rested against my stomach. I mouthed the words I'm sorry without making a sound.

Bartholomew heard I'd been hospitalized. He assumed it was just heatstroke. He was waiting for my apology, and when none came, he didn't bother visiting. Not once.

Outside my door, the nurses kept their voices low, but every word carried through to me, sharp and clear.

“That Ms. Pruitt in the VIP suite, the one Mr. Vance adores? Ever since she got pregnant, he's been spoiling her rotten. He's at the hospital every single day, stocking her room with high-end supplements, holding her arm when she walks like she might shatter if she trips.”

“Everyone knows. Every socialite in the city envies her. Mr. Vance used to dote on Ms. Simmons like that, remember? And look what happened. Dropped her just like that. Now she's lying in a standard room, nobody checking on her, and he hasn't even come by once. How things change.”

“Ms. Pruitt is the one he really loves. Ms. Simmons? Old news. The title of Mrs. Vance is just an empty name at this point.”

A bitter laugh scraped out of my throat. My eyes burned red, and tears slid down in silence.

Five years. From teenage sweethearts to marriage vows, from a wedding that cost millions to promises of forever. None of it held up against a few of Vivien's tears, against the so-called Vance heir in her belly.

I curled into myself on the hospital bed, biting down on my lip so hard it split, tasting copper, refusing to let a single sound escape.

Two days later, I went home. The moment I stepped through the door, Vivien walked out of the bedroom. She looked down at me from across the room,

a vicious smile curling at the corner of her lips, her eyes full of mockery and contempt.

“Kay, your life must be pretty miserable right now, huh? Abandoned by your own husband, betrayed by your best friend, stuck in that dingy hospital room without a single person to take care of you. Watching Bartholomew dote on me hand and foot. You must hate it so much you could scream.”

I stared at her coldly, unwilling to waste a single word on her. She was ugly to me now. Repulsive.

When I didn't respond, her smile only widened. She leaned down slowly, bringing her mouth close to my ear.

“Did you really believe, all those years ago, that I was actually sick? That I needed a kidney transplant?”

She let out a soft laugh, her voice dripping with amusement.

“Kay, you're hopeless. Truly, pathetically hopeless. I was never sick. The kidney transplant was a lie I made up to trick you.”

My eyes went wide. Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice. I stared at her, unable to process what I was hearing.

“What did you just say?”

Vivien straightened up, arms crossed, her expression brazen.

“I just couldn't stand you. Ever since we were kids, you were always the golden girl. The money, the looks, everyone orbiting around you. Even Bartholomew married you in the end. I hated it. That smug, charitable little act of yours, like you were doing the world a favor by existing. So I faked being sick. I tricked you into giving me your kidney. Watching you lie on that operating table, risking your life for me without a second thought? That felt good.”

“You knew. You knew how much damage donating a kidney would do to my body. You knew I was risking my life to save you……”

My voice shook. My whole body shook. Back then, I'd gone against my family's wishes, insisted on donating my kidney to her, and spent the better part of a year recovering from the surgery.

I had treated her like a sister. Given her everything I had. And all of it had been repaid with a carefully orchestrated lie.

“So what?”

Vivien scoffed, her eyes turning vicious. “Why should you get to have everything? Why should Bartholomew love you? I wanted to destroy your life, steal your man, drag you down from your pedestal and grind you into the dirt. I wanted you to feel every ounce of what I felt. That car accident, the miscarriage? I deliberately didn't give blood. I wanted you to die. Too bad you're hard to kill. But it worked out anyway. You can't have children now, and that gave me my opening. Bartholomew only loves me and the baby in my belly. You're nothing.”

“You're insane!” I was shaking with rage. “Vivien, aren't you afraid I'll tell Bartholomew every single thing you just said?”

“Tell Bartholomew?” Vivien threw her head back and laughed like she'd just heard the funniest joke of her life. “Kay, do you honestly think he'd believe you? I'm the only one he sees now. He believes every word out of my mouth. You could scream the truth until your throat bled, and he'd just think you were jealous. That you were making a scene. Have you forgotten? He stopped believing you a long time ago.”

I lost all control. I put everything I had into the palm of my hand and slapped her across the face.

“Vivien, you're nothing but a homewrecker!”

I screamed it with bloodshot eyes, my chest heaving violently. The weakness from the pregnancy sent dark spots flooding across my vision.

The slap snapped Vivien's head to the side. She clutched her cheek, a flash of something cold and dangerous in her eyes. She was about to lunge at me, but then she heard footsteps and switched instantly to a wounded, pitiful expression, tears spilling on command.

Bartholomew had heard the commotion and come running from the study.

He pushed open the door and saw Vivien crumpled on the floor, hand pressed to her face.

“Bartholomew, Kay hit me, she called me a homewrecker, she said she'd hurt our baby……”

He rushed in, panic written across his face, and gathered Vivien into his arms.

The second he saw the handprint on her cheek, his expression turned to stone.

“Kay, you hit her?”

He strode toward me and shoved me hard.

I was already weak, already pregnant. I had no strength to resist. I hit the floor.

The baby seemed to sense my fury. Pain tore through my abdomen without warning, so sharp that cold sweat broke across my skin.

Bartholomew didn't even glance at me on the ground. Every fiber of his attention was on Vivien in his arms, his hands moving gently over her, checking for injuries.

“Vivien, does anything hurt? Is the baby okay?”

Vivien nestled against his chest, crying prettily, and pointed a trembling finger at me.

“Bartholomew, I just wanted to welcome her home and apologize. But she hit me the second she saw me, and she said she'd make sure our baby dies a horrible death.”

Bartholomew turned to look at me. The fury in his eyes was consuming.

“Kay, how can you be this cruel? Vivien is pregnant. She came to see you out of kindness, and you hit her? You cursed my child?”

He crouched down, seized my chin, and forced my face up to meet his. Every word came out glacial.

“Apologize to Vivien. Right now. Or I will make this city unlivable for you.”

I gritted my teeth against the searing pain in my lower abdomen and lifted my head to look at this man I no longer recognized. A hollow laugh escaped me.

Apologize for what? For every humiliation I'd endured? For my dead child? For the trust I'd given that was thrown back in my face?

I looked at him with empty eyes, my voice raw. “I did nothing wrong. I will never apologize.”

Bartholomew's face twisted. The rage in his eyes flared hotter. He opened his mouth to speak, but the agony in my abdomen surged again, my vision went black, and I was gone.