When Camille Prescott's young lover, Bryce Whitfield, threatens suicide yet again, she postpones our wedding.

This is the ninth time in five months. Everyone thinks I'm a joke.

This time, I refuse to back down.

I stare at Camille intently and ask, "Are we getting married or not?"

In my previous life, due to my meekness, I allowed the wedding to be delayed again and again. My mom was so furious that she ended up in the hospital.

I went to speak with Bryce, hoping to resolve things peacefully. Instead, he accused me of trying to drive him to suicide.

Then, he deliberately pushed me off a balcony. I survived, but I was left paralyzed and stripped of all dignity. Not only did Camille refuse to hold him accountable, but she even pinned the blame on me and said that I was asking for it.

Consumed by despair, I pulled out my own oxygen tube.

After getting a second chance at life, I finally understand one thing—I should never have wasted my entire life on a piece of trash like her.

Camille Prescott's expression darkened, her eyes narrowing as she glared at me.

"Are you threatening me? Miles, do you have any idea how serious this is? You won't stop until you've actually driven someone to their death, will you?"

Her voice was cold and merciless, as if I were the one committing some unforgivable sin. My hands trembled, but a quiet laugh slipped from my throat anyway.

"I'm driving someone to death? The wedding's been pushed back nine times, Camille. If anyone's being driven to the edge here, it's me."

Just like in my previous life, I was returned like damaged goods, over and over again, while the rumors piled up around me.

"Miles Hartwell has to be a kept man. Why else would he put up with this kind of humiliation?"

"He's punching way above his weight and too stupid to take a hint. Thought he could marry into money, and now look at him."

"The baby probably isn't even his. Why else would she have boyfriends coming and going like that?"

I had already been seriously ill because of her, and the stress of it all hit me so hard I was throwing up, too weak to even stand on my own. But Camille never denied any of the rumors. And she never rescheduled the wedding, either.

Instead, she blamed me for not being more careful and called the pregnancy a hassle she never asked for, even though she was the one who pulled the condom off halfway through because she wanted a child.

When I confronted her about it, Camille's brow furrowed instantly, her gaze cutting into me like a blade.

"You're blaming me?"

Her tone was frigid, but her eyes drifted down to her stomach. A thin, careless smile crossed her lips.

"It's just a wedding, Miles. Is it really worth all this drama? If it matters that much to you, we'll have it after the baby's born. Same difference.

"The guys on the side don't mean anything. They're just distractions. You're the only husband I'll ever have."

She reached up and traced her fingers along my jaw, her voice softening just enough to sound almost tender.

Then her phone rang. Camille pulled her hand back and hurried out the door without a second glance.

I understood immediately. It was Bryce Whitfield, her little side piece, pulling another one of his stunts.

My heart was hammering again, that sickening wave of dread crashing through my skull, and there was no time to think. I dialed 911.

Before they wheeled me into the operating room, I saw Bryce's latest social media post.

"Works every single time! I'm telling you, if a woman really loves you, she won't let you get hurt. I barely scratched my hand and she came running."

The contrast was so brutal that even my numb heart managed to ache. I closed my stinging eyes and turned off my phone.

Two hours later, I was wheeled back out in a haze. The nurses must have thought I was still unconscious, because they made no effort to keep their voices down.

"He's that famous guy, isn't he? The groom whose wedding got postponed nine times?"

"That's him. It was all over the news. I don't know what he's holding on for. The bride obviously doesn't love him."

"They traded sighs for a moment, and then one of them suddenly pointed across the hall, her voice rising with excitement.

"Look over there. That's the Prescott heiress with some guy at the pharmacy counter, and she's fussing over him like he's made of glass."

I opened my eyes slowly, and sure enough, there was Camille. She had her arm looped through Bryce's, soothing him with more patience and tenderness than I had ever seen from her. It was like she was a completely different person, like a real lover would be.

But I had been sick on and off for an entire year, and she had never once set foot in the hospital for me.

The nurse noticed I was awake. Something like pity flickered behind her eyes, and she leaned in to ask softly, "Want me to go get her for you?"

"No."

My voice was barely there. I closed my eyes again and let the exhaustion pull me under. Some time passed before my phone suddenly rang.

Camille had transferred a hundred thousand dollars into my account. That was her go-to apology, the same way it had always been.

Years ago, after she got drugged and took advantage of me, the very first thing she did was pay for my entire college education. I had been completely shattered. I told her I wasn't some escort she could buy off.

Camille had held me close and whispered reassurances over and over, her eyes burning fiercely with desperation. "Miles, of course you're not. You saved me. Once you graduate, I'll marry you."

She did keep that promise, eventually. But it never stopped her from having her fun on the side while keeping me waiting at home.

A few minutes passed. When it was clear I had no intention of responding, another message came through.

"Why aren't you home? Where are you?"

My head was swimming, and I didn't bother replying. After a while, I dragged myself out of the hospital bed and took a cab home.

But when the front door swung open, Camille wasn't the one standing behind it.

Bryce was wrapped in my bathrobe, his eyes flickering with something almost territorial. The second he heard footsteps approaching behind him, though, he slipped right back into his wounded, helpless routine.

"I didn't mean to come over, Miles. I got caught in the rain and Camille just let me use the shower, that's all."

The excuse was so transparent it was almost insulting. A shower didn't explain the hickeys scattered across his neck and shoulders.

Bryce noticed where I was looking and puffed out his chest, clearly pleased with himself.

I hadn't even opened my mouth before Camille stepped forward and pulled him behind her like a shield, planting herself between us.

"I'm the one who brought him here," she said, her expression dead serious. "If you want to blame someone, blame me."

"Move," I said. "I need to grab my things."

I walked right past both of them before she could finish, and I didn't spare her a single glance.

Camille froze. The color drained from her face as she let go of Bryce and followed me inside.

She watched me shove clothes into a bag for a long moment before her voice went cold and flat. "You walk in the door and immediately throw a tantrum? Can't you give me a moment of peace?"

She fished out a cigarette, lit it, and took a hard drag. When she looked up again, I still hadn't stopped packing.

She gritted her teeth and swore under her breath. "Fine, I'll send him away right now. Is that what you want? I'm pregnant, Miles. Are you trying to stress me into a miscarriage?"

My hands stilled. I laughed before I could stop myself.

Pregnant and still smoking and screwing around, and now she wanted to play the concerned mother. My eyes stung, but it didn't matter anymore. None of it did. The baby, the wedding, the promises.

Camille must have caught the strange, hollow smile on my face, because something in her expression shifted. She looked unsettled for the first time, like she was trying to figure out what had changed in me but couldn't quite place it.

Before she could, Bryce rushed in and dropped to his knees right in front of me.

"Miles, don't be mad at Camille. This is all my fault. If you need to take it out on someone, take it out on me."

He grabbed my hand and tried to slap himself with it. Camille's voice cut through the room before I could react. She yanked Bryce to his feet in one sharp motion.

"Enough! If he wants to leave, let him leave. We'll see who ends up regretting it."

Then her eyes dropped to Bryce's knees, and her whole tone shifted to something soft and concerned. "Did you scrape yourself? Let me get you something for that."

Bryce shook his head with a shy little smile. "That's not from just now. That's from earlier, when we were in bed…"

Panic flashed across Camille's face, and she shot a glance in my direction.

I didn't react at all.

Bryce suddenly yelped and wrenched his hand free. "Camille, you're hurting me."

But she wasn't listening anymore. She was already chasing after me out the door.

"Miles, where do you think you're going?"

Camille's fingers dug into my arm hard enough to make the veins stand out on the back of her hand. I stood still for two seconds, then looked up at her calmly.

"Let's break up. The wedding never happened anyway, so this should be simple."

The color drained from Camille's face. She stood frozen on the spot, like she genuinely couldn't process what I had just said.

"Are you out of your mind? What about the baby?"

Her temper flared and she reached for me again, but the next second Bryce collapsed behind her, hitting the ground in a heap. The instant she turned to look, I shut the car door and pulled away.

In the rearview mirror, she stood rigid and motionless on the curb.

When I got back to my apartment, I listed the wedding suit on a resale app. Then I sent out messages to friends and family letting them know the wedding was off. Once everything was taken care of, I finally let out a long breath and sank into a deep, dreamless sleep.

When the weekend was over, I went back to work at the school. But the moment I stepped onto campus, the stares started.

"I can't believe Mr. Hartwell is that kind of person. You really can't tell just by looking at someone."

"His family's broke and his mom's been bedridden for years. How do you think he afforded designer clothes back in college? Someone was paying for more than his tuition, if you know what I mean."

"He never seemed like a decent guy to me. Why else would his own fiancee keep standing him up at the altar?"

"I bet he even slept his way into his position."

My head was ringing. A wave of raw fury shot straight to the top of my skull, and I was about to call the police to report the slander when Bryce came rushing out of nowhere. He threw himself in front of me, his face twisted into a perfect portrait of grief and righteous anger.

"Mr. Hartwell, please, I'm begging you. Just give me back my watch. My mom gave it to me for my 18th birthday, and she passed away years ago. It's the only thing I have left of her."

Students and colleagues had started gathering around us, their faces dripping with contempt and disgust.

"Mr. Hartwell, why would you take something from this kid? Just give it back."

"Have some decency. We all have mothers. Yours is sick too, isn't she? To think you'd know better."

As the words landed, something sly and vicious flickered in the depths of Bryce's eyes.

He pulled out his phone and started to dial. "I'll just call your mom myself. I'm sure she'll understand."

I lunged forward and snatched the phone out of his hand, my eyes wide with panic. "My mother is still in the hospital. Are you trying to kill her?"

Bryce toppled to the ground and sobbed louder, more desperately, as though I had shoved him. The crowd around us kept growing. My temples throbbed, and it finally hit me that this was a setup. The whole thing had been planned from the start.

I tried to turn and walk away, but Bryce latched onto my leg.

A sharp shout split the air. Camille stormed forward, the flowers she'd been carrying scattering across the ground, and pulled Bryce close.

She stared at me with open disappointment, her lips trembling with barely contained fury. "I came here to apologize to you, and this is what I walk into? You tormenting him?"

Bryce's face flushed red. He turned to me, his voice small and pleading. "Miles, I'm begging you. Please just give it back. It was my mother's. It's all I have."

Accusations rained down from every direction. I bit down on my numb tongue, turned around, and tried to walk away.

"This is ridiculous."

But a sharp pain ripped through my arm before I could take a step. Camille had yanked me back hard enough to tear at my surgical wound. She stood over me and yelled at me like I was nothing.

"You don't want to lose your job, do you, Miles? I'll say this one last time. Apologize!"

My knees scraped against the ground, raw and burning. When I looked up with stinging eyes, Camille had already turned her face away, cold and indifferent.

The voices swelled around me again, filthy and cruel and humiliating.

"Oh my God, did he really sleep his way to the top?"

"He's been trouble since he was a kid. There were always rumors, and I guess they were true."

I doubled over suddenly, my insides twisting into knots so tight that I nearly vomited.

Camille knew. She knew that when I was younger, the bullying had gotten so bad that the depression nearly killed me.

She was the one who took me to the hospital, soaked in my blood. She was the one who put her entire life on hold and stayed by my side for three months, pulling me back from the edge.

And now she was doing this, leading a mob against me, forcing me to accept a lie, all to make another man feel better.

I would have died before I admitted to something I didn't do. I bit down on her hand hard enough to make her scream.

Bryce shouted at me through his tears. "What is wrong with you? You almost bit a chunk out of her! We're calling the police!"

I tilted my head and spat the blood from my mouth without a word. Then I dragged myself to my feet and walked away.

When I got home, I called in for a week of leave. Then I passed out.