Five years ago, at a ski resort in Aspen, I saved an amnesiac Liam Kingston. For him, it was love at first sight. Five years later, we were married.

But on the second day of our marriage, his memory returned. And his fiancée from the prominent Vanderbilt family, Chloe, appeared at his side.

His assistant handed him a private investigator's report. The report spun a tale of me orchestrating the skiing accident, a deliberate scheme to marry into wealth. It even claimed Chloe's chronic illness had relapsed from the stress of his disappearance.

Liam believed every word. He pulled Chloe into a pained embrace, then slapped me hard across the face, accusing me of being the one who had truly harmed her.

He put me under house arrest in the penthouse, cutting me off from the outside world entirely.

Three months later, when Liam saw me again, I was hiding a cancer diagnosis. I simply handed him the divorce papers. "Let's get a divorce, Liam."

...

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1

His deep-set eyes narrowed, his brows drawing together sharply. "It's been three months, and that's the only thing you have to say to me?"

He stared, searching my expression for the adoration and humility he expected.

After all, in his mind, our meeting, our love—it was all just a calculated scheme to secure my place in the Kingston family.

But he didn't know that in the three months he had imprisoned me here, I had endured constant vomiting, high fevers, diarrhea, and finally, a terminal liver cancer diagnosis.

I pulled my mask up higher, hiding my pale, gaunt face. "Yes. All I want right now is a divorce. Sign it."

He clenched his fists, his knuckles turning white. "Have you any idea what Chloe has endured for the past five years? The accident you engineered destroyed her life."

I met his eyes, my own filled with sorrow.

He knew perfectly well that my parents had died in a shipwreck. He knew I had a deep-seated trauma surrounding speed and any loss of control. I hadn't even dared to touch a pair of skis since.

For five years, whether it was a trip to the supermarket a few blocks away or a long drive at three in the morning to see an architectural exhibition, he had always driven me himself.

He used to say that as long as I was scared, he'd be the one driving. All I had to do was sit beside him.

"Your report says I orchestrated an avalanche to crash into you," I said, my voice quiet. "But you know I'm terrified of losing control. So terrified I can't even stand on skis."

He flinched, a flicker of doubt crossing his eyes.

Chloe immediately stepped forward, clutching a detailed report as if it were irrefutable proof. "Staging one little accident to become Mrs. Kingston is quite a bargain, isn't it? Perhaps even your so-called fear is just part of your carefully crafted persona."

Understanding flashed across his face, and his gaze turned icy once more. "So you really are that calculating."

He believed Chloe, he believed his assistant, he believed that report—he believed everyone but me. Because in his eyes, I was the one with the most to gain—the future matriarch of the Kingston family.

But I never cared about being Mrs. Kingston.

All I ever loved was the man who would wake up at three in the morning just to drive me to an architectural exhibition.

And now, that man was dead.

"If you say so, then I suppose it's true," I said, a sarcastic smile touching my lips. I just wanted this farce to end.

The day he regained his memory, I had tried to explain. But Chloe had merely swayed feebly before me, and he had slapped me.

I collapsed, a sudden chill seizing me, but he just held Chloe and turned to leave. "Stop acting. I won't fall for your tricks again."

That day, I was diagnosed with a rare form of liver cancer with an extremely high mortality rate. There were no effective treatments available in the United States.

The doctor said, "The targeted therapies for this are incredibly rare, even overseas. You can try to get into a clinical trial, or... if you know someone with the Kingston family, their foundation might be a way to access them."

I called Liam. The moment I said, "I'm sick," I heard his cold laughter. "If someone has to have liver cancer, I'd rather it be you than Chloe."

"She suffered so much because of you. You should be the one dying in her place."

Later, I heard that Chloe's chronic illness had symptoms similar to my liver cancer. Liam spent hundreds of millions to import targeted therapy drugs, and piles of those scarce medications filled Chloe's room.

I was tired. I pushed the divorce papers toward him again. "I've stood in the way of your wedding for five years. Now, I'm setting you free."

My voice was as still as stagnant water. His brow furrowed as he listened, his gaze fixed on my lifeless eyes. An inexplicable tightness gripped his chest, a suffocating pressure that quickly ignited into raw fury.

"You think I'm afraid to sign this? Fine. But don't you dare regret it."

He snatched the pen and signed his name with a vicious flourish. "Even after the divorce, don't think you can escape. I'll make you pay for every ounce of suffering Chloe endured because of you."

I laughed, then broke into a violent fit of coughing. "Then you'd better hurry."

Before I die.

When I arrived at the clinic, the doctor frowned at my report. "Are you sure you want to give up all treatment? You're so young. It would be a tragedy to give up now."

I coughed and shook my head. I had spent all my savings two years ago to pay for Liam's treatment for the aftereffects of the avalanche. I wanted to spend my final days with some dignity.

The doctor’s expression softened with pity. "You're a friend of Mr. Kingston, right? He just applied for a clinical trial for a new batch of targeted therapy drugs through his foundation. You should ask him for a spot. Even conservative treatment would be better than nothing."

I thanked the doctor and completed the discharge procedures.

As I reached the first-floor lobby, I saw a bottle of pills on the floor. I bent to pick it up, worried it was someone's life-saving medication. As I looked for the owner, I heard a conversation from behind a half-closed door.

A friend asked, "Aren't you afraid Liam will blame you when he finds out you faked a serious illness?"

Chloe raised an eyebrow. "What choice do I have? That woman had her claws in Liam for so many years. What if he really fell for her?"

The friend asked again, "What if Liam finds out we forged that report?"

Chloe snorted. "I've been slipping something into her smoothies for months. She has liver cancer now, doesn't she? And once she's dead, who's going to prove a thing?"

I froze, my breath catching in my throat. I thought my cancer was a cruel twist of fate. It turned out to be a calculated act of cruelty.

I burst into the room and slapped Chloe hard across the face.

Chloe was flustered, covering her face as she yelled, "Ava, what are you doing here? Are you insane!"

I landed another sharp slap across her face. "You did this to me? You gave me cancer?"

Chloe retorted defiantly, "You had Liam for five years! You knew he had a fiancée and you still clung to him!"

My anger surged, and I raised my hand to strike her again, but she suddenly dropped her head, tears instantly welling as she staggered back. "Ava, I know you're mad at me, but you don't have to be like this... I'm going to die soon. I won't fight you for Liam anymore. Can't you just leave me alone for these last few days, please?"

A rush of footsteps came from behind me. A familiar, strong hand shoved me away and pulled Chloe into a protective embrace.

Liam stroked Chloe's hair, his face etched with concern. "Are you all right?"

Chloe buried her face in his chest, her voice choked with sobs. "Liam, Ava tried to take my medicine. I told her it was my last hope, but she still hit me. My head is so dizzy right now..."

Liam's head snapped up, his eyes cold as ice as he glared at me.

I tried to explain, my words tumbling out. "That's not what happened! Chloe isn't sick! She forged her reports! She's been poisoning me—that's why I have liver cancer…"

Before I could finish, Liam cut me off. "That's enough! Do you hear yourself? Chloe has been sweet and gentle her entire life—nothing like a manipulative liar like you. She's gravely ill, and you still won't leave her in peace!"

He walked over and snatched the bottle of pills from my hand. "Stealing her life-saving medicine now? Guards! Draw her blood. Chloe needs an emergency transfusion."

Ignoring my struggles, they held my arms down, disinfected the skin, and drew my blood. The cold needle pierced my frigid skin, a shock that plunged me into an icy abyss.

Once, I had accidentally cut my leg on a steel bar while inspecting a construction site, and he had been frantic. He tore off a piece of his own shirt to bandage my wound, then carried me on his back for four hours down the mountain, leaving him with permanent damage to his knee.

But now, my lips were pale, my blood oxygen was dangerously low, and I could barely stand, yet they drew a full 400ml of blood from me. I went into shock midway through and collapsed into a deep coma.

When I woke up, only a doctor was by my side. "You're awake. A patient needed an urgent transfusion, and Mr. Kingston requisitioned the hospital's entire supply. You're lucky; a private donation of fresh blood arrived just in time to save you."

The label on the blood bag hadn't been removed yet. Seeing the name on it, my heart skipped a beat.

After the doctor left, I dialed a number I hadn't called in five years.

The moment the call connected and I heard that steady, magnetic voice on the other end, tears streamed down my face. "Ethan, can you... come and take me home?"

"Ava? Where are you? What happened?"

On the other end of the line, his usually calm and composed voice was laced with panic for the first time.

I heard the rustle of fabric and the sound of a chair being pushed back abruptly. "Get my private jet ready for a flight to New York. Immediately."

I fainted again. When I woke up, Liam was sitting by my bedside, holding a container of food.

"The doctor said you fainted from malnutrition," he said, handing me a paper bag. "It's from your favorite place. I went and got it myself."

For the first time, he had set aside his pride for me. He even had fresh blisters on his fingers from a burn.

"Go and apologize to Chloe. Because of what you did this morning, she thinks you hate her and hasn't been able to rest for days," he said, seeing my expression soften.

The hand holding the paper bag trembled, and the food fell to the floor.

He shot to his feet. "Ava, I haven't said a word and you're already throwing a fit? There's a limit!"

I stared at the spilled food, my mouth open to retort, but I said nothing. I just turned my head away.

Liam took two deep breaths, trying to calm himself. "Are you determined to fight me on everything? The doctors mentioned your anemia. If you'd just show a little remorse, I could get you a spot in the clinical trial."

They were the ones who had brought me to this point, yet now they spoke of life-saving medicine as if they were granting me some great charity.

I said, "Liam, if I could, I truly wish I had never saved you in Aspen."

Liam's face turned ashen in an instant. After a moment of silence, he slammed the door and left.

I gripped the sheets, large tears rolling onto the bedspread. After drying my eyes, I saw a doctor walking toward me. "Your condition is very poor, and you're also experiencing vaginal bleeding. While you were unconscious, we ran some tests. The results show you're three months pregnant."

I froze. Three months. It happened on our wedding day. That one time... and it resulted in this.

My first instinct was to tell the baby's father, but as my gaunt fingers touched my lower abdomen, I remembered his heartlessness.

The doctor asked, "Should we notify the father?"

I shook my head, my voice hoarse. "I want to have an abortion. Doctor, please schedule the surgery for me."

The doctor looked troubled. After consulting with her colleagues, she told me, "Your physical condition is extremely poor. The procedure carries a high risk of major hemorrhage. If you insist on going through with it, we need the father's signature."

They said, "Please don't make things difficult for us."

I lowered my head. "I understand."

I opened my contacts, hesitated for a long time, and finally put my phone down.

I struggled out of bed, changed my hairstyle, and put on an intern's white coat and a mask. I took a cab to the Kingston Group headquarters.

Security at the Kingston Group was notoriously strict, yet they waved me through the moment I claimed to be an architectural intern delivering designs for a charity project.

Liam was in the middle of an international conference call and didn't even look up at me.

I held a stack of contracts disguised as architectural blueprints and said, "Mr. Kingston, these are the designs for the new charity project. They require your signature."

Liam gave them a cursory glance and started signing.

"I remember you like Bouchon Bakery next to Central Park. Buy yourself some pastries on your way back."

The pastries there were expensive, but during Liam's amnesia, I often spent a month's salary to treat him there because he seemed to have a natural fondness for the taste. I once thought it would be our special memory.

I never imagined the place was important to him only because Chloe liked it too.

I murmured my agreement.

The last "design" was the surgical consent form. He was about to open it for a closer look when his name was called on the conference call.

His gaze shifted to the screen as his hand signed his name on the consent line.