Grandpa was beaten in a violent forced demolition. He suffered a sudden heart attack and needed emergency surgery.

But my husband, Charles, handed me a settlement agreement instead.

"Abigail, as soon as you drop the lawsuit, I'll have the doctors save your grandfather."

My fingers trembled, but I signed my name.

In the end, we still missed the critical window. Grandpa became a vegetable.

When the news came, I couldn't hold on any longer. I collapsed.

Through the haze of unconsciousness, I heard Charles talking to his secretary.

"Grandpa won't wake up. I'll arrange for someone to care for him for the rest of his life."

"But Freya can't suffer. Five years ago, when I was dying, she tested experimental drugs for me. She donated her kidney. I promised I would protect her forever."

I looked down at the scar on my abdomen. My eyes burned red.

He didn't know.

In the safe at the family home, hidden at the very bottom, there was an anonymous donation agreement.

The one who tested those drugs for him. The one who gave him a kidney.

It was always me.

I picked up the service medal Grandpa had treasured all his life.

This time, I would get him justice.

This love that had only ever hurt me.

I didn't want it anymore.

1.

"Get everyone who knows anything. As long as they agree to keep quiet, give them whatever they want. Whatever it costs."

Morgan Pierce drew a sharp breath. "Mr. Charles, Freya caused injuries during an illegal demolition. She's the one at fault. Are you really going to break the law to protect her?"

"Because of your favoritism, her grandfather is now in a vegetative state. When Mrs. Charles wakes up, she may never forgive you."

Charles's expression turned cold. His voice dropped to ice.

"Even if her grandfather never wakes up—even if he dies—I will always protect Freya."

"Acquiring that land has been her dream. How could I let something this trivial derail her career?"

"Besides, Abigail already signed. I won't let her go back on her word."

His words hit me like a gust of frozen wind, the chill sinking into my bones, dragging me into a despair I couldn't name.

Morgan hesitated, then tried again carefully. "But Mrs. Charles loves her grandfather more than anything. She won't give up easily—"

"Enough."

Charles cut him off impatiently. "I already promised Freya. No one will hurt her."

He answered his phone, lowering his voice deliberately.

"Good. Bring it in."

A knock. Footsteps approached. A doctor entered the room.

"Mr. Charles, this is the hallucinogenic drug that Ms. Freya imported from overseas."

Morgan's face twisted with reluctance. A flicker of something—pity, perhaps—crossed his eyes.

"These drugs are extremely dangerous. Don't you think this is too cruel to Mrs. Charles...?"

Charles walked to my bedside. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead—gentle, almost tender.

"Five years ago, I was dying. I cried every day. Even the doctors had given up."

"It was Freya who tested drug after drug for me. She even donated her own kidney. She pulled me back from the edge of death."

His voice wavered. He fell silent for a long moment before continuing.

"I owe her everything. I can never repay her."

"How could I possibly stand by and watch her get hurt?"

Tears spilled from my eyes before I could stop them. My heart felt crushed in an invisible fist.

The savior he couldn't stop talking about.

It was me.

In college, I fell for him at first sight. The day I finally gathered the courage to confess, he vanished.

That unspoken love story ended before it began.

When we met again, I learned he was sick.

I was the one who tested those drugs on my own body, over and over. I was the one who anonymously donated my kidney. I was the one who dragged him back from death's door.

I hinted at the truth so many times. Every time, he brushed it off with that gentle smile.

The cruel joke was—he never believed me.

His voice remained soft, but it froze me to the core.

"The priority now is making sure no evidence gets out. I'll watch every detail. I won't miss a single loose thread."

"Abigail is my wife. I'll be with her forever."

Morgan looked at me—drenched in cold sweat, face white as paper—and his brow furrowed deeply. But under Charles's authority, he could only murmur his agreement.

"Mr. Charles, with your capabilities, no one can touch Ms. Freya."

He paused. He couldn't help himself.

"But why do you have to drug your wife—"

"Enough!"

Charles cut him off coldly, his gaze sharp as a blade.

"I've already deleted all the footage from the scene, but there's no guarantee someone won't talk."

"As long as Abigail is given the drug, even if she tries to sue later, I can claim she's mentally unstable. No one questions a lawyer's word."

My consciousness kept sinking through days of haze, memories trapped in an endless dream, fragmented and scattered.

Despair crashed over me like a tidal wave. My heart seized violently, the pain spreading through every limb.

Back then, he'd severed ties with his own family just to marry me.

All that love, all that tenderness—he'd erased it with his own hands. Gone without a trace.

So the happy marriage I thought I had was nothing but an empty dream.

This cruelty disguised as love? I didn't want it anymore.

All I wanted was justice for Grandpa.

My chest heaved violently. The splitting headache forced tears down my cheeks.

"Abigail, what's wrong?"

Charles gripped my hand tightly, his eyes full of concern.

"Don't be scared. I'll stay right here with you. Once you wake up, everything will be better."

His voice was gentle, aching with tenderness. He rubbed my legs softly, trying to ease my discomfort.

But all I felt was agony tearing through my body, a bone-deep cold.

The hospital room was deathly silent, filled only with his soft, soothing murmurs.

Now, each word sounded like a death knell.

"Make sure the chicken soup stays warm. I want her to have it the moment she wakes up."

He gave Morgan another gentle instruction. "And have the yellow roses ready. I want to see the look on her face when she's surprised."

Darkness swallowed me whole. I had no strength left to fight my body's collapse, yet I could still hear his voice clearly.

Perhaps Charles had loved me once.

But Freya—she was his blatant favoritism.

The mutual affection we once shared, the model couple everyone envied.

It had all been a silent tragedy.

Dr. Caldwell approached the bed with the syringe, his voice low.

"Mr. Pierce, everything is ready. Would you like to reconsider?"

"Inject her."

I lay on the hospital bed, letting them do as they pleased, grief raging inside me like a violent storm.

I thought I'd already given up. But when his cold voice fell, it still cut through me like knives scraping bone.

I wanted to scream at him.

Charles, did you ever really love me?

But all I could manage was a silent, bitter laugh.

Now, every word he spoke was a blade, slicing my soul inch by inch.

"She may experience brief memory confusion after waking. It's perfectly normal—nothing to worry about." Dr. Caldwell nodded slightly as he explained.

Charles exhaled slowly, his expression finally relaxing.

"Good."

Five years of beautiful memories flooded my mind without warning.

He had openly defied his parents just to be with me.

"Abigail is the love of my life. Even if it means cutting ties with my family, I will be with her."

He'd spent three full days setting up the proposal himself, eyes red-rimmed as he told me he'd never marry anyone else.

He said not even his parents could keep us apart.

He said his life was only complete with me in it. That he'd protect me for the rest of his days.

But his voice grew distant, fading, until it became a cold blade plunging straight into my chest.

"Forget Grandpa waking up—even if he actually dies, I will never let anyone threaten Freya."

Self-mockery, helplessness, bitter irony—emotions crashed over me all at once, and I finally lost consciousness completely.

When I opened my eyes again, I saw Charles.

He looked exactly as I remembered—clean-cut and handsome, as if nothing had changed.

"Abigail, you're finally awake. Does anything hurt?"

He wiped the corner of his eye and gave me a gentle smile.

We stared at each other in silence for a long moment before I spoke, my voice hoarse.

"Where's Grandpa? I need to see him."

His gaze shifted away, refusing to meet mine.

"You have no idea how worried I was about you. As long as you're okay, that's all that matters. Really."

I looked around the room and immediately realized this wasn't our home.

I struggled to sit up, my fingers trembling as I grabbed my clothes and threw them on haphazardly, ready to leave.

"You're always saying I never have time for you, aren't you?"

He caught my arm, his tone gentle yet brooking no argument.

"Just stay here and rest for a few days, okay? I won't let anyone disturb us."

His grip was iron-tight around my arm. I pried his fingers off and looked him straight in the eye.

"Charles, please let me see Grandpa. He raised me. It's been just the two of us my whole life."

"He means everything to me. I'm begging you—just let me see him once."

"Now isn't the right time."

His voice remained patient, measured.

"Calm down for a few days first. I'll take you to see him soon."

But this was Grandpa.

The person closest to me in this entire world.

My eyes burned with unshed tears as I lowered myself the way I always had, pleading softly.

"Please, just this once. If you're worried, come with me."

After a moment of silence, he frowned and slowly shook his head, his tone firmer than I'd ever heard it.

"Don't make a scene. When the time is right, I'll let you go see him."

In that moment, something inside me died.

No matter what reason I gave, Charles refused without wavering.

He was going to keep me here. Trapped in this invisible cage.

But my grandfather was still waiting for me.

"Abigail, didn't you always want to sketch me?"

He suddenly changed the subject, his voice softening.

"There's paper and pencils in the study. I'll go get them."

A few minutes later, he sat carefully across from me and struck a pose.

When we were dating, I used to draw his portrait almost every month.

Maybe it was because he was so handsome. Maybe it was because I loved him. Either way, my sketches of him always seemed to come alive, as if they had souls of their own.

"Why haven't you started?"

His voice pulled me back from my memories.

I forced myself to focus.

By the time I finished, I was drenched in sweat.

He studied the portrait, then looked at me, his eyes crinkling with warmth as he leaned in to kiss my cheek.

The phone on the nightstand suddenly buzzed.

I glanced over. It was Freya.

He got up and stepped outside to answer.

"Alright, I'll be there soon. But I only have two hours—I need to get back to Abigail."

Once he was sure I was asleep, he slipped out quietly and closed the door behind him.

The sound of the car engine faded into the distance before I finally struggled to sit up.

After getting dressed, I went straight to the study.

I searched every corner meticulously. Any chance to gather evidence against Freya—I wasn't going to let it slip away.

Finally, beneath the safe, I found the USB flash drive from that day.

My fingers trembled as I plugged it into the computer. The footage loaded bit by bit.

A few seconds of video stretched into an eternity.

On the screen, Grandpa stood guard by the machinery—and was brutally beaten.

Tears streamed down my face.

I hid the evidence inside my clothes and hurried out.

The truth deserved to see the light.

But the moment I stepped through the front door, I ran straight into Charles and Freya.

"Where do you think you're going this late?"

He frowned and walked toward me, his gaze sweeping over me with cold indifference.

"Still haven't given up? You're all alone. What could you possibly do to fight me?"

My voice was steady.