After being discharged from the psychiatric hospital, I became a designated driver.

I never imagined that tonight’s passengers would turn out to be my younger sister, Trisha Golding, and my ex-wife, Celeste Sheridan.

When the car door swung open, a familiar scent rushed in. Expensive perfume mixed with the sharp bite of alcohol.

In the back seat, the two of them chatted casually about corporate acquisitions and ski trips in Switzerland. Their voices were light and carefree, as though the world had never known trouble.

My throat suddenly went dry.

Before I could stop myself, I coughed.

“Taking orders when you’re sick?” Trisha snapped at once, her voice sharp with open disdain. “There’s a pregnant woman in the car. If she gets sick, can you take responsibility for that?”

I said nothing.

A moment later, Celeste lifted her eyes and met mine through the rearview mirror.

Her expression was composed, her tone gentle, unchanged, as if time itself had politely stepped aside for her.

“Nathan... Long time no see.”

The car fell into a dead silence.

“Nathan?!” Trisha lurched forward, disbelief written all over her face. “You’re still alive?!”

Then her expression twisted with disgust.

“Celeste, have you forgotten?” she snapped. “He’s diseased. Get out of the car. Now!”

Almost on cue, the car rolled to a smooth stop in front of a sprawling villa. They got out as if fleeing a fire, not daring to linger even a second longer. I remained in the driver’s seat, slowly pressing a hand to my chest.

So this is what it felt like.

It didn’t hurt anymore.

Time really did dull everything.

——

Through the windshield, I watched Trisha hurry away, dragging Celeste along with her.

Their voices drifted faintly through the night air.

“Are you out of your mind? He’s diseased. Hurry up. Just pretend we didn’t see anything tonight…”

My hands trembled slightly on the steering wheel.

I reached for my cigarette case, slipped one free, and lit it.

Once, I could smoke cigars worth hundreds of thousands without blinking. Now, the cigarette had barely caught before the smoke clawed its way into my lungs, forcing me to bend forward in a fit of coughing.

Suddenly, someone tapped lightly on the window.

Celeste had returned at some point and was standing beside the car. She stood beside the vehicle, posture straight, her face half-lit by the streetlamp.

Leaning down, she spoke softly. “Nathan, today’s Philip’s birthday. Mom and Dad are inside. Do you want to come in and take a look?”

I stubbed out the cigarette.

When I spoke, my voice came out rough and dry. “No need. With one less of me around, won’t things be more peaceful for all of you?”

“Don’t say that.” She shook her head gently. “You’re still a Golding, Nathan.”

Before she could finish, the villa’s front doors were thrown open.

A man strode out, irritation etched into every step.

“Celeste! Who are you talking to?”

His gaze flicked toward me, sharp and dismissive.

“Haven’t I told you already? Don’t associate with those shady people outside.”

I didn’t wait to hear another word. I slammed the accelerator and pulled away.

Cold wind rushed through the car, seeping into my bones and leaving me shivering.

Eventually, the car came to a stop in front of a small steamed-bun shop.

The curtain lifted, and Luis Walker, my apprentice, stepped out with a wide grin.

“You’re back, Boss.”

My second shift began.

Kneading dough. Rolling wrappers. Chopping fillings and pre-heating ovens.

When it was finally over, I would collapse for three or four hours at most before dragging myself back behind the wheel.

Somewhere along the way, I had forgotten how to sleep truly.

By three in the morning, the heat inside the bake shop finally thinned out.

Luis squatted at the entrance, scrolling through his phone.

Suddenly, he clicked his tongue.

“Whoa, Boss, look at this! The Goldings threw a birthday party for their adopted son. They even chartered a whole yacht. This level of extravagance… damn. And his wife is ridiculously beautiful.”

The camera swept across the deck.

Philip had an arm wrapped around Celeste’s waist, leaning close to whisper something into her ear.

She smiled.

The same smile she had worn on our wedding day, all those years ago.

Nearby, my father, Archibald Golding, chairman of Golding Corp., stood with a benevolent expression, patting Philip on the shoulder like a proud parent.

“I heard the Golding family’s second son died of illness eight years ago,” Luis muttered casually. "If not, how's an adopted son supposed to get the money? Guess it’s all fate…”

He sighed, envy plain on his face.

“Forget buying a house. How many years would we have to sell buns just to afford one of their car tires?”

I looked at him and slowly shook my head.

That kind of life, I knew it too well.

Because eight years ago, I had been violently kicked down from those very clouds, straight into hell.

And the hands that pushed me belonged to my newlywed wife and to my family.

I lit a cigarette and took a long drag.

Meanwhile, Luis was wiping down the tables. When he glanced up at me, his brows knit together with concern.

“Boss, your coughing’s getting worse,” he said. “You should smoke less.”

My voice came out hoarse. “I can’t quit.”

He let out a quiet sigh and turned back to his work, waving the feather duster around the shop.

After a moment, he spoke again.

“With the New Year coming up, I’m heading back home in a couple of days. Figured I’d clean the place up properly first.”

As he slid the duster under the bed, it struck something solid.

He paused, bent down, and pulled out a small, dust-covered box.

When he opened it, a ring lay inside. Even buried under layers of grime, it still caught the light.

“Boss… this looks expensive,” Luis said carefully as he held it up. “You should keep it safe.”

He handed the box to me. The instant my fingertips brushed the edge, I jerked my hand back, as if I had been burned.

Eight years ago, I had placed that ring on Celeste’s finger myself.

The memories surged forward like a tidal wave.

Back then, she was just a little girl climbing out of the rubble after an earthquake. My father and I were inspecting the site in that village when we found her among the broken walls and ruins.

She had no one.

That was when I began sponsoring her education.

Every month, she wrote me letters.

Year by year, the emotions hidden between the lines grew more unmistakable.

Later, I bought her a phone. She confessed her feelings to me during one of those calls, and I turned her down. She didn’t argue or cling. Instead, she immersed herself even further in her studies and gained admission to a prestigious university overseas.

When she returned, she was immediately parachuted into the company as its youngest department manager ever.

Standing in front of me again, she asked calmly, “Nathan, am I worthy of you now?”

This time, I nodded.

When I told my family I planned to marry her, my father broke his favorite whiskey glass, and my mother cried all night. I knelt in the ancestral hall for three days straight. In the end, though, I didn’t back down.

On our wedding day, I announced her name to everyone. Her wedding dress was custom-made by a designer I hired just for her. I slipped the ring onto her finger with my own hands.

After we married, I gradually let her take control of the company's affairs, transferring the shares in my name to hers little by little.

But somewhere along the way, tensions started to grow between her and my adopted brother, Philip. They had fierce disagreements over projects, arguing repeatedly.

Once, Celeste splashed a cup of coffee straight into Philip’s face. That was when the animosity truly took root.

I urged Philip to be more accommodating. He only looked at me with a cold smile.

“Your taste in women,” he said, “is truly terrible.”

I thought the two of them would stay at odds forever until one day I saw Philip wearing the same brand of clothes I liked, the ones I always wore.

Celeste didn’t even blink.

“The store had a buy-one-get-one-free deal,” she explained. “I picked one up for him, too.”

When their relationship seemed to ease, I felt relieved, even happy.

Then, Celeste was kidnapped by a rival company.

The first person to rush in and save her wasn’t me.

It was Philip.

By the time I arrived, he was holding her tightly in his arms, her face streaked with tears.

My chest tightened, but I said nothing.

Later, Celeste explained quietly, “I was terrified. Whoever got there first, I would have reacted the same way.”

The day after our wedding, I flew overseas for an urgent project. When I returned, I didn’t tell her because I wanted to surprise her.

I went quietly to the glass conservatory I had given her as a gift.

And there, I saw a scene I would never forget for the rest of my life.

My adopted brother, Philip, had my new wife pressed against the glass. Their bodies were closely intertwined, with spring sunlight shining through the conservatory.

The gift box slipped from my hand and hit the ground with a sharp crack.

I lunged forward and slammed my fist into Philip.

Celeste hurriedly pulled on her clothes and grabbed my arm. “Nathan, listen to me. Let me explain!”

“Explain?” I yanked my arm free. “Explain how the two of you ended up together? Do you think I’m blind?”

I looked at Philip, then at Celeste.

My anger was already pushed to its breaking point. Still, deep inside, a foolish glimmer of hope remained. Maybe she had just been momentarily confused.

I reached out toward her.

“Come here,” I said hoarsely. “I’ll give you one last chance.”

She had barely taken a step when Philip suddenly grabbed her arm and pulled her back behind him. This brother of mine, who had always spoken to me softly and once wore only warmth on his face, now looked at me with apparent disgust.

He stepped forward, facing me squarely, and spoke with deliberate calm. “Nathan, I’m sorry. But Celeste and I truly love each other.”

“Let go,” I said.

My fist swung before I could think.

It connected with his face, and blood immediately spilled from his nose.

Celeste screamed and slapped me hard across the cheek. The sound echoed sharply through the room. Even she froze afterward, staring at her own hand in shock.

My gaze dropped to the fresh hickey on her neck, and a bone-deep chill crept through me.

Philip wiped the blood from his face and sneered. “Nathan, is violence the only thing you’re good at? Wake up and face reality.”

He paused, then delivered the next blow, his voice colder than ever. “And she’s already pregnant. With my child.”

Something inside me snapped.

I lunged at him, and we crashed together, fists and bodies colliding in a violent struggle.

Celeste rushed forward, trying desperately to pull us apart.

In the turmoil, I pushed her away without realizing how forcefully I was pushing.

She slammed into the floor.

Almost immediately, blood began to spread beneath her.

She miscarried.

At the hospital, my mother sat wiping away her tears again and again. My father stood nearby, his face dark with anger.

Finally, he spoke, his voice heavy with reprimand. “Nathan, you were too impulsive. No matter how furious you were, you should never have laid a hand on a pregnant woman.”

I looked at them and felt only a bitter sense of absurdity. “She was carrying Philip’s child, a bastard with no blood ties to our family. And you still want it?”

“Enough!” my father roared.

His cane came down hard against my calf.

My legs gave out, and I collapsed to my knees.

His chest heaved as he pointed the cane at me. “You animal, listen carefully!”

Then, my father explained, “Philip’s father was my brother-in-arms. We exchanged our lives on the battlefield. He took a bullet for me. Before he died, he entrusted me with one thing, and it's taking care of his only son.”

He looked down at me, his eyes cold and merciless. “In your mother’s heart and mine, Philip is part of our family. If you dare touch him again, I will not wait for anyone else. I will break your legs myself.”

I knelt there, the pain in my legs insignificant compared to the icy dread spreading through my chest.

So that was it.

More than twenty years of our father-son relationship meant less than a promise made at the brink of death.

My father continued, his voice sharp with condemnation.

“And you still dare talk back? If you hadn’t neglected Celeste all these years, how could she have ended up with Philip? You’ve been willful since childhood. You’re nothing like him, who’s steady and sensible! Apologize to Philip!”

From the side, my sister added casually, “Nathan, since Philip and Celeste truly love each other, why don’t you just let them be?”

“Dad!” My voice shook as I spoke. "His feelings matter, but can my dignity—your own son—be trampled at will?"

I lifted my head just in time to catch the look Philip and Celeste exchanged.

The tenderness lingering in that shared gaze shattered my last remaining hope.

I sprang to my feet and rushed toward the hospital bed, grabbing Celeste’s wrist and trying to pull her with me.

“Come with me! Let’s leave! I won’t hold anything against you anymore!”

Celeste screamed as she fell, clawing for balance. She snatched a vase from the bedside table and smashed it violently against my head.

“Let go of me!”

Porcelain shattered against my scalp. Blood combined with cold water as it flowed down my face.

My father’s bodyguards burst into the room, wrenching my arms behind my back and forcing me to the floor.

“He’s gone mad! Completely mad!” my father shouted. “Send him to psychiatry. Lock him up and make him come to his senses!”

Pinned to the floor, my vision blurred.

The last thing I saw was Philip carefully pulling Celeste into his arms.

I was sent to a psychiatric hospital.

Under the effects of tranquilizers, time lost all meaning.

Each day, during the single hour I was allowed to watch television, the screen was filled with news of Philip and Celeste.

They were in the Maldives with my sister, smiling brightly, their happiness dazzling enough to blind me.