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.

I knew that if I kept causing trouble, I would never be allowed to leave.

So I learned how to behave. I took my medication on time, cooperated with every therapy session, and followed the treatment plan without resistance.

Little by little, their vigilance eased.

On the day I was finally discharged, Philip came to pick me up himself.

Celeste sat in the passenger seat, while my sister sat beside me in the back.

The car drove on in silence for a long time before Trisha spoke, her tone casual, almost offhand.

“Nathan,” she said, “the last time we visited you, you had already signed the divorce papers. This morning, Celeste and Philip officially registered their marriage.”

She lifted her phone and waved it in front of me.

On the screen was their wedding photo.

A wave of dizziness washed over me. I could not remember signing anything. There was no memory of it, not even a fragment.

“Stop the car,” I said.

“Nathan...” Trisha frowned impatiently. “Can you stop making a scene? Look at Philip. He has always been steady and reliable. No wonder Mom and Dad decided to hand the entire company over to him.”

My hand shot forward, gripping the back of the front seat so tightly my fingers ached.

“What about my shares?” I demanded.

Celeste turned around to face me. Her voice was still gentle and controlled.

“Nathan, you didn’t have legal capacity while you were ill. Mom and Dad were worried about you, so they temporarily entrusted your shares to Philip for management.”

“That was my life’s work.” I stared at the back of Philip’s head, fury surging through my chest.

He let out a scoffing laugh.

“Nathan, you don’t have that kind of ability,” he said lightly. “Wouldn’t it be better to just live comfortably as a rich idler?”

I looked at everyone in the car.

My wife.

My so-called brother.

My sister.

“Stop the car,” I said quietly. “Or else.”

Before anyone could react, I lunged forward and grabbed Philip by the hair, yanking hard.

He slammed on the brakes. The car screeched to a halt at the side of the road.

I flung the door open and jumped out.

Before walking away, I turned back and fixed them with a cold stare.

“Things that belong to me aren’t that easy to take.”

I still had friends in Boston, brothers I had grown up with. I tracked them down, scraped together what money we could, hired the best lawyer I could afford, and led a group straight to the company.

I was going to take back everything that belonged to me, but the police arrived before I ever got the chance.

I was stopped at the company entrance. One by one, my calls stopped going through. The money we had pooled together vanished from my account without a trace.

Philip eventually walked out, surrounded by bodyguards.

He looked at me the way one might look at a joke.

“Nathan,” he said lightly, “after all these years, how are you still this naive?”

I was driven away like a stray dog.

That night, I went to a bar.

Glass after glass, I drank, trying to drown everything.

When I woke up, my head felt like it was splitting. Beside me lay a heavily made-up woman I did not recognize.

Before I could even piece things together, the door was slammed open.

Celeste and Philip stood in the doorway, my parents and sister behind them.

A swarm of reporters surged forward, cameras raised.

Flashbulbs exploded, nearly blinding me.

I rolled out of bed, humiliation burning through every nerve.

My father struck my back with his cane.

“Get him tested immediately,” he snapped. “I won’t have him bringing some disease back with him.”

When the test results came out, the hospital ward fell into dead silence.

That woman had HIV.

And on my report, the same three letters stared back at me.

“Self-degradation,” my mother spat before turning away, never looking back.

My sister dumped an entire basin of cold water over my head.

“You’re disgusting,” Trisha screamed. “Don’t ever say you’re my brother again!”