“I’ll take the twenty million,” I said quietly, forcing the words past the tight knot in my throat. “Once the money is transferred, I’ll remove myself from Dorian’s life completely. You have five days.”

My tone was calm, but my fingers were shaking so badly I had to grip the phone with both hands.

A sharp, victorious laugh burst through the speaker. Vivienne sounded pleased—almost celebratory.

“So you’ve finally understood your position,” she replied. “Excellent. I’ll see that everything is arranged, Camille. Just remember our deal—stay out of my son’s sight forever. I don’t want you anywhere near him again.”

She ended the call before I could respond.

For a long moment I didn’t move. The sudden silence felt deafening, as if the world had been sucked out of the room. My phone slipped from my grasp and landed softly on the sofa. My eyes stung, but nothing fell. No tears, only the dull, hollow weight of giving up.

If this had happened months ago—if I were still the woman I used to be—I would have fought back. I would have screamed, demanded answers, clung to Dorian with everything I had. But something in me had changed. I was too tired now, too broken to keep battling a world I never belonged to.

I shut my eyes and released a shaky breath.

This wasn’t how our story was meant to end.

Five years earlier, I had found Dorian lying unconscious beside the road, his clothes soaked with blood, his memories erased by the crash that nearly killed him. At that time, I barely had anything myself—just a run-down apartment with cracked walls, a thin mattress I bought secondhand, and enough money to scrape through each week.

Still, I brought him home.

I cared for him day after day. I cooked simple meals from whatever I could afford. I cleaned his wounds, stayed awake beside his bed at night, whispering reassurances into the darkness. When he finally woke, disoriented and afraid, I forced a smile through my tears and told him, “You’re not alone anymore. You’re with me.”

He couldn’t remember his family, his past, or even his own name. But somehow, he remembered me.

In that tiny apartment, in that fragile little bubble we created, we fell in love. It wasn’t grand or glamorous—it was raw, imperfect, real. He worked tirelessly, taking every odd job he could find, saving each dollar. At night, he’d hold my hand and murmur, “One day, Camille, I’ll make sure you never have to struggle again. I’ll give you everything.”

And eventually, he did.

Because the truth came crashing back into our lives—Dorian wasn’t a nobody. He was the heir to one of the most powerful corporate dynasties in the city, born into unimaginable wealth. When his memories returned, he took me with him into that glittering world of privilege and influence.

I thought it was the beginning of our happily ever after. He stood up to Vivienne, his cold, commanding mother who treated me like dirt under her heels. He slid a diamond ring onto my finger and vowed, “I choose you. Always. You’re my home, Camille.”

But fairy tales don’t last.

Then Yvette came back.

His first love. The woman who belonged effortlessly to his world. Beautiful, elegant, connected—everything I wasn’t. She returned as if she had never left, and little by little, I felt myself fading into the background.

He forgot our sixth anniversary.

I waited in the penthouse, dinner growing cold in front of me, until the television lit up with images of Dorian walking arm in arm with Yvette at a high-profile gala. The headlines screamed about their reunion, about how destiny had reunited the perfect couple.

Something inside my chest collapsed that night.

When he found the photos I left on my desk, he accused me of spying on him, of hiring people to follow him. He never realized Vivienne had fed me every piece of evidence to push me out of his life.

And yet… I stayed.

Until now.

The sound of the door unlocking dragged me back to the present. The glass doors slid open and Dorian walked in, loosening his tie, phone still pressed to his ear. He didn’t even look at me.

“Did you cook?” he asked absently.

I watched him, my lips twisting into a sad, bitter curve. “Didn’t you already have dinner with Yvette?”

That finally made him glance my way, irritation flashing in his eyes. “What is this, Camille? Are you spying on me again? Haven’t you caused enough trouble with those photos before?”

“That wasn’t me,” I murmured, barely loud enough for myself.

He went on as if I hadn’t spoken. “Do you have any idea how much I lost when I had amnesia? Contacts, deals, influence. Everything I’m doing now is for business. Yvette and I are done romantically—I’ve told you that over and over. She’s just a strategic connection.”

I wanted to believe him. I truly did. But the edge in his voice, the way he grouped himself with Yvette so naturally—it told me the truth he wouldn’t say.

So I simply nodded.

Then I stood up.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

I turned back with a blank expression I didn’t feel. “I don’t feel well. I need to lie down.”

I passed him without another word and locked myself in the bedroom that had never once felt like home.

I collapsed onto the bed, clutching my chest. Everything around me glittered—expensive furniture, floor-to-ceiling windows, the city shining beneath me.

But it all felt meaningless.

My eyes landed on my passport on the nightstand. My hand shook as I picked it up. After a long, unsteady breath, I dialed a number I knew by heart.

“Cass?” Mara answered immediately, concern thick in her voice.

I swallowed hard. “Can you come for me in five days? I’m… I’m not marrying Dorian anymore. I need to leave.”

The sudden heat startled me out of my thoughts.

When I blinked my eyes open, someone was holding me from behind. Dorian’s arms were firm around my waist, his chest warm against my back. His breath skimmed the curve of my ear as he spoke softly, almost apologetically.

“About last night… I know I wasn’t there,” he murmured. “Work piled up, that’s all. Let me make it right today. How about we go out later?”

Before I could answer, his lips brushed my cheek in a gentle, lingering kiss—the kind that used to melt me. Then he slipped something cold and smooth into my palm.

I glanced down. An emerald pendant rested there, its deep green surface catching the light.

“I owe you more than an apology for forgetting our anniversary,” he continued as he clasped it around my neck. “After we’re married, I’ll finally take you to the Maldives. You’ve dreamed about it for years.”

My lips curved into a faint smile, but my throat felt too tight to speak.

He stepped away and returned with a breakfast tray balanced carefully in his hands—scrambled eggs, toasted bread, a glass of juice. “Look, I even cooked,” he said, clearly proud of himself as he set it down in front of me.

If this were the past—back when we lived in that shabby little apartment and he saved coins just to buy me a cheap ring—I would have been overjoyed. I would have thrown my arms around him, telling him he was all I needed.

But now?

I just went through the motions. I poked at the food. I smiled when he looked at me. I pretended everything was fine.

Because I could feel it in my bones—our love had already shattered.

Then his phone rang.

The name glowing on the screen was one I recognized instantly. Yvette.

He glanced at me once before answering. “It’s business,” he said casually. “I’ll see you tonight. Put on the outfit I sent.”

And just like that, he was gone, coat in hand, his familiar scent lingering in the room like a memory I couldn’t hold onto anymore.

The silence afterward felt unbearable.

I shoved the tray aside and walked to the wardrobe. I opened every drawer, every hidden corner, dragging out the relics of our past—handwritten letters, cheap souvenirs, the flimsy ring he once bought while juggling five jobs, dried flowers from days when we couldn’t afford bouquets.

I gathered them all into a box. They had once meant everything. Now, they only reminded me of how much I had lost.

I slid the box out of sight. When I left, none of this would come with me.

That evening, I dressed in the gown Dorian had chosen and fastened the emerald necklace around my neck. I styled my hair the way he liked, painted my lips the shade he always complimented. I told myself it would just be the two of us tonight—that maybe he was finally trying again.

But the moment I entered the restaurant, my heart sank.

Yvette was already seated.

“Well, this is awkward,” she said with a bright smile. “Same dress, same necklace. Looks like we have identical taste.”

My voice barely came out. “Why are you here?”

Dorian cut in before she could answer. “There’s a client meeting tonight. Yvette happened to be nearby, so she joined us. She was hungry anyway.”

“I thought this was supposed to be our dinner,” I said quietly.

He sighed in annoyance. “Don’t start, Camille. I’ve had a long day. Sit down and eat.”

So I did.

The dishes were served. Out of habit, I waited for him to place my plate in front of me like he used to—but instead, he set it in front of Yvette, smiling as he adjusted it for her.

Then came the seafood platter.

The smell made my stomach twist. A memory flashed—years ago, my throat closing, my body breaking out in hives, Dorian sitting beside my hospital bed after I’d nearly died from an allergic reaction.

How could he forget something like that?

He looked at me, confused. “Why aren’t you touching your food? Isn’t this what you like?”

Yvette leaned closer, smirking. “It’s my favorite too.”

“I can’t…” I whispered. “I’m allergic.”

But his phone rang again, and he stepped away without hearing me.

Yvette didn’t waste the chance.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” she said quietly. “He’s turning you into me. Same clothes, same jewelry—so he doesn’t feel guilty about settling. Your necklace isn’t even real. Mine is. He gives me the originals—you get the knockoffs.”

I said nothing.

She smiled coldly. “Do yourself a favor and disappear. You don’t belong in our world.”

I met her eyes. “Then I’ll leave.”

I stood, but she suddenly cried out, kicking her chair and tipping her bowl.

“My leg—she burned me!” Yvette screamed.

Dorian rushed back instantly. “What happened?!”

“She lost her temper and hurt me,” Yvette sobbed.

“That’s not true!” I protested.

He glared at me. “She makes a living with her legs, Camille! And you think you can just ruin them?!”

Then he grabbed the hot plate and pressed it against my thigh.

The pain was unbearable. I screamed.

“Now you know how it feels,” he said coldly.

I collapsed as he carried Yvette away, her face buried in his shoulder—smiling at me over his arm.

And I was left there alone.

My hands shook as I wound the gauze around my thigh, wrapping it again and again until the sharp sting faded into a dull, pulsing ache.

When I finally finished, I lifted my eyes to the mirror. The emerald necklace still hung at my collarbone, glittering cruelly against skin that had cried itself raw. My eyes were swollen, my lashes clumped with dried tears, and my leg was buried beneath layers of white cloth—like a secret I could never truly cover.

In that moment, the truth settled over me with terrifying clarity.

I couldn’t stay here any longer.

I pushed myself upright, ignoring the protest in my muscles, and walked straight to the closet. There were no tears this time. I dragged my suitcases out and began filling them without hesitation. Then I gathered everything else—the letters he once wrote, the photos of our happier days, the tiny mementos I had guarded like treasures—and dumped them in a heap on the floor.

Instead of boxing them up like before, I lit a match.

The fire swallowed our past in seconds, ink bleeding into ash, paper curling into nothingness.

I was finished.

But just as I lifted my luggage, the front door flew open.

Dorian stormed in, eyes darting between the charred remains on the carpet and the row of packed suitcases at my feet.

“What the hell happened here?” he barked. “Why are our things burned? What are you packing for? And why does it smell like smoke in here?”

I looked at him calmly. “I donated them.”

His brows drew together. “Donated? And the bags? Where are you planning to go?”

“A vacation,” I said faintly.

“A vacation?” he repeated sharply. “Our wedding is around the corner and you’re talking about trips without telling me? Is this because of yesterday? Camille, I already apologized.”

Sorry. That word again.

He raked a hand through his hair and started pacing. “You know her family is backing the merger. I couldn’t embarrass her—if she loses face, the deal collapses. I’m doing this for our future. For us.”

My gaze drifted to his legs—the same ones that once knelt before me when he had nothing but broken promises and hope in his eyes.

Now they had walked me straight into heartbreak.

“Please,” he said more gently, reaching for my fingers. “Just give me a little more time. Once this is over, I’ll put you first. I swear.”

I couldn’t speak. My chest felt packed with stones.

Then his eyes fell to my bare hand. “Where’s your ring?”

I stiffened. “I took it off. It doesn’t feel right anymore.”

Something unreadable crossed his face before he pulled me into a hollow hug. “We’ll go to the auction tomorrow. I’ll buy you a better one. Whatever you like.”

I nodded, numb. Just a few more days.

That night, I opened my bank app.

A new transaction glowed on the screen—twenty million dollars.

From Vivienne.

The bargain was complete.

The next morning, I stepped outside and froze. Yvette was already seated beside Dorian in the front of his car.

“Oh—sorry,” she said lightly. “His mother insisted I tag along today. She said I’d be more suitable for something like this. You’ve never been to an auction before, right?”

Dorian met my eyes in the mirror. “It’s business again. Don’t overthink it.”

So I climbed into the back seat, staring out the tinted window. I remembered how Dorian once dreamed about buying us a tiny car. We’ll drive everywhere together, he had said, smiling like the future was ours.

That future had vanished.

At the venue, cameras flashed endlessly. Dorian and Yvette stood close, laughing easily, looking every bit the perfect couple. Reporters whispered their names with awe.

When someone asked who I was, Dorian replied smoothly, “Just a friend.”

The words tore straight through me.

Later, Yvette leaned toward me and murmured, “See? You were never meant to be here.”

I clenched my dress so tightly my nails bit into my skin.

Eventually, I stood, intending to leave quietly—but something on display stopped me cold.

A gold locket.

It lay on velvet, glowing softly under the lights. It was identical to my grandmother’s—the one I sold long ago to pay for Dorian’s medical bills.

He had once sworn to buy it back for me.

Trembling, I reached out—

“Thief!” a woman suddenly screamed, shoving me. “She’s stealing!”