"Ms. Dickerson, this is your share transfer agreement. You're certain you want to resign?"

"I am."

The head of HR fixed her with a grave look. "Are you sure you don't want to inform Mr. Simmons? If you resign in secret and he finds out, he will freeze every account tied to you to bring you back."

I sat on the couch in the reception room without a word. I just nodded, hard.

I had decided to leave Simmons Group on our fifth wedding anniversary and walk away from a marriage the whole world envied.

Maybe this marriage had been a lie from the start. The seeds of doubt were planted the day I found the photo of Frederick Simmons and my adoptive sister tucked inside his briefcase.

On stormy nights, no matter how drunk he was, he would coax me to sleep first, then slip out without hesitation—just to comfort a sister who was afraid of thunder.

When I saw the half-stamped seal on our invalid marriage certificate, tears spilled down my face like a broken string of pearls. I drafted my resignation on the spot and booked a flight departing in seven days.

Frederick was away on a last-minute business trip on our anniversary. I stayed behind at the office to handle my departure. Out of nowhere, a voicemail arrived from him—warm, gentle, walking me through his itinerary for the day.

Meanwhile, every billboard screen across the city was cycling through highlights of our life together.

Countless drones spelled out my name in the sky. Rose petals drifted down like snow.

I stared out the window at the spectacle, my chest a tangle of emotions I couldn't name. In the hallway, employees crowded around, snapping photos and gushing.

After a few minutes of silence, a second audio file landed in my inbox—an intimate conversation between two people:

"My parents told me that sister of mine is pregnant. What am I supposed to do? We're the real married couple!"

"Relax, Agatha. So what if she has a kid? She's nothing but your stand-in."

"If you don't want it, I'll take her to the hospital myself whenever you say the word. She does everything I tell her—she really is a loyal little dog…"

What followed was unmistakable. The audio played on speaker, too loud, and every employee in the office went wide-eyed, not daring to breathe.

Seven days. In seven days I would leave this place for good—and leave him for good. I didn't spare a single glance at their stares. I set down my keys and walked out.

1

"Mom, Dad—I'm going to divorce Frederick."

"Have you lost your mind? Do you have any idea how good he is to you? Ungrateful wretch. You're not half as easy to deal with as Agatha."

Their insults poured through the phone without pause. When I couldn't take another second, I forwarded them the audio.

"You've known all along that Frederick was keeping Agatha. Haven't you."

Silence on the other end. I hung up without waiting for an answer and drove straight to a law firm to draft the divorce papers.

The day I found that photo of Frederick and Agatha, I'd also found stacks of round-trip flight itineraries—domestic and international—and receipts from luxury hotels I'd never set foot in.

I combed through every one of Agatha's social media accounts. A photo of them holding hands had been her profile banner all along.

There was even a shot of her in a wedding dress, flashing a diamond ring, kissing him full on the mouth. She hadn't even bothered to make it private.

Late that night, I called Frederick over and over. No one picked up.

I tugged at the corner of my mouth—something between a smile and a grimace—and started packing. That was when I found our wedding invitation buried among my things.

Tears pooled in my eyes. My vision blurred.

He had once shielded me in a multi-car pileup, wrapping his body around mine so completely that he was the one who ended up in critical condition—unconscious, nearly losing a limb, three days of emergency surgery before he opened his eyes.

On our wedding day, fireworks lit up the entire city just for us. He cried so hard he could barely speak, and afterward he tattooed my name on his skin as a vow of devotion. The whole city was moved by our love story.

And yet this same man—this man who seemed incapable of betrayal—had been keeping my adoptive sister all along. Had legally married her. Had deceived me so thoroughly that even I never saw through it.

I wiped my tears and was about to lie down when a pair of strong arms wrapped around me from behind.

"Baby, I'm sorry. I can't believe I wasn't here for our anniversary…"

I drew a slow breath, loosened his grip, and hit play on the recording.

…

"What do you have to say?"

He explained that there really had been an emergency meeting that day, that he'd gotten drunk at a client dinner and blacked out.

When I gave him nothing, he pulled out his phone to prove he didn't even have her contact information.

"She's hated you for years—you know that. She's just trying to drive a wedge between us."

Frederick's eyes reddened, brimming with wounded sincerity. I pressed my lips together, brows tight, and chose not to tear his lies apart.

I tossed and turned all night. Frederick held me in silence, refusing to let even an inch of space come between us.

To make it up to me, he took me to a newly opened five-star restaurant and reserved every luxury boutique in the city for my private shopping.

After picking out a new diamond ring for me, Frederick said he wanted to take me for new wedding portraits.

We were almost at the studio when his phone rang. He turned the volume down as low as it would go, but I still caught Agatha's coy little voice on the other end.

"I heard a new dessert shop just opened on the south side of town. It would be amazing to get something fresh-made…"

A doting smile curved the corner of Frederick's mouth. He invented some excuse on the spot and dropped me on the side of the road.

I got out without a word. My heels clicked against the pavement the entire way to the bridal boutique. By the time I arrived, every senior design consultant was lined up to greet me.

The backs of my heels were raw and bleeding. I ignored their introductions.

I cut straight to the point, gesturing toward the display room—toward the gown I'd fallen in love with months ago. A saleswoman rushed over, all smiles:

"You must be Ms. Agatha Dickerson! How lucky you are—your husband reserved this piece months in advance. He even had it custom-altered to your measurements."

I froze. My smile locked in place like a mask. Before I could get a word out, several attendants swarmed in to help me into the dress.

They kept showering me with compliments—how perfectly the gown suited my figure, how it was made for someone with my elegance. Every word was a blade twisting deeper into my chest.

I still remembered that wedding—the one the whole city talked about. I'd chosen a simple, understated gown, and Agatha had sneered at it to my face, calling it cheap and poorly made.

Frederick had soothed me, told me not to let her get under my skin, and promised that one day he'd give me the most exquisite wedding dress in the world.

He had pulled every string he had to honor that promise. Years later, it was finally finished. The moment I saw the photos of the completed gown, I was captivated.

I had been so full of joy, so eager to see it on myself. And now it turned out to be Agatha's gift all along—tailored to her body.

Everything I'd been holding back shattered at once. I sobbed, my whole frame shaking.

The attendants saw me trembling and assumed I was overcome with happiness. They rushed to dab the tears from my cheeks.

They were nearly done with the final lacing when the ribbons refused to close. The measurements were wrong. The staff exchanged bewildered glances.

When I finally steadied myself enough to speak, my voice came out low and even:

"I'm not Agatha Dickerson. And I won't have a husband much longer."

"This dress isn't mine either. Something this tasteless wouldn't interest me anyway."

I waved my hand in dismissal. I didn't want to look at the gown for another second. I swiped my card, then told the staff to burn it right there in front of me. Out of sight, out of mind.

The firelight played across my face. By the time it was over, dusk had settled in, and I went home alone.

Days of insomnia had left me in a fog. I'd just brewed a pot of coffee and was about to sit down when my phone started buzzing nonstop.

An unknown account sent me photos. I stared at them, transfixed, and didn't notice the coffee cup slipping from my hands until it shattered on the floor.

A shard of glass sliced into my shin. I didn't feel it.

In the photos, silky hair spilled across Frederick's back. The dim lighting only made the outline of their bodies more unmistakable.

The diamond ring on her hand glinted so brightly it was impossible to ignore. My eyes went wide when I spotted the vanity box I'd always treasured sitting on the table behind them. It used to live in the passenger seat of his car.

The video was grainy, but the audio was crystal clear.

"When are you going to go public with me? I'm the one who sent her that recording. Time she learned her place."

"Relax. You're my only real wife. Once she gives birth, she's served her purpose."

Their silhouettes tangled together, and the sound of heavy breathing drowned out everything else.

I was shaking all over. I ripped the ring off my finger and hurled it across the room. It struck the framed photo of us, the one already yellowed with age, and the glass exploded.

So that was it. My only value was to carry on the Simmons family line. No wonder my parents had never been so thrilled about anything as they were when they heard I was pregnant.

The rage at Frederick's betrayal, at my parents' favoritism, at every swallowed grievance, all of it came pouring out at once.

By midnight, I sat hollow and spent, one hand resting on my swollen belly, dried tear tracks streaking my face.

Once I'd made the decision to raise this child alone, I sent an email to my former business partner, Joseph.

Dawn broke, and Frederick finally came home. The moment he saw me curled up on the couch, he pulled me into his arms.

"Baby, why do you look so worn out? Is the little one giving you trouble?"

He rubbed my frozen hands between his, his eyes brimming with concern.

My voice came out flat and cold. "It's nothing. I stepped on some broken glass."

Only then did he notice the shards scattered across the floor and the blood still trickling down my shin.

Before I could say another word, he scooped me up and carried me to the car, calling ahead to put every doctor in the city on standby.

"I'm sorry, baby. I shouldn't have left you alone like that. That's on me. I'm taking you to the hospital right now."

I told him clearly it wasn't serious, but Frederick insisted on running every test imaginable.

"If anything happened to you, I wouldn't know how to go on. I promised I'd take care of you for the rest of your life."

He didn't leave my side for a single second, and only exhaled when every last result came back.

All the other markers were normal, but one line was flagged in bold: acute emotional distress and depression.

Frederick panicked. His only worry was that it might affect the baby's health.

He assumed it was pregnancy hormones. To keep me calm and protect the baby, he suggested taking me to a gala at Greystone Winery.

The next morning, a custom-tailored apricot gown was draped over the headboard. Frederick had stayed up all night teaching himself a fashionable updo. He did my hair and makeup himself, then drove me to the winery.

It was a private estate, but the wine collection was staggering. Frederick knew I loved a good vintage, and every bottle my gaze lingered on for even a second, he bought on the spot.

Spending a fortune just to make me smile. The extravagance turned heads all around us.

My injured leg slowed me down, and I gradually fell behind him.

Most of the guests were Simmons Group business partners. They crowded around him, ribbing him good-naturedly.

"Mr. Simmons, spending a fortune to win a beauty's smile! There were a few rare bottles I had my eye on, and you snatched them right out from under me!"

"Frederick, that most prized vintage of yours, any chance you'd let me have it? Ten times the price, name it."

I listened to all of it and felt nothing.

Frederick waved them off without a glance. "Nothing matters more than Agatha. I only listen to her."

The corner of my mouth twitched. I pretended I hadn't heard that name. My expression didn't change.

Ignoring the small talk, Frederick took my hand and led me down into the winery's underground ballroom.

Through the shifting crowd, a flash of red caught my eye. A familiar figure.

Then the sound of a wine glass shattering cut through the noise, and every pair of eyes in the room snapped toward the same spot.

The champagne tower at center stage came crashing down in a cascade of glass and liquid, shards flying in every direction.

"What's wrong with you, young lady? You can't even walk without slamming into me, and now you've knocked the whole thing over!" Mr. Finch, Frederick's business partner, barked at the culprit.

The woman across from him said nothing, her face a picture of helpless resignation.

Anyone with eyes could see that Mr. Finch's suit was worth a small fortune, and now it was drenched in champagne. The temperature in the room plummeted.

The commotion drew our attention. The moment Frederick's gaze locked onto the woman responsible, something shifted in him. I felt it in the way his hand released mine.

He was about to walk over when I accidentally stepped on the edge of a tablecloth. A row of glasses tipped and nearly cascaded onto me. Frederick's reflexes kicked in. He grabbed me and pulled me close, shielding my stomach.

Shards of glass sliced into my hand. Blood ran freely between my fingers. He didn't even glance at it.

"Libby, are you alright? Just rest here for a minute. My friend seems to have run into some trouble."

The crowd was thick, but through the gaps between onlookers, I spotted a pair of eyes I knew all too well.

My adoptive sister, Agatha. Dramatic as ever. She stood there in a scarlet dress, her expression dripping with contempt, utterly unbothered by the powerful man she'd just offended.

Frederick cut through the crowd and positioned himself in front of Mr. Finch, tucking Agatha behind him.

"Mr. Finch, it's such a wonderful evening. Don't let this ruin your mood. You mentioned earlier you wanted some of the wine I ordered? However many bottles you'd like, they're yours."

Frederick was all smiles and flattery. When Mr. Finch's expression finally softened, Frederick quickly had someone bring out a fresh suit.

Agatha stayed behind him the entire time, gazing up at him with naked adoration as he smoothed everything over for her.

After enough reassurances, the crisis passed. The crowd dispersed. Frederick finally let out a long breath.

In a quiet corner near the stage, he wiped the cold sweat from his brow. "Why are you back? Mr. Finch is one of our most important partners. How could you be so careless—"

Before he could finish, Agatha threw herself into his arms, unable to contain herself any longer. "It's been days. Didn't you miss me? I wanted to surprise you, so I didn't tell you I was coming."

His reaction wasn't what she'd expected. Frederick flinched, startled, then glanced around nervously. His eyes landed directly on me, standing right there, watching them both.

"When did you get back? It's been a while, Agatha." I walked toward them, keeping my voice even.

Agatha didn't let go of Frederick's arm. Her words, though, came laced with thorns. "It really has been a while. You still look terrible, sis."

"What's the matter? Hasn't your dear husband been taking good care of you?" She let out a derisive laugh, her eyes glittering with scorn. "Or maybe it's not you he's been taking care of."

I wasn't about to swallow that kind of provocation. I stepped forward, ready to put her in her place, but Frederick blocked my path.

"Libby, calm down. She's just joking around."

"Agatha, why don't you pour your sister a glass of water?" He gestured toward a cup nearby.

Frederick shot Agatha a look. She played obedient, picked up the cup, and brought it over with an apology.

I didn't want to accept anything from her. But Agatha kept pressing, and in the end, I took it.

My throat was parched. I drank it all in one gulp. Instantly, a searing burn tore through my mouth and spread down my throat. I collapsed to the floor, curling into myself, screaming. "My stomach—it hurts!" The sound drew a crowd.

The cup shattered on the ground. Agatha stumbled back, wide-eyed, turning helplessly toward Frederick. But beneath the panic, a flicker of satisfaction crossed her face.

Her hands trembled. She didn't dare come closer. Frederick swallowed hard, frozen for a beat, then scooped me into his arms and rushed for the hospital.

But it was already too late. Hours of induced vomiting and stomach pumping couldn't undo what the concentrated alcohol had done. My baby was gone.

I couldn't believe what the doctor was telling me. The child I had hoped for, prayed for, wished into existence—taken by a single glass of Agatha's "water."

When they wheeled me out of the emergency room, I had no strength left. My eyes were hollow. Tears had dried in streaks across my face.

Voices drifted down the corridor outside. Faint, but I caught every word.

"Frederick, what do we do now? I only gave it to her because you told me to. I didn't think it would actually make her miscarry!"

"How could you be so careless? That child was the only reason I've been putting up with this."

"Forget it. It's fine. We'll just have her get pregnant again."

"Relax. When the time comes, act sweet and beg her forgiveness. She can't really do anything to you. Besides, I'm the one who told you to hand her that drink."

Frederick's tone was light, almost bored, though a trace of regret flickered in his eyes.

My breathing turned ragged. My eyes went wide. Frederick had only ever cared about the baby. Not once had he worried about whether I lived or died. The child was gone, and the grief crushed down on my chest like a physical weight, suffocating and relentless.

After I was moved to a private room, the two of them finally appeared. Agatha stood beside the bed, clinging to Frederick's arm with a look of helpless distress. Rage boiled through me. I glared at them both with every ounce of hatred I had.

"I'm so sorry, sis. It was an accident. I grabbed the wrong one. It's all my fault. Whatever you need while you recover, I'll do it." Agatha's face was the portrait of remorse. She clutched my ice-cold hand, tears streaming down her cheeks.

I wrenched my hand free with what little strength I had and turned away. Watching these two wolves perform their little act made my stomach turn.

I lay in that hospital bed, hollowed out. Frederick made a few perfunctory arrangements and left.

"Agatha just got back. I need to get her settled in. Libby, you focus on resting."

As if the child he'd lost wasn't his. I couldn't detect a single trace of grief in him. The coldness of it left me speechless. I spent the next few days recovering alone.

But the sterile chill of the hospital was more than I could bear. I asked to go home to recuperate. Frederick said he needed to finish looking after Agatha first. I shook my head in quiet disappointment.

Early the next morning, Frederick and Agatha left ahead of me. By the time they arrived home, my parents were waiting at the door with open arms.

"Welcome home, Agatha! Mom and Dad have had dinner ready for hours!"

Frederick had even tidied himself up for the occasion, all to welcome Agatha back.

After I finished the discharge paperwork, I went home alone. No one noticed I'd arrived.