I received the news one afternoon. My fiancé had been rushed to the hospital after nearly suffocating in his car during sex.

When I arrived, I noticed another familiar figure—his sister-in-law—lying on a hospital bed as well. A dull ache settled in my chest, not from heartbreak but from sheer exhaustion.

The doctor seemed hesitant as he delivered the explanation.

"The patient was using a sex toy that got... stuck inside. We're still working on removing it. For now, this is the best we can do." His voice was professional, but the discomfort in his expression was evident.

Then came the inevitable question. "What's your relationship with the patient?"

I turned my face away slightly, unwilling to let anyone recognize me. "Just a friend."

Once, I would have caused a scene. Once, I would have demanded answers, shouted accusations, let the pain take over. But now? I was drained. There was nothing left in me to waste on this mess.

I handled the necessary paperwork with cold efficiency, not sparing them a single glance before turning on my heel and walking away. Those two people were disgusting. They deserved each other.

As I stepped out of the hospital doors, the crisp night air hit me, carrying with it a strange sense of clarity. I inhaled deeply before pulling out my phone and dialing my family's number.

"I agree to the arranged marriage," I said, my voice steady. "Three days from now, I'll get married."

——

The moment I hung up, my phone buzzed again. Lucien's name appeared on the screen.

"Quincy, my car got towed. Handle it when you get back and drive it home."

His voice was as smooth as ever, carrying that familiar cool, magnetic tone that had once made my heart flutter. If I hadn't seen it with my own eyes, I never would have believed that this composed man was currently lying naked in an emergency room with another woman.

Then, as if to mock me further, a muffled groan slipped past his lips. "Mm..."

My grip on the phone tightened. Before I could speak, Lucien quickly explained, "I kicked the leg of the chair."

The audacity.

He rushed through a few half-hearted words of comfort before ending the call, completely oblivious to the fact that I had been standing in the same hospital he was in just moments ago.

I only responded with two words. Emotionless. Hollow. "Got it."

According to our plans, I was supposed to be out of town on a business trip. If I hadn't decided to come back early to surprise him, I wouldn't have caught him in this absurd situation.

The car he had used—the one he had so carelessly defiled—was a gift from me. Even so, I still went to retrieve it.

When I finally got to the vehicle and pulled the door open, I was met with an overwhelming stench and an even worse sight. A wrinkled men's dress shirt lay crumpled on the driver's seat. Nearby, scraps of torn fabric—a woman's, judging by the lace—were balled up and shoved aside. But the worst part was the back seat.

Stains. Sticky, unmistakable remnants of their passion clung to the upholstery, stark under the dim streetlights.

My stomach lurched violently. I slammed the door shut as if that could somehow erase the sight from my mind. But it was too late. The nausea hit in full force and before I could stop myself, I bent over and vomited.

A hand landed gently on my back, warm and steady.

I tensed. The touch was light, reassuring, yet it sent a shudder through me. Slowly, I turned my head.

The doctor from earlier stood beside me.

He was no longer wearing his white coat, revealing a tall, well-built figure clad in a simple black button-down. The fabric clung to his frame in a way that hinted at strength beneath restraint. Gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, lending him an air of composed intelligence and his deep-set eyes were unreadable as they observed me.

"Kayden... why did you follow me?" My voice came out quieter than I intended. Seeing him—my childhood friend, someone I hadn't spoken to in years—sent an unexpected wave of emotions crashing over me. I wasn't ready for this. Not tonight.

"I was worried about you." His tone was calm, unwavering, much like his usual demeanor around women—distant, almost indifferent.

A pause stretched between us before he finally spoke again. "You agreed to the arranged marriage?"

"Mm." I nodded, not trusting myself to say more.

A faint, almost imperceptible curve lifted the corner of his lips. "Good. Three days from now, I'll be waiting for you at the wedding."

There was something unreadable in his gaze, but I didn't have the energy to decipher it.

"Alright." My response was automatic.

I refused his offer to take me home, opting instead to call a driver. The car was sent for a deep cleaning before I listed it for sale. I never wanted to see it again.

On the ride home, I leaned against the cool window, watching the city lights blur past. My mind drifted to the past seven years with Lucien—years that now felt wasted.

I could still remember how he used to look at me in the beginning, as if I were the only person in the world. His eyes had once been full of love. He used to tell me I was pure, innocent, the sweetest girl he had ever met.

After successfully proposing, Lucien cherished me like a treasure, always saying I was the perfect woman—a model of virtue and dignity, both a capable homemaker and an elegant lady. He made me believe I was the ideal partner. But looking back now, those words felt hollow.

In seven years of being together, our moments of intimacy had been pitifully rare. Maybe he never actually wanted someone like me. Maybe what he truly craved were women like his sister-in-law, Megan—wild, uninhibited and shameless.

When I got home, I wasted no time. I pulled out a suitcase and started packing, throwing clothes and essentials into it without a second thought. The sight of our shared home, the place I had once carefully decorated with love, now made my skin crawl. I wanted nothing to do with it anymore.

While sorting through the shelves in the study, my hand brushed against something cold and metallic. Hidden in the corner, beneath a stack of old files, was a laptop. It wasn't one I recognized.

Curiosity gnawed at me. I powered it on, only to be met with a password screen. My fingers hovered over the keyboard.

I tried my own birthday first. Incorrect.

I frowned, thinking for a moment before typing in another date—Megan's birthday.

The screen unlocked instantly.

A sinking feeling settled in my gut as the desktop loaded. I opened the hard drive, only to find several gigabytes worth of files, all neatly organized into folders. My breath hitched when I clicked one open.

Photos. Videos. Dozens upon dozens of them.

Lucien and Megan.

My stomach twisted in revulsion as explicit images flashed across the screen. Every file documented their depravity in excruciating detail—various positions, different settings. Megan bound in intricate ways, her body displayed shamelessly for the camera. Countless indecent scenes, enough to make bile rise in my throat.

They had done it everywhere. His office, where Megan, dressed in a tailored secretary outfit, serviced him at his desk. Our home—on the bed, the dining table, the sofa. Even in this very study, where I now stood, disgusted beyond words.

I clamped a hand over my mouth, fighting the urge to be sick. My fingers trembled as I reached for a portable hard drive and copied everything. Every single file.

Just as the transfer finished and I carefully placed the laptop back in its original position, I heard the front door open.

Lucien was home.

It was late. He had probably rushed back from the hospital, afraid that I had returned early from my business trip and would notice his absence.

I quickly composed myself, shutting my suitcase and standing as if I had merely been tidying up.

The moment he stepped inside the study, his gaze swept over the mess I had made while packing. His brows furrowed slightly. "Why are you suddenly tidying up?"

"The place is filthy. I'm cleaning up." My voice was steady, emotionless.

Inside, disgust churned in me. I didn't want to look at him. I didn't even want to acknowledge his existence.

Lucien let out a soft chuckle, stepping closer. "You must be exhausted from your business trip. Why don't you leave it for tomorrow? I can hire a cleaning service." His voice was warm, filled with feigned concern and he even reached out to pull me into his arms.

I shoved him away without hesitation.

"Go take a shower. You stink."

He laughed, completely oblivious to the shift in my demeanor. "Alright, alright, I'll go shower."

Before he left, he turned back with a grin. "You should stop cleaning too. We're getting married soon anyway. We can renovate this place, or better yet, buy a new house."

Lucien launched into an enthusiastic monologue about his vision for our future home. If it were before, I would have eagerly joined in, snuggling against him, discussing furniture arrangements and color schemes with excitement.

But now—my heart was dead. I didn't respond.

Mistaking my silence for exhaustion, he urged me to rest before disappearing into the bathroom. I gave a half-hearted reply and went back to my room.

Lying in bed, I stared at the ceiling, my thoughts spinning relentlessly. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, those images from the laptop resurfaced, suffocating me.

Not long after, the mattress dipped beside me.

Lucien had finished his shower and slid under the covers, wrapping his arms around me from behind. As always, he placed one arm beneath my neck, using himself as a pillow for me to rest on.

This used to make me feel safe. Loved.

Now, all I wanted was to escape.

I took a quiet, steady breath, willing myself to stay composed. But the words burned at my throat, demanding to be spoken.

"Lucien, let's break u—"

Before I could finish, his phone vibrated on the nightstand.

He held me close with one arm while reaching for it with the other. The screen lit up and I caught a glimpse of his expression in the dim light.

He let out a soft cough, as if suppressing something.

Through the reflection in the bedside mirror, I saw it—several explicit photos. The same kind that had been on the laptop.

My blood boiled.

Lucien set his phone down almost immediately, feigning ignorance, but within seconds, he suddenly sat up.

"Quincy, I still have work to do. You go to sleep first."

Lucien's voice was rushed, barely lingering in the room before he turned on his heel and strode out. He didn't even wait for my response. Moments later, the faint sound of the front door opening and closing reached my ears. Then, the creak of the study door.

I sat up in bed, my fingers trembling as I unlocked my phone and opened the surveillance app. My heart pounded as the screen flickered to life.

Lucien was in the study—pulling Megan into his arms.

"What's the rush? Aren't you still injured?" he teased, his voice carrying a coy lilt.

"I need to apply medicine, but I can't reach it. What else am I supposed to do?"

"Alright, let me take care of it for you..."

They were so bold, carrying on just a wall away from me.

The surveillance feed captured every movement, every whisper, yet in my room, I couldn't hear a thing. If I hadn't discreetly moved the living room camera to the study earlier, I would've never seen this disgusting scene at all.

The footage felt like a blade plunging straight into my heart, slicing apart the seven years of love I thought I had with Lucien. I curled up against the mattress, my body wracked with silent tremors.

Megan.

Lucien's sister-in-law.

Lucien's brother had died in a car accident while delivering an insurance policy to him. Before the accident, he had taken out policies for both himself and Lucien, naming only the two of them as beneficiaries. Megan's name was nowhere on them.

No one had expected that trip would be his last.

Left all alone in a strange city, Megan had no one to rely on. Overwhelmed with guilt, Lucien had taken her under his wing, ensuring she never lacked anything. He even arranged for her to work as his personal assistant. But what I had once thought was kindness—what I had defended on his behalf—had turned into something so vile, so revolting, that I felt sick to my stomach.

"Who's better—me or your Quincy?" Megan's voice was a sultry whisper as she lightly bit Lucien's ear.

"Don't bring up that lifeless log. You're way more exciting."

Megan glanced directly at the camera, her eyes filled with smug provocation.

She had already discovered it. And yet, she deliberately didn't tell Lucien. She wanted me to hear this. Every word was meant to drive the knife in deeper.

Tears blurred my vision as I exited the app. Like an ostrich burying its head in the sand, I pulled the blanket over myself, willing the world to disappear.

Lucien and I were truly finished.

In two days, I'd be marrying someone else.

I didn't know when I finally drifted into sleep, but by the time I opened my eyes, Lucien was lying beside me, sleeping soundly—his expression peaceful, as if last night's madness had been nothing but a dream.

I forced myself up, freshened up quickly and resumed packing my things. I didn't want to spend another second in this house.

Lucien, as always, remained oblivious. Before leaving for work, he reminded me about a business banquet tonight and told me to attend.

I hadn't planned on going, but when I heard it was at my family's hotel, I changed my mind. I needed to go there anyway. It had been far too long since I last returned home. To protect Lucien's fragile self-esteem, I had distanced myself from my family, making countless excuses to avoid the place where I truly belonged.

That would end today.

I called a moving company and had all my belongings taken away. I didn't take a single gift from Lucien—left them all behind, untouched. As for the past—the unbearable memories—I burned them to ashes.

Once everything was settled, I headed straight to the top-floor suite of the hotel and took a long, indulgent shower, scrubbing my skin as if I could wash away the filth clinging to me.

By the time Lucien called, I was already dressed and waiting in the hotel lobby.

He didn't keep me waiting long. And he wasn't alone.

Lucien stepped into the grand lobby in a perfectly tailored suit, exuding effortless charm. His tall, handsome frame, sharp features and icy demeanor drew admiring glances from the women around him.

And Megan? She followed closely behind, step by step, never straying too far.