Lavender thought it would take a long time to hear from the other end of the line. Little did she know, the line had already connected at the first ring.

“Lavender,” his voice came sharp and low, “you’re not messing with me, are you?”

She stayed silent.

“I’ve been chasing you for as long as you’ve been pining for Desmond. You—cold as a diamond for seven years—and now you’re suddenly giving in? What changed?”

Red Ralston. Her old lover. One of North Carolina’s elites.

He chased her for seven years. In fact, she almost chose him.

It was just that on the night she was supposed to make the decision, Desmond gave her hope.

So she left Red.

Faced with his questions, she took a breath. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking clearly. Forget I said anything.”

Suddenly, the sound of something heavy hitting the floor cracked through the speaker.

“You think I’m someone you can call when you’re bored and drop when you’re not? Huh, Lavender?” His voice rose. “You chose me this time. Don’t think about running away from me again.”

“I’m giving you one month,” he warned. “Handle that dickhead. After that, I’m going to take what’s mine.”

Red didn’t give her a chance to refuse. With a click, the line went dead after that warning.

A small, wry smile tugged at her lips. ‘He’s still the same,’ she realized.

That night, Desmond didn’t come home.

She spent the hours in silence, sorting through closets and drawers, folding things into boxes. Morning light spilled across the floor when the front door finally opened.

He stepped in, still wearing last night’s shirt. “What are you throwing out?”

She flinched, just slightly. Then she straightened, brushing hair behind her ear. “Just some garbage.”

He walked over, glanced into the box. It was full of clothes and other gifts he had bought for her.

“You call these… garbage?”

“Old gifts, old clothes,” she said lightly. “They take up space. I thought I’d donate them under your name—some kids in the mountains could use them. Might even earn you a good reputation.”

Hearing the last line, Desmond’s thin straight lips slightly curved. “Well, you know better.”

Seeing that he believed, she breathed a sigh of relief, but she also couldn't be fooled.

It was not that he believed her. It was just that he didn’t want to waste more time on her.

Suddenly, there was a sound of something breaking behind her.

She turned around, only to see her sister.

Cyanne stood by the shelf, wide-eyed, a broken sculpture at her feet. The smile on her face looked innocent, the kind that would make anyone fall in a trap.

“Oops… sorry, Mondy, Avy. I didn’t mean to.”

Desmond didn't care about the broken item at all, and quickly brushed past Lavender to check if Cyanne was injured.

Seeing no wounds over her body, the worry in his eyes seemed to have faded, "It's okay, nothing is more important than you."

But getting Desmond’s attention wasn’t enough. Cyanne also stared at Lavender and tilted her head, asking, “You don’t mind, right, Avy?”

Lavender's gaze dropped to the floor.

The sculpture had been one of a kind—commissioned after a trip, the only piece with both of her and Desmond’s faces carved into it.

But now, it was just broken pieces.

If it happened years ago, Lavender would definitely be mad and even say a few words.

Now, she looked back up and was kind enough to say, “It’s fine.”

A flicker passed across Cyanne’s face—gone before it settled. She smiled. “Aww, you’re really so kind.”

Then, without missing a beat, she turned to Desmond. “With a sister like that, I’m sure she won’t mind my next request either.”

He didn’t even look at Avy when he spoke.

“Yannie’s just returned to North Carolina. Her parents aren’t in the state, and she’s not comfortable staying home alone.

“In the meantime, let her live here.

“Oh, and—you room faces the sun. She’s always been sensitive to the cold. Let her have it.”

Even after three years of marriage, they didn’t always sleep in the same bed.

Desmond had said he didn’t like having someone next to him at night.

Lavender understood—it wasn’t just “someone” he didn’t want next to him. It was her.

She also knew he’d always been careful when it came to Cyanne. He’d probably rehearsed a long explanation, but when Lavender agreed without a fight, it caught him off guard.

“Alright,” she had said lightly. “There’s a lot of my stuff in there anyway. I’ll just move it all out.”

Besides, it made no difference whether she moved out sooner or later.

The moment she said she’d take all her things, Desmond almost spoke—an instinctive protest on the tip of his tongue.

But Cyanne cut in before he could. “Thanks, Avy.”

Lavender didn’t answer. She bent over, her thin arms hauling a box toward the stairs.

There was too much packed into it. Her foot slid across a shard of glass, hidden on the floor. She went down hard. Her knee slammed into the ground, the sharp fragments tearing into skin.

Pain shot through her so fiercely her back stiffened and sweat beaded along her spine. She bit down on her lip, wincing in silence.

But Desmond didn’t see it; Cyanne had already tugged him away.

Lavender stayed on the floor, her body trembling as the pain sank deeper. One drop, then another—her tears pattered softly on the tiles.

In the Winslets' place, Desmond would never let Cyanne carry so much as a handbag.

“Our Yannie is a little princess,” he’d say, warm and indulgent. “She should be treated like one.”

Unlike Cyanne, when Lavender had been the maid’s daughter, she’d done all the dirty and heavy work. No one cared if she got hurt.

Now Lavender was a rich man’s daughter. Now she was Desmond’s wife.

Yet, still, nothing had changed.

Everyone still stood on Cyanne’s side—without question, without pause.

Lavender had learned to live with it.

It took her the whole afternoon to sort through her things. By sunset, she’d loaded everything onto a truck.

“You didn’t have to throw so much out,” Desmond said, frowning. “Yannie’s only staying for a while. Once she leaves, you’ll move back in. What’s the point?”

To him, something about her felt off these past couple of days—she was too calm.

“They’re old,” Lavender explained, her voice steady. “I figured it was time to let them go.”

“You’re not the wasteful type.”

No, she wasn’t. She’d never lived a life of luxury. The things she owned, she made last.

But she only smiled. “They’ve been with me a long time. Sometimes you need a little room. Out with the old, right?”

‘Just like people,’ she added mentally.

Her reasoning sounded fair. If Desmond pushed again, he’d just look petty, so he let it drop.

“There’s an auction tonight,” he said, changing the subject. “The organizers invited me. You’ll come. With Yannie.”

Lavender was about to refuse, but he cut her off.

“You’re my secretary. I can’t show up at something like that event without one.”

She looked at him. A dozen things she wanted to say crowded her throat. Like: ‘And bringing Cyanne is appropriate?’ But she said none of them.

She just nodded. One last task before she left for good.

Night fell. Inside the auction hall, bright lights turned the space into near-daylight.

Everyone who mattered was there—polished, practiced, powerful.

The Hacketts had been climbing fast these past two years, and Jade, the host, came out quickly to greet them.

“Mr. Hackett. Your seat is ready. Right this way.”

Jade gestured to a pair of chairs. “I heard you got married? The second seat is for your wife.”

All three froze for a split second.

Desmond’s marriage had always been well hidden. No one was supposed to know.

Lavender turned toward him, waiting.

Two women. One extra seat.

His decision wasn’t surprising.

“I’m not married,” he said coolly. “Not sure where that rumor started.”

The host blinked, puzzled. “And these two?”

Desmond stepped forward and took Cyanne’s hand first.

“This is Cyanne, daughter of the S. Winslet Co.’s CEO.”

“Ah, Cyanne Winslet.” Jade nodded politely.

Then, as if reluctant, Desmond added, “And that one next to you is my secretary.”

Lavender didn’t flinch. She already knew what Demond’s introduced to her would be. But knowing the brutal answer didn’t stop the sharp pain that spread through her chest.

Still, she stood straight, swallowing the hurt and keeping her dignity intact.

Desmond and Cyanne took their seats while Lavender stayed behind them, standing.

Maybe it was just the cold air in the venue. Maybe it was everything. But pain stabbed at her lower abdomen, sharp and insistent.

She pressed a hand to her belly and slipped away to the restroom—like she was running.

She hadn’t even gotten her period—so why did it hurt so much all of a sudden?

Lavender stood up to leave, but just as she reached for the door, it wouldn’t budge. It was locked from the outside.

Then came Cyanne’s arrogant voice from behind the door.

“Bitch, how’s that hand-me-down love treating you?

“Desmond’s always loved me, from the very beginning. Now that I’m back, you should get out of our way.

“You really had the nerve to show up tonight, of all times, trying to steal my spotlight?”

Doubling over in pain, Lavender clutched her belly, cold sweat dripping down her brow.

Her voice was weak but defiant when she replied, “Cyanne, if you want him, take him. I’m done caring about him.”

Cyanne let out a cold laugh, not buying a word. “Funny. You think I’d believe that?

“You stole my mom back then—now you want to steal my man too? Who do you think you are?

“You’re staying in here tonight. No one’s coming to save you.”

With a twisted smile, Cyanne dragged a “Restricted Area. Do Not Enter” sign over and set it by the door.

Because some of the auction items tonight couldn’t be photographed, everyone had been required to surrender their phones before entering.

No one but Cyanne would think to come this way.

Wracked with pain, Avy could only slide to the floor, slumping against the wall, her strength fading fast. With what little energy she had left, she pounded on the door and cried out in desperation.

“Help… someone, please… Help me…”

But anyone passing by would see the sign and turn away without a second glance. No one came to save her.

She didn’t know how long she had been shouting before the pain finally overwhelmed her, and she passed out.

When the auction ended and Lavender still hadn’t returned, Desmond’s brow furrowed with concern.

Cyanne blinked up at him with feigned innocence. “Mondy, do you think maybe she got upset because you gave me her seat?

“If I’d known she’d take it so personally, I never would’ve taken it from her.”

Hearing Cyanne blame herself, Desmond frowned. “You’re the rightful daughter of the Winslets. You think it’s appropriate for a secretary to sit in your place?

“Forget it. Let her be. She’s been getting a bit too proud lately. Maybe it’s good to let her cool off. Let’s head home.”

Out of sight, Cyanne smiled triumphantly, thinking, ‘Lavender, I told you—you can’t win against me. Not with my mom, not with my lover.’

That night, Lavender didn’t come home, but Desmond never once asked about his wife.

The next morning, at the auction’s restroom, a cleaning lady unlocked the door during her rounds.

There, huddled in a corner, was Lavender. Her dress was soaked through. Even half-unconscious, her body trembled from the cold.

The cleaner rushed over, worried. “Ma’am, how did you get locked in the restroom? You don’t look well—should I call 911?”

Lavender’s damp lashes fluttered open. She pressed her arms against the floor, forcing herself up with effort.

“Thank you, but… no need.”

The pain in her belly had eased, but the restroom had been unbearably cold all night.

She really thought Desmond would at least come looking for her.

Clearly, she’d overestimated herself again.

She remembered how, when Cyanne once went missing for just ten minutes, Desmond had nearly called 911 in a panic.

But now—after a whole night without contact—he hadn’t even tried to find his wife.

‘So this is how different,’ Lavender realized, ‘love is from indifference.’

Steadying herself against the wall, she walked out one step at a time and caught a cab home.

In the car, she finally got her phone back—and sure enough, not a single call came from Desmond.

Instead, there were several messages from Red.

[Lavender, I can’t wait a whole month. One week. I’m coming to get you in a week.]