My husband, Ferris Farley, called me “Ms. Lambert” at work for six years. To avoid suspicion, he said.

I secured three patents for him, carried four international projects, and took the fall twice.

In front of the entire company, he said, “Fulfilling your role is your responsibility. That's what Ms. Lambert is here for.”

But eventually, even in private, he started treating me like a colleague.

I hemorrhaged during a difficult labor and called him ninety-nine times.

He sent back a single text.

“Ms. Lambert, weekends are my personal time. If it's an emergency, call 911. File it under workers' comp.”

Then the new intern showed up late six times in two weeks, and he just patted her on the head, voice soft and warm.

“Little Lydia overslept again?”

“Not bad, only two hours late this time. That deserves a reward. Ten thousand dollar encouragement bonus.”

At three in the morning, the intern accidentally pocket-dialed his number in her sleep.

He drove across half the city in the middle of the night, terrified something had happened to her.

The day the promotion list went up, Ferris Farley, a man who never posted anything on social media, shared an update.

“From intern to Creative Director. Little Lydia, you're amazing.”

Lydia Dickerson replied underneath：Thanks for believing in me, boss（heart emoji）

The next day, I placed my resignation letter and the pregnancy termination report on his desk, side by side.

He didn't look at either one. He signed, pushed them back toward me.

“Ms. Lambert, your reimbursement's approved.”

——

When I slid the resignation letter and the medical report across the desk, Ferris was on the phone.

He signed while laughing into the receiver, then pushed the papers back with a toss of his hand.

“Ms. Lambert, your reimbursement's approved.”

Lydia's laughter spilled through the speaker, bright and flirtatious.

“Boss, hurry up, the food's getting cold!”

Ferris dropped the pen and walked out without looking at me once.

I stood where I was, watching him go, and forced the corners of my mouth upward.

I pulled out my phone. Lydia had just posted on social media.

In the photo, Ferris stood beside her, the two of them pressed close together, a massive cake on the table between them.

A handsome man and a beautiful woman.

They looked like they belonged together.

Lydia's hand was deliberately draped at her neck, showing off a diamond necklace.

The caption read：“No birthday wishes this year. All of mine already came true.”

My phone buzzed. A message from Lydia.

“Ms. Lambert, it's my birthday today, so could you finish up the rest of my work? Thanks~”

Since joining the company, Lydia had been promoted three times.

After leaping from intern to Creative Director, she'd gotten more and more comfortable telling me what to do.

I'd brought it up with Ferris once. He barely glanced up before answering.

“Ms. Lambert, seniority doesn't earn promotions. Talent and client satisfaction do. The clients love Lydia.”

After that, I never said another word about it.

Now was no different.

I closed the chat and sat back down at my desk.

One last week. Wrap up the loose ends, and call it closure on six years.

I worked until ten that night. Then a dull ache crept through my abdomen.

I gripped the edge of the desk and tried to stand. My vision went black, and I hit the floor.

The office door swung open. Ferris walked in.

I reached toward him like he was a lifeline.

“Ferris……help me up.”

But he didn't see me crumpled in the corner. He walked straight to the executive office.

He pulled on his coat, spritzed cologne.

“Ms. Lambert, head home once you're done. I'm taking Lydia to see the fireworks down by the river.”

The door clicked shut behind him, and he was gone.

Another wave of pain tore through me. I pressed both hands against my lower stomach.

Outside the window, fireworks split the sky, flooding the night with light.

The fireworks kept shifting shapes, and at the very end they formed a smiling face. Below it, a line of words:

“Happy Birthday, Little Lydia.”

The whole production was massive. Everyone in the city could see it.

I lay curled on the floor, unable to tell if what I felt was envy or jealousy. All I knew was that something inside my chest kept throbbing, wave after wave.

I gritted my teeth through the pain, fumbled for my phone, and called 911 myself.

The doctor studied my chart, then looked at me. His tone wasn't kind.

“You just had a pregnancy termination. Why aren't you resting? You're this run-down and you're out walking around? Do you have a death wish?”

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. I managed a weak smile.

When the IV was done, I braced myself against the wall and shuffled toward the exit.

I had barely reached the door of the treatment room when Ferris burst in carrying Lydia.

“Doctor! Nurse! She fell! Someone look at her, now!”

The panic on Ferris's face was something I had never seen before.

A passing doctor walked over and glanced at her.

“It's just a scrape. A little first aid and she'll be fine.”

Ferris's voice turned sharp.

“You're making a diagnosis without even running tests? If something happens to her, can you take responsibility?”

The doctor flinched at being yelled at and ordered a full-body workup for Lydia.

I looked down at the needle mark on the back of my hand, tugged my sleeve over it, and turned to leave the hospital.

Back home, I stood in the living room, looking around the place I'd lived in for six years.

This mansion was the home Ferris and I moved into after our wedding.

However much I had looked forward to it back then was exactly how ridiculous it felt now.

Every inch of the decor reflected his taste. Gray and white tones, minimalist design. Not a trace of warmth anywhere.

The first day we moved in, I bought a bouquet of fresh flowers and put them in a vase. The next morning they were in the trash. He said he was allergic to pollen.

I had lived here for six years, yet I had never stopped feeling like a stranger.

Ferris and I had always slept in separate rooms.

Only when I was ovulating would he push open my door and go through the motions of being a husband. The moment it was over he got up and left. He never stayed the night.

Every time I heard his bedroom door close on the other side of the hall, I would lie there wondering whether he had ever, even once, thought of me as his wife.

Forget it. No point thinking about it.

I sat down on the couch and pulled the bottle of antibiotics from my bag.

The front door lock clicked.

Ferris stood in the doorway, Lydia leaning against his arm.

He noticed the pill bottle in my hand and frowned slightly.

“You sick?”

Before I could answer, Lydia covered her nose and took half a step back.

“What is that smell?”

Ferris glanced at the bottle in my hand. A flicker of irritation crossed his voice.

“It's a minor thing. Don't stink up the whole house with medicine.”

I froze for a second, then put the bottle away and nodded.

“Fine.”

Only then did Lydia lower her hand. She flashed me a smile.

“Ms. Lambert, my lease is up. Mr. Farley said I could stay here for a few days.”

I looked at Ferris.

His expression didn't waver.

“Lydia hurt her foot, and some creeps have been harassing her. She has nowhere to go. I didn't feel right leaving her on her own, so I told her to stay here for a bit.”

I was silent for a few seconds.

He'd already decided. There was no reason to tell me.

Late that night, a noise jolted me awake.

I opened my eyes. Every light downstairs was on, the glare sharp enough to make me squint.

I walked to the top of the stairs and looked down. Lydia was pressed against Ferris's chest.

“There's thunder outside. I'm so scared.”

Ferris poured a glass of warm water and patted her back gently.

“Don't be scared. I'm here.”

Lydia was wearing a pink nightgown. I stared at it a moment longer and felt a prick of recognition.

A few seconds passed before it came to me.

Ferris's late sister used to have a nightgown just like it.

Except Lydia's version had considerably less fabric.

She leaned forward slightly, the neckline gaping wide, leaving nothing to the imagination.

I looked at the way she trembled, then at Ferris's hand patting her back, and felt something close to a laugh rise in my throat.

I turned and went back to my room.

Whatever.

I'd be gone soon enough anyway.

The next morning, Ferris drove Lydia to the office ahead of me.

I took my medication and biked there on my own.

The moment I reached the entrance, I could hear the commotion inside.

I had barely sat down when Ferris stormed up to me,

“The Fairview project. What the hell did you do? There's a massive screw-up, and the company just lost five million dollars!”

I froze.

“That project was handed over to Lydia a long time ago……”

Lydia's voice cut in from behind him,

“Ms. Lambert, you made the mistake yourself. Why are you trying to pin it on me?”

She stood behind Ferris, eyes rimmed red, like she'd just been crying.

Ferris announced in front of everyone that my entire year's salary would be docked, along with every year-end bonus for my team.

The looks around me shifted instantly, filling with resentment and bitterness.

That evening, when I got home, Ferris and Lydia were already at the dining table.

The two of them were chatting and laughing.

I had no appetite. I walked straight for the stairs.

Ferris's voice came from behind me,

“About today. Don't take it to heart.”

I stopped and turned to look at him.

He went on,

“Lydia's the one who made the mistake, but if someone else yelled at her, she wouldn't be able to handle it.”

I thought I'd heard him wrong.

“So you think I'm the one who deserves to be yelled at?”

Ferris frowned, his tone matter-of-fact,

“You've been here for years. You've been chewed out plenty of times before. Don't be so petty about it.”

I clenched my fists, nails biting into my palms.

Right then, a dull thud came from the dining table.

Lydia had both hands clamped around her own throat, eyes rolling back, white foam spilling from her mouth.

The next second, she pitched off the chair and hit the floor hard.

In the hospital room, Lydia lay in bed, her face drained of color.

The doctor said it was food poisoning.

She opened her eyes slowly, the rims swollen and red,

“Ms. Lambert, why would you do this? I'm not trying to steal Mr. Farley from you……”

“That night when the thunder came, I saw you standing on the stairs. Do you hate me now?”

She grabbed my sleeve, tears sliding down her cheeks,

“I'm just an orphan with nobody in this world. How could I possibly dare to steal your husband? Ms. Lambert, please, just let me go. I'm begging you.”

Ferris stood beside the bed, his expression darkening by the second.

But my eyes had landed on the bouquet of roses on her nightstand.

Red enough to sting.

My heart seized. So Ferris wasn't allergic to flowers after all. He just didn't like the ones I bought.

Ferris spoke, “You're the one in charge of grocery shopping at home.”

My head snapped toward him, and something inside my chest split open.

It wasn't a question. It was a verdict.

He stared at me, cold and unyielding,

“You've always known your place. What made you pull something this thoughtless?!”

Lydia tugged at the hem of Ferris's sleeve,

“Mr. Farley, Ms. Lambert must have just had a lapse in judgment. It's my fault, really. That night when the thunder started, it brought back memories of being bullied, and I couldn't control how scared I was. Don't blame her. If you have to blame someone, blame me.”

Ferris stepped in front of Lydia, shielding her.

I looked at the way he stood there, and everything suddenly felt absurd.

I looked at Lydia's tear-streaked face, delicate as a rain-soaked flower, and spoke calmly,