I smiled bitterly, deleted my Instagram post, and exited the application. Turning off my phone, I wiped away the tears streaming down my face and gazed into the distance.

Fireworks burst in the sky, their dazzling colors blooming and fading in mere Instagram. They reminded me of James' love—brilliant and fleeting, disappearing without a trace.

As I sank deeper into my sorrow, something unexpected happened. The Ferris wheel, now parked at its highest point, jolted violently and began to fall uncontrollably. Panic surged through me as I fumbled for my phone to call the staff.

The staff worked frantically, trying every possible measure to prevent disaster, but their efforts seemed futile. My chest tightened, and desperation overtook me. In a haze of fear, I dialed James' number, hoping to hear his voice one last time.

“James, the Ferris wheel is out of control. I’m so scared,” I stammered, my voice trembling as I clung to the railings for dear life.

His cold reply cut through the chaos like a blade, “I’m busy. Don’t bother me.”

The line went dead. My heart plummeted, mirroring the Ferris wheel’s descent. I shut my eyes, bracing for the inevitable, the ground rushing closer with every passing second.

A deafening crash echoed around me, and I waited, resigned to my fate, my heart numb with despair. But just as disaster seemed unavoidable, the Ferris wheel miraculously ground to a halt. I had been spared—barely.

The relief was short-lived. My panic disorder took hold, and I spiraled into uncontrollable shaking and screams. The staff rushed to my aid, and I was quickly taken to the hospital.

In the ambulance, terror consumed me, my screams piercing the air until the doctor administered enough sedatives to finally calm me down.

In the hospital, the doctor repeatedly asked me about my relatives, but fear had stolen my voice. My attempts to answer were fragmented and incoherent. Frustrated but gentle, the doctor unlocked my phone with Face ID and called my emergency contact.

“Hello! Are you Miss Mia of the Wilson’s family?”

I listened in silence as the doctor patiently explained my situation to the person on the other end of the line. Tears streamed down my face, unbidden and unstoppable.

My parents had both passed away in an accident years ago. James was the only person I had left, my designated emergency contact. But deep down, I knew he wouldn’t come—not tonight, not for me.

The sedatives began to take effect, pulling me into a heavy, dreamless sleep.

When I awoke, faint whispers and the sound of hurried pacing filled the room. My eyes fluttered open, and there he was—James—walking back and forth in front of my bed. His expression seemed anxious, almost frantic. For a fleeting moment, hope swelled within me.

He came. He still cares about me.

“James, she’s awake,” Mia’s soft, syrupy voice broke the spell.

James quickly approached me, his eyes scanning my pale, tear-streaked face. But instead of warmth or concern, all I saw in his gaze was cold indifference—and unmistakable disgust.

I opened my mouth, desperate to tell him everything: my fear during the accident, my longing for him, my pain. But before I could utter a single word, his cold voice slashed through the air like a blade, cutting me to pieces.

“Charlotte, do you have to create trouble today? If you want to die, do it far away.”

James' words hit me like a slap, his frown deepening as a wave of anger flickered in his eyes.

He took out my phone, the cold device, a stark contrast to the warmth I had once associated with him, and thrust it into my trembling hands. “Unlock it. Change the emergency contact.”

My heart clenched, and I whispered, voice trembling, “James, I don’t have anyone else. You’re the only family I have left.”

But my plea fell on deaf ears. His expression didn’t soften; his eyes showed no trace of pity or understanding. Instead, he repeated coldly, “Hurry up. Don’t make me say it again.”

My hands, still trembling from the lingering effects of the panic attack, couldn’t stop shaking long enough to type the password. Each failed attempt felt like another weight pressing down on my chest.

Mia’s voice broke the tension, her tone sweet yet piercing. “James, doesn’t she have Face ID? Just let her scan her face to unlock it and delete the contact. It’s faster that way.”

Mia’s words seemed to spark an idea in James. Without hesitation, he yanked me up from the bed, his grip firm and unyielding, and pressed my head against the phone to unlock it with Face ID.

The beep of success was a cruel sound. James wasted no time, scrolling through the settings and erasing his number from my emergency contacts.

“There,” he said coldly. “You’re in a hospital now. If anything happens, talk to the doctors. I’ll cover the bills, but don’t contact me again.”

He tossed the phone onto the bed, his disdain evident, then turned to Mia. Together, they began walking out of the room.

“James,” Mia said softly, glancing back at me with a mock expression of worry. “Are you sure this is okay? What if… she really doesn’t make it?”

James chuckled darkly, his voice dripping with scorn. “You’re overthinking. If she wanted to die, she’d have done it three years ago. She doesn’t have the guts for it.”

Mia let out a sigh of relief and turned to me with a sweet yet condescending smile. “Charlotte, take care of yourself, okay? James and I are going to celebrate the New Year. Don’t worry, I’ll visit you in a couple of days.”

Their footsteps faded, leaving the room silent but for the sound of my ragged breathing. I curled up under the quilt, my tears soaking the pillow as sobs wracked my body.

James was right. I should have died three years ago—in that disaster that took everything from me.

The weight of despair consumed me, and I spiraled into another panic attack. The piercing alarm of the ECG monitor echoed through the room, a frantic cry for help.

Doctors and nurses burst into the ward, their faces tense. “She’s in distress! Prepare for emergency resuscitation!”

“Charging, defibrillation at 200 Hz—clear!”

The doctor’s urgent voice faded as my consciousness blurred, and I slipped into an abyss of endless darkness.

In that darkness, memories from three years ago resurfaced—the disaster that shattered all my happiness.

I found myself reliving those days with James. We have known each other since childhood, growing up side by side. It wasn’t an exaggeration to call us childhood sweethearts.

That fateful summer, James had a fierce argument with his parents and, in his anger, insisted on running away. He dragged me along, and we ended up hiding in an abandoned mine.

We stayed there for an entire week, with no word from our families. At first, we were stubborn, believing they would come looking for us. But as the days passed, hope dwindled.

Finally, we ran out of food. The hunger and cold were unbearable. My body weakened, but I forced myself to carry James on my back, trembling as I dialed my parents for help.

The moment my parents heard where we had been, they came rushing to find us.

“You foolish child! I thought you were just out playing with James,” my mother cried, her voice thick with worry and heartbreak.

When I ran away with James, I was terrified of worrying my parents, so I left a note at home saying I was just going out to play with him for a few days.

I reassured my mom as she arrived, asking with concern, "I’m fine, Mom. Did you bring the things I wanted?" I comforted her, thinking I’d send them away once I had what I needed.

But my father, face tight with anxiety, wasn’t as understanding. “Do you still want to keep making trouble? No, you two need to go back today,” he insisted.

He stormed into the mine to look for James, his frustration palpable.

“Traitor! Charlotte, you’re a traitor!” My father’s angry voice echoed as he dragged James out of the mine, who was clearly unwilling to go.

Seeing James' resistance, my mother stepped forward, trying to calm him down.

“James, your parents are worried about you. Come back with us.”

But James, stubborn as ever, seized the moment when my father was distracted. He slammed the car door on my dad’s hand and ran back toward the mine.

Ignoring his injury, my father immediately ran after him, leaving my mother to hold my hand, urging me to wait outside.

Minutes later, James emerged from the mine, his face full of panic.

He pointed urgently at the mine. “Aunt Marie, go save Uncle Lester!”

My mother didn’t hesitate. She sprinted into the mine, and I immediately followed. James tried to stop me, but I was too quick, and he had no choice but to come along.

The mine was thick with smoke, and the scene inside was chaos. My father was pinned under a mass of falling rocks, his body struggling but immobile.

My mother rushed toward him, but another wave of rocks struck her, sending her crashing to the ground. Blood pooled around her, and she lay there, weak and on the verge of death.

“Charlotte, go! It’s dangerous here! Leave with James! Quickly!”

My mother screamed at me with all her strength.

Ignoring the thick smoke and choking dust, I ran into the mine, desperate to reach her. The moment my hands touched her, the entire mine collapsed.

The smoke engulfed me, and rocks rained down, knocking me unconscious.

When I finally regained consciousness, I saw the anxious face of James' mother.

"Charlotte, you’re awake. You almost gave your aunt a heart attack."

I tried to sit up, my voice weak with concern. "Aunt Lorie, where's my mother? Where's my father? Are they okay?"

Her face instantly shifted to panic, but she quickly forced a smile.

"Charlotte, your parents are fine. They're in another ward," she reassured me, though her words sounded hollow.

I could see through her attempt to comfort me. I didn’t believe her flimsy explanation. "Take me to see them," I insisted.

Seeing that she could no longer hide the truth, she called out to James, standing outside the door, and ordered him to kneel in front of me.

"Charlotte," James' mother said, her voice trembling, "your parents are gone. It’s all James' fault. But don’t worry, the Donovan Family will take care of you."

Hearing this, it felt as though I had been struck by lightning. My mind went completely blank.

After a brief moment of numbness, panic gripped me, and I began to scream uncontrollably, lashing out at the people around me.

The mining disaster that took my parents had already left me with deep scars, and now I was sinking deeper into the abyss of panic disorder.

To "make it right," the Donovan Family arranged a marriage between James and me. James showed no resistance to this arrangement. In fact, over the past three years, he had treated me with kindness and care.

But everything changed when Mia entered the picture.

Mia was the daughter of the Donovan Family’s live-in nanny. She came to live with them just a year after I got engaged to James. Aunt Lorie, who had a great fondness for Mia’s mother, agreed to let her stay with the Donovan Family, understanding how hard it was for Mia’s mother to raise her alone.

From that moment on, I felt like everything I had in the Donovan Family was slowly slipping away, unseen and unnoticed, as Mia quietly took it all.

Mia was everything I was not—gentle, sensible, and obedient. She could make Aunt Lorie and Uncle Dan laugh with just a few well-chosen words. Everyone in the Donovan Family adored her, except for James.

At first, James looked down on Mia, seeing her as nothing more than a rustic girl.

Since Mia transferred to the class where James and I were studying, James began to bully her relentlessly, finding every opportunity to embarrass her.

Despite the harsh treatment she faced at school, Mia never mentioned it when she returned to the Donovan Family. Instead, she showered James with praise in every possible way.

Over time, James' attention and care toward Mia grew, far surpassing any concern he had for me.

I sensed the growing distance between us and, in a desperate attempt to reclaim my place, I began to trouble Mia, thinking that as the future mistress of the Donovan Family, I could put her in her place.

I believed that by doing this, I would make Mia hesitate and somehow win James back. But instead of bringing us closer, everything I did only pushed James further away and gave Mia more opportunities to gain his favor.

I still remember the anniversary of my parents' death this year. James came to me, fuming with anger.

In front of my parents' grave, he pointed at my nose and shouted, "Charlotte, you’ve gone too far! How could you call Mia a bastard?"

His baseless accusation left me stunned. Friends and relatives who had come to pay their respects to my parents quickly stepped in, trying to calm James down.

"I don't know whether Mia is a bastard, but I do know that you're a jinx who killed your own parents," James spat.

The attempts of relatives and friends to calm him down only seemed to fuel his anger, and he insulted me without restraint.

In a burst of frustration and pain, I slapped him across the face. The sharp sound of the impact silenced the moment, leaving Uncle Dan and Aunt Lorie, who were standing beside him, frozen in shock.

"James, you say this to me in front of my parents' grave? Do you have any conscience left?"

James, stunned by the slap, raised his hand to retaliate, but Uncle Dan and Aunt Lorie quickly motioned for the bodyguards to step in and pull him away.