"Ms. Conley, your sea burial procedures have been finalized. Please settle the remaining balance within 30 days. Once payment is confirmed, we will arrange the ceremony immediately."

Margarita stared at the text message on her old phone, momentarily dazed.

Six years in prison had stripped her of everything. Upon release, a routine physical examination delivered the final blow—Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). The treatment was beyond what she could afford. Rather than struggle, she chose to accept death with dignity. A sea burial in Maldives after her passing.

Maldives…

Her gaze dropped to her left hand. Her ring finger was bare. Once, an engagement ring had sat there—placed by Wade Roe himself as he knelt on a Maldives beach, kissing the back of her hand. Together for life, he had promised.

Now, that ring was long gone, thrown off a cliff by the very man who once swore forever.

Margarita pinched herself, forcing her thoughts back to reality. She needed to raise 3,000 dollars to pay for the burial. But with a criminal record, even dishwasher jobs turned her away. Desperate, she stepped into a nightclub.

"You're lucky," the manager said, tossing her a revealing black silk dress. "Lili's on leave, so we need a replacement. Just go in and move around—you don’t need skills, just a body."

In the cramped bathroom, Margarita changed into the dress when suddenly, faint gasps and moans leaked from the next stall—low, intimate sounds she knew too well.

"Wade, be gentle! There's someone outside... Mm..."

A man chuckled darkly. "What are you afraid of? This is a nightclub. Weren't you the one begging for it just now? Hmm?"

Margarita’s blood ran cold. Her grip on the dress tightened.

Wade.

And the woman moaning for him—Casey Goodwin.

The same Casey Margarita had protected and cared for like a sister for five years.

She pressed her lips together, swallowing the bitter sting in her throat, and waited until the noises stopped. Only after they left did she step out.

"Why are you so slow?" The manager grabbed her and shoved her toward the crowd. "Just follow what the others do!"

Margarita nodded numbly. When they twisted, she twisted. When they poured drinks, she poured drinks. But no matter how she moved, her mind remained trapped in that bathroom stall, replaying what she had just heard.

Even after six years, she still couldn't bear the sight—or sound—of Wade with another woman.

"Wade, you're so good to Casey!" someone gushed. "Twenty sets of wedding photos! Who does that for a wedding?"

"Not just that," another voice chimed in. "I heard he got her a full set of Lumière Royale’s luxury room packages. And at that auction, he even bought the 'Celestial Tide' jewelry set—just to spoil her!"

Margarita's fingers curled tightly around the tray she held.

Wade had once whispered the same promises to her. But now, all that remained were broken vows, an empty ring finger, and a debt she had to pay just to die.

Margarita never expected that the man she was serving tonight would be Wade.

Her hands trembled slightly as she poured the wine, the dim lighting barely concealing her unease. Hidden behind the curtain of her long hair, she mustered the courage to glance up.

Wade sat in the center of the sofa, leaning back lazily, his chiseled features indifferent. His long fingers twirled the stem of a wine glass, his lips curved into a faint, unreadable smirk. He looked at ease, as if the past had never happened.

Beside him, Casey nestled close, her cheeks still flushed.

Margarita’s heart clenched. So it wasn’t just an affair—Wade was going to marry Casey.

Six years ago, she almost became his wife.

Their story began in the sweltering summer after the college entrance exams. She hadn't even noticed the blood staining her pants that day.

Wade had.

With a teasing smile, he had taken off his school uniform jacket, wrapped it around her waist, and whispered, "Hey, you look a little cold. Let me help you warm up."

Her face had burned hotter than the sun above them. Despite the cramping in her abdomen, her heart pounded wildly.

That moment had been the start of everything.

He had set off custom fireworks for her at the beach, taken her to Tibet to cuddle baby lambs, and held her close when her mother was dying.

She had truly believed Wade was her forever.

But the night before their wedding, everything shattered.

His sister, Christine Roe, had died of an overdose.

The investigation pointed to Margarita—her medical license, her prescriptions, the cold medicine that had been found in Christine’s system.

It had been pouring the night of the operation.

Wade had knelt in the rain outside the crematorium, his voice raw, his fingers digging into Margarita’s wrist.

"Did you give it to her? Did you tell her how to use it?"

Margarita’s silent tears had mixed with the rain, but she hadn't spoken a word.

And so, Wade sent her to prison.

For six years, she had relived that moment, wondering—if she had lied, if she had fought for herself, would things have been different?

But the truth was, she couldn’t.

Because she knew what had really happened.

Christine had fallen in love with her head teacher—a man twenty years her senior, a man who would never leave his wife for her.

Despair had consumed her. She had refused to eat, to drink, to live.

Margarita had only wanted to help. She had brought a medical kit, hoping to bring down Christine’s fever. But when she had stepped out to buy her food, Christine had taken all the cold medicine in the kit.

She had died in Margarita’s arms, whispering her final plea:

"Don’t let them know… Let me die innocent."

If the truth had come out, if Wade had discovered what his sister had done… it would have destroyed him.

So Margarita had taken the blame.

And now, six years later, standing in a nightclub with a wine bottle in hand, she knew—none of it mattered anymore.

Wade had moved on. He had found happiness. And she… she had nothing left but an impending death sentence and an unpaid sea burial.

Margarita bowed her head, ready to retreat into the background. But then—

"Wine pourer, come here."

Wade’s voice sliced through the noise.

Margarita’s fingers tightened around the bottle.

She forced herself to move, stepping forward cautiously. The moment she reached him, she tilted the bottle, trying to steady her hands. But her body betrayed her—her muscles stiffened, and she poured too much.

Wine spilled over the rim of his glass.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

A sharp voice cut through the air before Margarita could react.

A woman yanked her backward with force. Her balance gave out.

She crashed into the edge of the glass table.

The impact sent wine glasses shattering onto the floor, red liquid seeping into the cracks like fresh blood.

A sharp pain lanced through her lower back, but Margarita barely registered it. She dropped to her knees, frantically gathering the broken shards with shaking hands.

The woman sneered. "Bitch, do you even know how much this table of wine costs? You couldn’t afford it even if you sold yourself!"

Margarita thought she had long since shed her dignity in prison. But now, kneeling on the floor, her fingertips bleeding, humiliation burned through her like acid.

Wade and Casey sat just a few feet away, untouched by the chaos, indifferent to the woman crouched in disgrace at their feet.

She just wanted to leave. To disappear.

Before she could rise, a mocking laugh filled the room.

"Alright, don’t be so harsh."

Robin Conway, one of Wade’s friends, leaned forward, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Wade isn’t the kind of person who cares about a little spilled wine. Why not let this little sister make it up to me instead?"

The woman snorted, shoving Margarita toward him.

"You heard him. Hurry up and go over!"

Margarita barely caught herself from falling.

Then, a voice, sharp and disbelieving, cut through the air.

"Wait… You are… Margarita?"

Robin let out an exaggerated laugh. “Wow! You’re out of prison! And working as a hostess? What a coincidence.”

He stepped closer, his tone dripping with mockery. “You must be desperate for money. Tell you what—crawl over here, entertain us, and we’ll forget about the wine.”

Margarita felt Wade’s cold gaze cut through her like a blade, pressing her down, suffocating her.

She had no escape. No dignity left to protect.

Biting her lip, she forced herself onto her knees. The glass shards dug into her skin as she crawled forward, each movement a fresh wound, each breath a silent humiliation.

The air was sharp against her exposed back, making her shiver.

The room held its breath. Then—

A splash.

The deep red liquid spilled over her bare skin, trickling down her spine in slow, sticky rivulets.

Margarita flinched, her shoulders curling inward on instinct.

The silence was deafening. No one knew what Wade was thinking. They exchanged uncertain glances, and, one by one, they found excuses to leave.

Wade smiled at Casey, his voice deceptively soft. “Be good. Wait outside with them.”

His tone left no room for argument.

Before stepping out, Casey cast a fleeting glance at Margarita. Her expression was unreadable.

The door clicked shut.

Without warning, Wade’s hand shot out, grabbing Margarita’s throat and shoving her onto the sofa.

"Margarita," he murmured, eyes dark and seething. "The moment you got out of prison, you became a hostess. What, dignity doesn’t matter to you anymore?"

She forced out a bitter laugh. “After all, I killed your sister. My family went bankrupt. I lost everything. I was locked away for six years… I have to survive somehow, don’t I?”

The truth was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it down, twisting her pain into mockery.

Wade’s fingers trailed down her damp back, slow, deliberate. Hatred burned in his gaze.

His grip on her wrist tightened, voice low and dangerous.

“No one in this nightclub has more money than me. If you’re so eager to sell yourself, then sell to me.” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against her skin. “Buy something sexy for Casey and me tonight. Pick well, and I’ll pay you 1,500 dollars. That should be enough for someone like you, right?”

Margarita’s chest clenched, the pain suffocating.

This was revenge. He wanted to break her, humiliate her.

And he was succeeding.

—

That night, she watched as Casey slipped into the dress she had bought.

She stood there, silent, as Wade pulled Casey into a kiss, his hands roaming her body.

Margarita should have looked away.

But she didn’t.

Her empty gaze followed every movement, every touch. She knew his habits too well. She could predict where his lips would land before he even moved.

The throat. The collarbone. The waist. The abdomen. Even the soft curve of the calf.

Every kiss, every caress—things that once belonged to her—were now given to another woman.

The edges of her vision blurred, dark spots creeping in. The only sounds left were Casey’s breathy moans and Wade’s ragged sighs.

After it was over, Wade disappeared into the bathroom.

Casey took Margarita’s hand, her fingers light, almost affectionate. “After you disappeared, I stayed by Wade’s side.”

Margarita said nothing.

Casey lowered her voice, watching her carefully. “I never planned to love him, but I did. If you don’t want me to be with him—”

“I don’t mind.”

Her voice was eerily calm. “You can have him.”

Bang—

The bathroom door slammed open.

Wade stepped out, his damp hair dripping onto his bare shoulders, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

His furious gaze locked onto Margarita. Then, in a softer voice, he turned to Casey.

“I don’t need a criminal’s permission to be with you.” His tone was cold, mocking. “I keep her around so no one thinks I, Wade, am a pathetic man who lost everything after a single blow.”

After this incident, Wade did not let Margarita go.

As if granting her his "forgiveness," he assigned her a lowly assistant position—one designed to humiliate rather than employ.

During work hours, Margarita was forced to kneel on the office floor, scrubbing tiles while colleagues and visitors stepped around her, their amused or pitiful glances stripping away her last shreds of dignity.

At night, when Wade and Casey were together, Margarita had to anticipate their every need—keeping condoms and sex toys at the ready, so their pleasure would never be interrupted.

When they went shopping, she became nothing more than a living mannequin, slipping in and out of clothes for Casey’s amusement while Wade watched indifferently.

Every moment was a carefully orchestrated punishment. Margarita was forced to witness how tenderly Wade spoiled Casey, how cruelly he ensured she felt his hatred.

Wade tossed a designer bag to her—one that Casey had discarded. His tone carried the weight of disdainful charity.

"It's a reward for you."

Margarita lunged forward, catching the bag before it hit the ground, clutching it tightly.

If she sold it, she could make good money. And right now, money was all she needed.

She longed for an escape. The quiet waves of Maldives called to her—the promise of being lost in an endless ocean, where no one could reach her.

Let the sea take her. Let it wash away the remnants of Margarita.

On the day of Wade and Casey's engagement party, Margarita was stationed at the entrance—her task humiliatingly simple. She had to kneel and polish the shoes of every arriving guest, ensuring that the first thing they saw upon entering was her disgrace.

Meanwhile, Casey stood at the center of it all, resplendent. She wore the very wedding dress Wade had once commissioned for Margarita—now repurposed as an engagement gown. With every delicate thread, it mocked Margarita’s past.

She was radiant, dazzling like a princess under the golden chandeliers.

Wade stood beside her, his expression softened by adoration. Like a king before his court, he kissed the back of Casey's hand, sealing their union.

Margarita kept her head down, but her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the past.

She and Wade had once dreamed of their wedding, nestled together in whispered promises.

She had told him she wanted a sea of flowers, every bloom adorned with jewels.

Wade had smiled and vowed to have the finest designer craft jewelry just for her, to make her the most beautiful bride, to give her a wedding so grand the world would remember.

And now, every single promise he had made was being fulfilled—just not for her.

What about marriage?

How magnificent a wedding would he give Casey?

"What are you daydreaming about? Polish my shoes!"

A man sneered, raising his chin as he pressed his leather shoe against Margarita’s face, smearing dirt across her cheek.

"Didn’t you fail to do your job and let Wade’s sister die? This is just karma, isn’t it? If you ask me, Wade is too kind for even letting you live—let alone giving you a job."

The weight of his shoe crushed against her skin, but Margarita didn’t resist. She simply lowered her head, wordlessly continuing to polish.

"I heard your parents are dead. No family, no future. A criminal record, no real job. What’s the point of even living?"

He twisted his shoe against her face, as if grinding her further into the filth, then strutted away on tiptoe.

Margarita smiled bitterly.

Wasn’t she going to die soon anyway?

Her right arm had gone numb again. Without thinking, she switched the rag to her left hand and kept working.

---

That night, Margarita helped Casey change clothes.

As she adjusted the gown, Casey suddenly spoke. "Sis, do you remember? I used to be the one helping you—just like this. I was your little flower girl, watching you put on that expensive white wedding dress."

Margarita’s fingers stilled for a brief second.

"Back then, I kept wondering—why were you born with everything while I could only watch from the sidelines?"

Her voice was soft, almost wistful, but an unmistakable bitterness seeped through.

"Why would a man as perfect as Wade love someone as dull as you? Why wasn’t it me? I’m younger. I’m prettier. I should have been the one he wanted."

Margarita said nothing. She only continued fastening Casey's gown, adjusting the fabric in silent surrender.

"You know, when you disappeared, Wade was devastated." Casey’s tone grew quieter, her dissatisfaction bubbling beneath the surface. "I took care of him. I saw him fall apart. I never thought he could cry like that—for you."

She let out a soft, humorless laugh.

"So I wondered... What if I could take your place? What if I could carve my way into his heart?"

Margarita felt her breath hitch.

"And I almost did."

Casey’s voice turned sharp, trembling with barely concealed rage. "I was so close. Then you come back. You ruined everything! Why did you come back after prison? Why couldn’t you just disappear?!"

Margarita had always seen Casey as a younger sister. She never imagined that all this time, beneath the affection and smiles, she had been harboring such deep resentment.

But what did it matter now?

She was already dying.

Casey suddenly raised her wrist and yanked at her charm bracelet, snapping the string. The beads scattered across the floor.

Then— "PAH!"

A sharp slap rang through the room.

Margarita barely had time to react before Casey staggered back, clutching her cheek. A vivid red palm print bloomed across her skin.

Her eyes welled with tears, her voice trembling. "Sis… why did you hit me?"

Margarita froze.

She hadn't even moved.

Before she could utter a single word, the door suddenly burst open.