Margarita instinctively tried to pull down her clothes to cover the wound on her waist, but before she could, Wade seized her wrist.

His grip was firm—unyielding.

Bloodshot eyes bore into hers, laced with an emotion he couldn’t quite conceal. Worry.

Margarita’s heart clenched. A sudden, piercing heat spread through her chest, as if something had stabbed her. But she quickly masked it with a smirk, her voice turning light and mocking.

“What’s this, Wade? Do you actually care about me?” she taunted. “I got this wound when you sent me to get the charm bracelet. Hit a stone pretty hard. Shouldn’t you at least compensate me? Mental damages will do.”

Wade’s expression darkened instantly.

“You care about money that much?” His voice was cold, sharp as a blade. “So much that you didn’t even bother going to the hospital? What, did you think I’d save you a little cash on medical expenses?”

Margarita chuckled, but there was no warmth in it.

“Hospital bills don’t earn me money,” she drawled. “But working for you does. Just cleaning up your mess, sweeping the floor, running errands—I make thousands in no time. If I went to the hospital, think of how much I’d be losing.”

The darkness in Wade’s eyes deepened. Without warning, he pressed his fingers into the wound on her lower back.

Pain exploded through Margarita’s body. She gasped sharply, her hands clenching into fists, nails digging into her palms.

Then, he shoved her onto the sofa.

“You spent years in prison and came out only learning how to love money?” he spat, his voice laced with disgust.

Margarita’s waist slammed into the armrest. The impact sent a wave of pain crashing over her, making her vision blur. But she still managed a smile.

“What else should I love?” she whispered, her voice laced with mockery. “You? Wade, do you still have feelings for me? You seem so concerned about my injury. If you still like me, how about another 100,000? If the price is right, I can still be with you—”

“Shut up!”

Wade’s grip tightened suddenly, his fingers digging so deep into her skin it felt like her bones might shatter.

Margarita couldn’t hold back a cry of pain this time.

His next words, however, hurt far worse than his grip ever could.

“Who would love a murderer?” His voice dripped with disdain. “Margarita, just looking at you makes me sick.”

Margarita exhaled softly. A small, almost inaudible laugh escaped her lips.

“Of course. After all, I killed your sister.” She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “If I had known that giving her that medicine would cost me my rich son-in-law, maybe I should have been a little more careful.”

Wade’s fury vanished in an instant.

It was as if someone had poured ice water over a raging fire.

All that remained in his gaze was dead silence.

Then, without another word, he let go of her.

He stood up, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he was memorizing the moment—so he would never repeat it again.

"Margarita," he murmured, his voice eerily calm, "it's truly my shame that I loved you."

Then, as if severing the last tie between them, he reached for the string of charm bracelets around his wrist and yanked them off.

The beads scattered across the floor, rolling in every direction.

The crisp sound echoed in the silent room.

Margarita didn’t move.

She simply stared at the fallen beads, something inside her fracturing.

She had thought—no, she had assumed—that he had given those beads to Casey. But he hadn’t. He had worn them himself.

Why?

Why did that realization hurt more than anything else?

The silence in the room became suffocating.

Margarita sank to her knees, fingers trembling as she picked up the beads one by one. But her body was betraying her.

Her limbs grew heavy.

Her breath shallowed.

And then—she collapsed.

Motionless.

Tears slid silently down her face.

Why?

Why did it have to be ALS?

She would rather die tomorrow than endure this slow, torturous decay.

Her vision blurred. Her mind grew distant.

It would be over soon.

"Sis, I'm not feeling well. Can you check what medicine I should take?"

Margarita had just finished packing up, barely catching her breath, when Casey suddenly appeared, disrupting her thoughts.

Casey stood in front of her, clutching a medical box, her face pale, her eyes brimming with helplessness.

Margarita was about to ask what was wrong when, suddenly, Casey's expression twisted in agony. Her body convulsed, foam spilling from her mouth as she clutched at her throat.

"Sist… why…? I took the medicine… but I feel even worse…"

Her voice was barely a whisper before her body gave out, collapsing to the floor in violent spasms.

"Casey!"

Wade's panicked voice thundered through the room as he rushed down the stairs, scooping Casey into his arms. His entire body tensed with fear. "What happened?!"

Casey struggled to speak, her breath shallow. "Wade… I wasn’t feeling well… I asked Margarita to help… She told me to take four pills of this… I did… but… I feel worse…"

Her last words slipped into silence as her body went limp in his arms.

Wade's hands trembled violently. Casey’s pale face blurred in his vision, morphing into another—the fragile, fading image of Christine six years ago. His pupils shrank. His breathing grew erratic. The blood-red haze of fury drowned out all reason.

His gaze snapped at Margarita, sharp as a blade.

"Margarita!" His voice cracked with rage. "You're a disgrace to the medical field! If you can't save lives, you have no right to prescribe medicine! Wasn’t it enough that you killed my sister?!"

Margarita shook her head frantically. "No, I—"

But Wade wasn't listening.

Like a beast cornered, he lunged at her, slamming her against the wall. His fingers clamped around her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes—burning with raw, uncontrollable hatred.

"Feel it," he growled, his voice rough with fury. "Feel what it's like to be killed by the very medicine meant to save you!"

Margarita gasped as pain shot up her spine from the impact. She tried to struggle, but Wade's grip was merciless.

Then, before she could react, he grabbed the pills from the table, pried her lips open, and shoved them down her throat.

The bitterness of the pills coated her tongue, spreading like poison.

Margarita's vision blurred, her senses wavering. Through Wade’s twisted, rage-filled face, a ghost of the past emerged—an image of the man who once loved her.

"Our Margarita will become the most powerful doctor!"

She had been drowning in exhaustion back then, burdened by thick medical books, on the verge of giving up.

And yet, Wade had always been there. Encouraging her. Believing in her. Whispering promises of success when she doubted herself.

He never understood the complex medical terms, but he still sat beside her, tracing her profile with his gaze until she turned red. Then he’d chuckle and look away, pretending he hadn’t been staring.

But now… that warm, familiar smile had turned into something cold and unrecognizable.

Wade’s eyes burned with disgust, and his voice was like a blade slicing through her heart.

"Margarita, it's truly my shame to have ever loved you."

Margarita’s eyes flew open, her face already soaked with tears.

She lay alone in a hospital ward, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors the only sound in the sterile, empty room.

A nurse entered, speaking in a hushed voice. "You’ve had your stomach pumped. You’re stable now."

Margarita barely registered the words. It didn’t matter.

Because she could no longer feel her legs.

She clutched the nurse’s hand, her voice hoarse, almost pleading. "Can you… tell them I’m in a wheelchair because of the medicine’s side effects?"

The nurse hesitated, conflicted.

Margarita’s lips trembled in a faint, bitter smile. "It’s fine. They’re doctors. They won’t question it."

After a long pause, the nurse finally nodded. Perhaps it was sympathy. Or maybe it was guilt, knowing that Margarita had once been a bright, promising senior.

But Wade wasn’t interested in waiting for her recovery.

Without mercy, he dragged her to the graveyard, forcing her before Christine’s tombstone.

"Apologize," he ordered coldly. "Kneel and bow to her."

Margarita sat motionless in the wheelchair, her hands trembling.

Wade’s gaze swept over her legs, listening to the nurse’s explanation. A sneer curled on his lips, his voice dripping with mockery.

"You deserve it. If you ask me, you got off easy by staying alive."

Then, without warning, he yanked her from the wheelchair.

Margarita crashed onto the icy ground, her elbow slamming against the unforgiving stone. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, pain tearing through her body.

But Wade didn’t care.

He gripped the back of her head and forced it down—again and again—until the taste of blood filled her mouth.

"Christine, did you see that? The murderer who killed you is here to atone for her sins."

Wade's hand traced the cold tombstone, his touch almost reverent. His eyes were gentle as he gazed at the carved name, but when he turned to Margarita, all warmth disappeared—only ice remained.

Margarita's forehead was pressed against the dirt. In her heart, she whispered to the one beneath the stone.

"Christine, don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret safe."

"I’ll see you soon in heaven. Have you reincarnated yet? If not, wait for me, okay?"

"Next time, let’s be sisters. And I’ll be the older one. I’ll teach you not to fall for men twenty years older than you, not to love someone who already has a family."

"Ah, I know you’ll be mad at me for saying that. But Christine… was he really worth dying for?"

A small smile touched Margarita’s lips.

For a moment, she imagined Christine turning away, pouting in irritation, just like she used to.

But Wade saw that smile—and his fury ignited.

His face twisted with rage. In a flash, his hand shot out, grabbing Margarita by the collar and yanking her up.

"You're still laughing? You dare to laugh?!" His voice shook with fury. "Margarita, do you even have a heart? Christine is dead, and you can still smile?"

His grip tightened, his breathing ragged. "Do you have any idea how much she suffered? How I watched her life slip away, second by second, powerless to stop it? And you—her murderer—you laugh?"

Disgust burned in his eyes. "Do you think sitting in a wheelchair will make me pity you? That I’ll forgive you?"

A bitter sneer curled his lips. "Margarita, you’re dreaming. You can never atone for what you’ve done. Not in this life."

His fingers dug into her chin, forcing her to look at him. His hatred was suffocating. "Do you know how much I loathe you? I wish I could make you suffer the way Christine did. Why didn’t you just die yesterday?"

Margarita was dying.

Tears welled in her eyes, silent and heavy. She no longer had the strength to hide her sorrow.

But Wade didn’t see it. Or maybe he refused to. His gaze was empty of anything but contempt.

With a sharp shove, he pushed her wheelchair aside, leaving her stranded at the edge of the road.

Margarita watched as he walked back to the grave, taking Casey’s hand. Together, they stood before Christine’s tombstone, whispering sweet promises. Their voices were soft, their expressions gentle.

"Christine, don’t worry. We’ll be happy," Wade murmured, introducing Casey as if she were his future, his salvation.

Margarita felt something inside her break.

When everything was over, Wade turned to her with nothing but indifference.

"Stay here." His tone was distant. "When you’ve finally reflected on yourself, you can go back."

Then he took Casey’s hand and left.

He didn’t look back.

Margarita sat alone in the graveyard, the wind howling through the endless rows of tombstones. The cold seeped into her bones.

Her wheelchair wasn’t electric. She had to push it forward, inch by inch.

But fate was cruel.

The wheel snagged on a jagged stone.

There was a sharp snap.

The chair tipped.

Margarita fell.

Her body hit the frozen ground, rolling helplessly down a slope until she slammed into a stone pillar. Pain exploded through her, but no one was there to hear her cry.

No one was there at all.

Curled up beside the pillar, her breath came in short, uneven gasps. A numbing despair settled over her, heavier than the night itself.

It felt as if the whole world had abandoned her.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out, grasping at nothing.

"Wade... I'm really... dying..."

Her whisper was so faint, so fragile, that even the wind refused to carry it.

No one answered.

No one cared.

Margarita had no idea that Wade and Casey hadn’t truly left the cemetery.

Their car sat idle at the foot of the mountain, the engine silent, the atmosphere heavy with something unspoken.

Wade’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles turning pale. He had tried to start the car several times, but his foot refused to press the accelerator.

"Wade..."

Casey's voice was soft, careful, like a whisper meant to soothe a wounded beast. She reached over, her fingers resting lightly on the back of his hand.

Wade flinched, but he didn’t pull away.

"I know," Casey murmured. "You haven’t completely let go of Sister Margarita."

Her words cut like a slow, dull knife, peeling away the layers of denial he had built around himself.

Wade’s face stiffened. His voice, cold and sharp, snapped back, "That’s impossible."

Casey didn’t argue. She only sighed, her fingers intertwining with his in quiet patience.

"I don’t mind," she said gently. "It’s hard to forget someone you once loved deeply… I understand. I don’t expect you to love me right away. I don’t even expect you to completely erase her from your heart."

Her voice was steady, unwavering. "But I do know one thing—you won’t keep loving the woman who took your sister away. You just need time, and I’m willing to wait. Five years, ten years… however long it takes. As long as you give me a chance to walk into your heart."

Wade’s breath hitched. His gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked window, where the sky hung heavily, pressing down on the world like an impending storm.

And then, unbidden, Margarita’s face surfaced in his mind.

The face he had loved once. The face he had sworn to hate.

Six years. He had told himself he despised her. That he could forget her.

But every night, when the world was quiet, his dreams betrayed him.

He dreamed of their childhood, of her bright laughter, of the way she used to lean in close and whisper, "Wade, we’ll be together forever."

He had told himself she only made a mistake. That she hadn’t meant to kill his sister.

On his days off, he would find himself at the prison gates, watching from a distance, never daring to approach.

And on the day she was released, when the world expected him to rejoice in his hatred—his heart had surged with something else.

Relief.

Joy.

He had told himself he was keeping her close for revenge. But deep down, he knew the truth. He had been afraid. Afraid she wouldn’t survive on her own.

And he hated himself for it.

For still caring.

For betraying his dead sister.

For betraying his grieving parents.

For betraying Casey, who had always been by his side.

"Casey..." His voice came out hoarse. His fingers trembled as he clutched her hand. "I’m sorry."

Casey’s eyes shimmered, unshed tears glistening. "No need to apologize, Wade. As long as you’re willing to give me a chance… I’ll wait."

Wade said nothing. He inhaled deeply, started the car—this time, he pressed the accelerator.

---

Margarita was found hours later.

Curled up in the cemetery’s shadows, her body as cold as death.

Wade’s assistant lifted her into the car, brought her back to the villa. Someone changed her into warm clothes, wrapped her in a thick blanket, and pushed her wheelchair into the living room.

Wade stood before her, a stack of photos and letters in his hands.

Their photos. Her love letters. The rings they once bought together.

His voice was eerily light. "Margarita, these… shouldn’t exist anymore."

Then, without hesitation, he tossed them into the fireplace.

The flames devoured their past—charred paper curling into ash, memories dissolving into smoke.

Margarita watched, silent. But inside, it felt as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her heart, squeezing, crushing—until the pain was unbearable.

Their childhood. Their love. The years she had spent loving him.

All burned away in an instant.

Wade pulled out his phone, his fingers moving across the screen with practiced ease.

Then, he tossed it onto the table in front of her.

"Margarita." His voice was quiet, almost indifferent.

"After Casey and I get married, you can leave. Leave this city—go as far away from me as possible. From now on, we will never see each other again."

He paused, his tone tightening.

"Only this way… can I control myself. If I see you again, I’ll want to kill you—to avenge my sister."

Margarita lowered her gaze to the phone screen. The string of numbers glowed coldly in the dim light—enough to bury her at sea a dozen times over.

Her throat tightened, an unbearable weight pressing down on her chest. If she spoke now, she feared the sobs would escape.

After a long silence, she curled her lips into a smile—one that was more painful than crying.

"I didn't expect Mr. Roe to still be such a law-abiding man... Thank you for not killing me."

Wade's expression darkened. The corner of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating smirk—mocking his own hesitation, his own weakness.

"Take the money. Get out of my sight. Go as far as you can."

Without another word, he turned and strode away. His back was rigid, his steps unwavering—cold, final.

Behind him, the flames in the brazier crackled and danced, their light flickering against his sharp profile. But no fire could burn away the darkness in his eyes.

Margarita clutched the phone, her fingers digging into its surface as she watched him disappear into the night.

A gust of wind carried her whisper into the void.

"Wade… goodbye."