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."

Margarita finally settled all the expenses for the sea burial.

She glanced at the remaining balance in her account. Without a second thought, she donated every last cent to the Women's Foundation, leaving nothing for herself.

Money had lost its meaning. Her life was coming to an end, but her body—at least—could still serve one final purpose.

At the hospital, she signed the organ donation agreement.

The doctor hesitated. "Are you sure? This means your body will be completely dissected. It may not even be fully cremated."

Margarita smiled faintly. "It doesn’t matter. I’m dying anyway. If I can help someone… consider it my last atonement."

---

The wedding of Wade and Casey proceeded as planned, an extravagant spectacle that dominated the headlines.

The entire Everton buzzed with celebration. Fireworks exploded across the sky, their brilliance illuminating every corner of the metropolis.

People gazed up at the dazzling display, sighing at the perfect happiness of the newlyweds.

Meanwhile, in the shadows, Margarita sat in a wheelchair, hidden from sight—like a stray cat, forgotten by the world.

She watched as Wade held Casey’s hand and walked slowly down the red carpet.

She watched as he slipped an exquisite diamond ring onto Casey’s finger.

She listened as he spoke, his voice filled with devotion.

"Casey, for the rest of my life, I will love you with all my heart."

Margarita felt nothing. The pain had long since numbed her, even tears seemed like a luxury she could no longer afford.

Then, beneath the burning sky, as fireworks reached their peak, Wade leaned down and kissed Casey.

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.

At that moment, Margarita quietly turned her wheelchair around and left, pushing against the tide of revelry.

The noise, the joy—it all had nothing to do with her anymore.

She forced her frail body forward, searching for a final resting place.

Breathing alone was exhausting.

Then, suddenly, a rush of people surged around her.

Her wheelchair was shoved left, then right—until, at last, it toppled over.

Margarita crashed onto the pavement, her elbows and knees slamming against the cold ground. A sharp, searing pain nearly stole her consciousness.

But she didn’t care.

Gritting her teeth, she crawled forward, inch by inch, reaching for the wheelchair that had been pushed away.

She finally pulled herself back into it—just as blinding headlights flooded her vision.

A large truck barreled toward her.

Margarita’s pupils shrank.

Too late.

Bang—

Margarita’s body was flung through the air, tracing a tragic arc before crashing onto the pavement.

At that same moment, the grand wedding of Wade and Casey had just concluded.

Casey lifted her glass, preparing to thank the guests. But before the words could leave her lips, a sharp tremor ran through her body. The champagne flute slipped from her grasp and shattered against the floor with a crisp, ringing sound.

"Casey!"

Wade caught her just in time, his heart clenching as he saw her face—pale as paper, her delicate fingers clutching his sleeve in desperation. Her voice was so weak, it was barely a whisper.

"Wade… I feel… so uncomfortable…"

Panic surged through Wade like a tidal wave. Without hesitation, he swept her into his arms and rushed out of the banquet hall. His voice trembled with urgency.

"Hold on, Casey! We’ll be at the hospital soon!"

His strides were fast, but his mind was blank.

He had lost too many people. His sister.

And Margarita—the woman he once loved.

He could not lose Casey, too. Never.

---

At the hospital, Casey was rushed into the emergency room.

Dr. Malcolm O'Connor frowned at the examination results. "Her condition is critical. She needs a heart transplant immediately… but there’s no suitable donor available."

Just then, an assistant burst in, a medical report in hand.

"Dr. O'Connor! We found a match! A patient from today’s car accident—she signed an organ donation agreement before her death. Her heart is a perfect fit!"

Malcolm grabbed the report but froze when she saw the name.

Before she could speak, the doors to the emergency room swung open, and Wade strode in, his expression dark and unreadable.

"I heard there’s a heart available," he said coldly.

Malcolm hesitated. "Yes, but the donor… she’s not confirmed dead yet." She swallowed hard. "Wade, the accident victim is—"

"Confirmed dead?" Wade cut her off. His voice was devoid of emotion. "That crash was fatal. What are the odds of survival? Instead of leaving her to suffer, it’s better for her heart to serve its final purpose."

His gaze sharpened. "I’ll compensate her family—enough to secure them a lifetime of comfort. You just need to proceed with the transplant. Don’t concern yourself with anything else."

Malcolm’s grip tightened around the report. "But… she still has a faint heartbeat—"

"Enough!" Wade’s voice was laced with fury. "Casey doesn’t have time to wait! Are you going to let her die?"

He took a step closer, his presence suffocating.

"Malcolm, I helped you climb to this position, step by step. Without me, would you have become an attending physician so young? Now, are you really willing to let Casey die for the sake of some irrelevant person?"

Malcolm’s lips parted, but no words came out.

---

The surgery began.

Under the cold, sterile lights, Malcolm stood over Margarita’s unconscious body, scalpel in hand.

He hesitated—just for a moment—before whispering under his breath, as if convincing himself.

"You killed Wade’s sister. This is justice. Don’t blame me. You were a doctor, too. You’d understand."

Just then—

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The heart monitor beside Margarita shrieked in warning.

The assistant paled. "Dr. O'Connor! The patient… she’s still alive! But she’s fading fast—she’s… dying!"