[Local News Update: Around 2 PM today, the deck of the Lover’s Bridge suddenly collapsed. Emergency rescue teams are currently conducting search and rescue operations. Drivers and pedestrians are advised to take alternate routes and avoid falling debris!]

Gretchen Marxhausen was right there at the disaster site. Believing Bernard Golberstein was trapped under the rubble, she gritted her teeth and began digging with her bare hands.

People tried to pull her away, but she ignored them. Her hands were covered in blood, but she wouldn’t stop.

But when she turned her head, she saw him carefully carrying his childhood sweetheart out of the passenger seat. The two clung tightly to each other.

And then they kissed—for three long minutes—and walked away without looking back to the wrecked site.

‘If forcing something only made it bitter, then there’s no need to hold on.’

Gretchen turned away and made another phone call, agreeing to a marriage proposal with someone else.

A week later, she was set to go to her engagement ceremony with him.

——

“Gretchen, why’d you just leave without waiting for me? Are you trying to get back at me? Listen, both my parents were trapped under that bridge! Did you intentionally want to embarrass me?!”

Bernard Golberstein stood outside his car, looking pissed, and a flashy red sports car was parked in front of her house.

From the passenger seat, a faint shadow in red hinted at someone waiting inside.

Faced with his series of accusations, Gretchen was silent while Bernard’s chest rose and fell in frustration, his anger finding no outlet.

She found it hilarious. ‘At the time, wasn't it him holding Marjorie like the world would end if he loosened his grip for even a second? And now he’s got the nerve to turn it around on me?!’

“Are you jealous that I saved Marjorie first?” Bernard finally snapped.

“Come on, she’s delicate! You think she could handle such a violent impact? What if she got hurt? What if she fainted?”

“But you? You hit the gym every day, right? A bump or a scratch isn’t gonna kill you, so why are you acting so dramatic?”

Gretchen was even more speechless this time.

When the bridge collapsed, the first car to plunge was hers.

The driver was in a panic, not knowing what to do, and they plummeted straight to the bottom.

Good thing it wasn’t a long drop, and Gretchen woke up.

The first thing she did was kneel on sharp gravel and, dizzy with pain, dig at the bricks with her bare hands.

Within moments, her fingers were dripping with blood, and her entire body was drenched in sweat.

That was when she saw Bernard, running past her with Marjorie Fowler cradled in his arms to get her to the nearby ambulance.

“Doctor, please save her!” he begged, his voice desperate as he gently set Marjorie—who seemed to have only a bit of dust on her—onto the stretcher.

“I know you’re upset,” Bernard said now, “but you and I are getting married! We need to be mindful of how things look!”

Gretchen raised her eyelids slightly. “Right,” she said, “ I am getting married. But not to you, Bernard.”

He looked at her as if he’d just heard the most absurd joke, stepping back a few paces to size her up.

“Hey, did you lose your memory? You’ve been chasing me for how many years?! Don’t forget, you’re not exactly young anymore. You think any of the rich guys who know about us would actually marry you?”

Looking at his mocking smile, Gretchen felt her arm start to ache again.

“I’m a bit tired. I need to rest,” she said, reaching for the door.

“No way!” Bernard snapped, blocking her. “There’s a family dinner later. As my parents’ soon-to-be daughter in law, you have to be there.”

“Bernie!” Suddenly, a sweet, delicate voice rang out.

The sports car window rolled down slowly, revealing Marjorie sitting inside and waving at Bernard.

“My face got scratched! If you don’t take me to the hospital now, I’m afraid my beauty will be ruined!”

Bernard hesitated, glancing at Gretchen’s bandaged hands.

“You need your dressings changed too, don’t you? I’ll just drive both of you there.”

Gretchen hesitated but eventually lifted her leg and pulled open the car’s passenger-side door.

Bernard caught up in a few strides, his brow furrowed tight.

“Marjorie gets carsick easily. She has to sit up front. You, take the backseat.”

The sports car sped off, the three of them lost in their own thoughts.

Gretchen, already struggling with her injured arms and legs, found it hard enough to move. Now squeezed into the backseat alongside piles of gift boxes, she felt even more uncomfortable.

On the other hand, in the passenger seat, Marjorie kept her mouth busy.

“Hey, Gretchen, this isn’t on your way, is it? Are you going to the hospital too?”

Before Gretchen could answer, Bernard let out a cold laugh.

“Yeah, I actually also don’t think she needs to go. She’s tough enough—what’s a little bump? But I figured we could use an extra hand to carry stuff.”

Gretchen listened to their banter, but she simply turned her head to look out the window. The scenery outside blurred past, disappearing into the distance.

And then, she closed her eyes.

Her years of love and dependence on Bernard were just like the scenery outside. Fading away, frame by frame, swallowed up in the crowd. Gone forever.

“Bernie, I feel nauseous,” Marjorie suddenly whined in a sweet, delicate voice.

Bernard slammed on the brakes, pulling the car to the side of the road in a panic.

“What’s wrong? You’re sitting in the front—how are you still feeling sick?”

In the rearview mirror, Gretchen’s eyes briefly met Marjorie’s.

In her gaze, there was arrogance—and something else, something coy and calculated.

“Bernie,” Marjorie said weakly, “I’ve just been feeling so weak lately. No energy, always tired, and nauseous all the time.”

Gretchen knew enough about basic health to realize something was off if what Marjorie was saying was true.

“Gretchen, go grab Marjorie a bottle of water. Maybe it’ll help,” Bernard instructed, glancing over his shoulder.

Gretchen froze for a second, instinctively shifting her injured leg.

Thinking she was refusing, Bernard sneered and unbuckled his seatbelt.

“I knew it. You’ve never had any sympathy. Forget it, I’ll go. And let me remind you, don’t go chatting her ear off while I’m gone. She needs to rest.”

Gretchen just felt drained. She leaned back, closed her eyes, and pretended to sleep.

“Come on, I know you’re not really asleep,” Marjorie’s voice floated back, dripping with arrogance.

“Look at this.” She raised her wrist, flashing a smile. “Bernie gave me this.”

Gretchen had seen that string of translucent emerald beads on the wrist of Bernard’s mother Dolores countless times growing up.

It was said to be a rare treasure passed down through generations of royalty—priceless.

Marjorie admired the bracelet on her wrist, twirling it slowly, then spoke casually as if trying to “console” Gretchen.

“Bernie told me Uncle Reinhold and Auntie Dolores like you a lot. But, you know, Bernard has always loved his freedom. He can’t stand arranged marriages—or women who have ulterior motives.”

“So when he gave me this bracelet, he said someone as simple and kind as me is exactly the kind of woman he really wants.”

“Do you know what Bernard calls you, Gretchen? A little bootlicker.”

“But have you ever heard this? Love doesn’t come from begging. Real love… It's about attraction.”

Marjorie finished with a sly, seductive smile.

Gretchen sat there in silence, listening as her heart felt like it was being gripped and crushed. Saying she wasn’t hurt would’ve been the biggest lie.

‘The Golbersteins' wedding heirloom now clasped on someone else’s wrist—with Bernard’s own hands!’

Marjorie’s voice cut through her thoughts, low but piercing.

“Gretchen, my advice? Know when to back off.”

At those last two words, Gretchen couldn’t hold back any longer and turned to respond…

“So, what do you think it means to know your place?”

Marjorie’s lips curved into a smile, but it didn’t reach her eyes.

“It means not being greedy. You can’t have both pride and benefits, you know? If you push too hard, Bernard will just get tired. And I can’t let that happen.”

Bernard opened the driver’s side door, holding a bag of drinks.

“I bought vitamin water, energy drinks, mineral water, milk, and yogurt. What do you feel like drinking? Should I buy you something warm?”

Marjorie rummaged through the bottles one by one.

“Bernie, I’m feeling better now. I don’t want any of these. I’m not thirsty.”

In the backseat, Gretchen sat quietly, her lips cracked and pale, but Bernard didn’t even glance her way. Instead, he tied the bag shut and stroked Marjorie’s long hair.

“Good girl. I’ll carry these for you. If you feel thirsty when we get to the hospital, you can have one then.”

As soon as the car engine started, the smell of gasoline filled the air, and Marjorie suddenly gagged, her face turning deathly pale.

“Bernie, I didn’t want to say anything earlier, but Gretchen kept chatting with me about random stuff, and now my head’s killing me…”

Bernard immediately started patting Marjorie’s back, his face tense. Then he shot a glare at Gretchen through the rearview mirror.

“Didn’t I tell you to shut up or don’t talk too much? You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Gretchen sighed quietly. She wanted to defend herself but ended up saying nothing.

Seeing her stay silent like it didn’t matter, Bernard’s anger only grew.

“This is all your fault. Look at Marjorie—look how miserable she is because of you!”

Marjorie softly tugged on Bernard’s hand and began to cough.

“Bernie… it’s not Gretchen’s fault. She just loves to gossip, you know, and once she starts” — She coughed again — “she can’t stop…”

The hospital was only 20 minutes away, but to Gretchen, it felt like 2,000 kilometers.

The whole drive, Bernard kept glaring at her in the mirror, his frustration practically steaming out of him.

When they finally arrived at the hospital, Bernard jumped out of the car and rushed to open the passenger door.

His voice was full of concern as he asked, “Marjorie, are you okay? Can you walk?”

Marjorie leaned back weakly, her face pale and her brows furrowed slightly. “No, Bernard… My legs feel so weak.”

Gretchen watched as Bernard gently scooped Marjorie into his arms, holding her like she was a princess. It was exactly like that day on the bridge—the way he looked at her, the way he held her—everything was the same.

But Gretchen didn’t feel that same overwhelming despair as she had back then. Now, all she felt was exhaustion.

Bernard was the same as last time, but this time he turned around as if he remembered something.

“Gretchen, grab Marjorie’s bag of drinks. She might get thirsty later.”

At the hospital, Gretchen’s wound treatment turned out to be much more complicated than Marjorie’s.

After carefully checking Marjorie’s face, the doctor only told her to drink more water.

But when Gretchen’s bandages were removed, the doctor gasped.

“Didn’t I tell you not to lift anything heavy? Look at this—the wound’s torn open!”

Right then, Bernard walked in and overheard the doctor’s exclamation. Instead of looking concerned, he let out a cold laugh.

“She lifts weights all the time. Of course, it’s going to tear!”

The doctor froze mid-action and didn’t say anything until Bernard left the room. “Ma’am, is he your…?”

Gretchen closed her eyes and answered flatly, “He’s nothing to me anymore.”

The doctor felt sorry for her, but seeing her pale face, he held back whatever he wanted to say.

When the cold disinfectant touched her torn skin, Gretchen didn’t seem to feel the pain. She didn't even flinch.

The doctor couldn’t help but say softly, “Ma’am, if it hurts, tell me, okay? You don’t have to tough it out. I’ll be as careful as I can.”