The engagement party Millie Sullivan had waited years for didn't bring happiness. Instead, she stood watching as her fiancé gently held another woman in his arms.

"Mr. Gilbert, I'm so sorry. This is all my fault..."

The venue was empty. Clint Gilbert's secretary, Lucille Morton, was still nestled against his chest, crying pitifully.

"I gave the guests the wrong time for the banquet, and it ruined your engagement party. Maybe I should go explain to Miss Sullivan..."

Her words dripped with remorse, but her body didn't move an inch from Clint's embrace.

"You're always so careless." Clint frowned, his voice soft with concern. "Don't cry. It's not a big deal. You're new—it's perfectly normal to make a few mistakes when you're overwhelmed."

Not a big deal.

A few mistakes.

Millie's eyes burned. She clenched her jaw until it ached, refusing to let a single tear fall.

To make it back in time for this engagement party, she'd pulled all-nighters in New York for weeks. She'd sat through a fourteen-hour flight and hadn't even recovered from the jet lag, all so this night would go perfectly.

Yet to Clint, their engagement was nothing more than a minor scheduling error that didn't matter.

"Clint, you're covering for her. Is that what this is?"

Millie's voice trembled with the effort of holding herself together.

"Today is our engagement party. Do you have any idea that her 'little mistake' just destroyed three months of—"

"Enough. Can you stop being so unreasonable?"

Clint cut her off, his expression flat, edged with impatience.

"She got the time wrong. So what? We'll just pick another date and redo it."

"It's an engagement, not a wedding. Why are you making such a scene?"

It's an engagement.

She almost laughed.

Millie stared at him as though seeing him for the very first time.

The commitment she had poured every ounce of herself into reaching was, to him, no different from a rescheduled business meeting.

"Then there's nothing to redo."

Her voice came out raw.

"The engagement is off."

Clint blinked, then let out a scoff, his eyes glinting with unmistakable derision.

"Are you threatening me?"

"Millie, do you really think you're that important?"

Her fingertips shook.

Wind cut through the floor-to-ceiling windows, biting into her skin. It was cold—colder even than the day she'd stood before her sister's grave and heard those words.

Millie had always known.

If Carrie Sullivan were still alive, Clint would have become her brother-in-law.

Even though Millie had met him first.

Even though Millie had fallen for him first.

After Carrie died, Clint had nearly shattered. Millie was the one who stayed by his side through all of it, quietly, without being asked.

She did his laundry, mopped his floors, cooked his meals, brewed his soups. She sat with him while he drank himself numb, listened to him mumble incoherently through the haze.

When he finally pulled himself together, she was still there—working late beside him, navigating business dinners at his side, helping him drag his company back from the brink, piece by piece.

Slowly, Clint began to respond.

He remembered her birthday. On late nights at the office, he'd order her a warm bowl of oatmeal. On rainy days, he'd park downstairs and wait for her.

And then he said the words she'd dreamed of hearing.

"Millie, let's give this a try."

She thought she'd finally gotten through to him. That she'd earned Clint Gilbert's love.

Until the day she overheard him whispering at Carrie's headstone:

"Carrie, you're the only one I'll ever love."

"Being with Millie... it's only because her eyes look so much like yours. I needed something to hold on to. Without that, I don't think I could keep going."

Every word was a poisoned needle, stitching itself deep into her chest.

After learning the truth, Millie used expanding the overseas division as an excuse and fled the country.

During those numbingly busy days abroad, she fought to teach herself how to let go.

But then Clint proposed the engagement, and foolish hope bloomed in her again, stubborn and unwanted.

She knew Carrie would always occupy a place in his heart.

Yet she couldn't stop herself from thinking: Just a little more time. Maybe he'll finally see me for who I am.

If not for this engagement disaster, she probably could have kept lying to herself forever.

A month ago, her colleagues mentioned that Clint's new secretary was a walking catastrophe.

Lost contracts, mixed-up schedules, wrong things said to the wrong people—trouble every single day.

Yet every time, Clint personally cleaned up the mess, guiding her with a patience Millie had never once seen him show.

Today, she finally understood why.

It was simply because that secretary looked exactly like Carrie.

Millie drew a long, slow breath, pressing down the fine, needling ache in her chest.

She turned and called the hotel manager over.

"Please cancel next month's banquet hall reservation. I'll pay double the cancellation fee."

Through it all, she didn't spare Clint or Lucille another glance. They might as well not have existed.

"Millie, are you done with this tantrum?!"

Clint's face had gone completely dark.

She didn't respond. Her gaze drifted to his left hand—to his ring finger.

That ring was one Millie had designed herself.

Thirty-seven drafts. Three months of revisions.

She had hidden every last piece of her love inside that diamond.

She remembered that Clint hadn't been particularly enthusiastic, but he'd accepted it all the same.

And now—

Millie walked over and wrenched the ring off his finger without a second's hesitation.

Crack.

The diamond separated from the band and rolled into a corner.

Just like her five years of devotion.

Clean. Final. Irreparably destroyed.

"You've lost your mind. You've actually lost your mind! Millie, I don't have time for this."

Clint was still seething with disbelief, but Millie was already walking away without looking back.

At the same time, her finger tapped the screen of her phone without hesitation.

"Miss Sullivan, have you made up your mind?"

Three days ago, a headhunter from a company in New York had reached out to her.

She'd never replied. But now...

Millie moved her fingers slowly to the keyboard. The last faint spark behind her eyes dimmed with each keystroke, settling into silence.

"OK. See you in seven days."

Millie clung to the last shred of strength she had and went back to Clint's apartment first.

She needed to take her things.

But when she pushed the door open, everything she owned was gone. The place looked as though she'd never lived there at all.

Clint called. His voice carried that particular brand of smug certainty she knew too well.

"Still saying you're not throwing a tantrum? You came back on your own, didn't you?"

"While you were overseas these past few months, Lucy came by to help clean up. Some of your old stuff had gone bad sitting around, so she tossed it for you."

By then, Millie had already found the storage room.

The floor was littered with what had been labeled "junk."

Their matching slippers were soaked in grease stains. The framed photos of them together lay shattered across the tile. The pearl necklace Clint had once bid on at auction and given to her was reduced to loose pearls scattered everywhere.

The color drained from her face. She ran back to the bedroom and tore it apart, searching every drawer, every shelf, every corner. When she came up empty, her skin went white as paper.

Her grandmother's only keepsake was gone.

"Clint." Her voice shook. "Where's my grandmother's heirloom?"

"What heirloom? Lucy probably cleared that out too." His tone was clipped with impatience. "Don't go making a big deal out of nothing just to give her a hard time."

Her mind went blank.

Without a second thought, she turned and rushed straight to Gilbert Group headquarters.

Lucille spotted her coming and clapped a hand over her mouth in exaggerated alarm, spinning on her heel toward the conference room. "Boss, help—"

The conference room door swung open. The senior executive meeting ground to an abrupt halt.

Clint was about to snap, but the moment he saw Lucille, his expression softened instantly. There was even a trace of indulgent exasperation in his voice.

"Didn't I tell you not to barge in during meetings?"

"I forgot!" Lucille stuck out her tongue and smiled, all wide-eyed innocence. "But Miss Sullivan seems really mad at me still... She followed me all the way here."

From the doorway, Millie saw everything with perfect clarity. She'd thought her heart had already gone cold and hard, but the pain still found a way through, numbing her from the inside out.

Clint lifted his gaze toward the door. The warmth vanished from his face in an instant.

"Millie."

His voice was flat with irritation. "I already told you—that stuff was junk. It's gone."

"Was it really necessary to make a scene at the office?"

Millie pressed her lips together in a bitter, self-mocking line.

All this time, she'd been naive enough to believe those things were shared memories, pieces of a life they'd built together. To Clint, they were nothing more than disposable clutter.

But that wasn't why she'd come.

Her gaze locked onto Lucille's wrist and refused to move.

There it was. Her grandmother's heirloom jade bracelet, sitting quietly against Lucille's skin.

Millie's breathing fractured.

"That's mine. Take it off."

Lucille's eyes darted sideways. "I—I didn't know..."

"Take it off!" Millie's voice cracked through the room like a whip.

When Lucille still didn't move, Millie grabbed her wrist and wrenched the bracelet free.

"Ah!"

Lucille shrieked and threw herself into Clint's arms.

"What the hell are you doing?" Clint's face darkened. He lunged forward to intervene.

Two forces pulled in opposite directions—

Crack.

The sound split the silence of the conference room wide open.

The bracelet slipped from between them and hit the floor hard.

It shattered into pieces, scattering across the polished surface.

Millie froze where she stood.

A piercing ring flooded her ears, drowning out everything else.

"Millie..." Clint's expression seized for a moment. He reached for her, but she flinched away.

Her fingers trembled as she knelt, picking up the fragments one by one.

A jagged edge sliced into the pad of her finger. Blood seeped out, slow and red. She didn't seem to feel it.

Clint's voice was heavy with displeasure and blame.

"Would it have killed you to talk it out like an adult? Did you have to get physical? Now look what happened."

"Talk it out?" Millie lifted her head. Her eyes were shot through with red. "You're protecting a thief this much?"

"I didn't do it on purpose!" Lucille fired back, eyes brimming.

Clint's face hardened. He shot Lucille a suspicious glance.

Lucille panicked immediately, shaking her head over and over, tears falling faster now.

"Mr. Gilbert, I really didn't know this belonged to Miss Sullivan..."

"I thought—I thought it was the gift you said you were going to give me. That's the only reason I wore it!"

Millie pulled out her phone and opened her photo album.

"And what about these?"

She swiped through the pictures one by one.

Slippers stomped to ruin. Frames smashed to pieces. A necklace ripped apart.

Every single item bore the unmistakable marks of deliberate destruction.

The conference room went deathly still.

Clint's jaw tightened. The color in his face shifted through several shades of livid.

Then he reached over and rapped Lucille lightly on the top of her head.

"You."

The word sounded like a scolding, but there wasn't an ounce of real anger behind it.

Lucille ducked her head between her shoulders.

Clint turned back to Millie. When he spoke again, his voice had already reset to something cool and measured.

"Lucy was out of line. I'll give you that."

"She's young. She doesn't know better. I'll apologize on her behalf."

"Whatever's broken, I'll replace it. None of it was that expensive anyway."

"As for the bracelet—" He glanced at the shards in her hands. "I'll reimburse you at market value."

"Can you just be the bigger person here and stop keeping score?"

The executives around the table chimed in one after another.

"Director Sullivan, she's just a kid who doesn't know any better. No need to stoop to her level..."

"We're all colleagues here. There's no reason to let things get this ugly..."

These were the same people who used to smile and call her "Mrs. Gilbert." Now every last one of them had sided with Lucille.

Something inside Millie collapsed, quietly, piece by piece.

She raised her head again. Her voice was calm, but hollowed out with exhaustion.

"Clint, aside from this bracelet, I don't want any of it. And you—I don't want you either."

Those words cost Millie every last drop of strength she had.

The sleepless nights spent grinding herself down. The thousand-mile rush to get back. The weight of everything that had just shattered in front of her. It all crashed into her at once, and her body simply gave out. She crumpled to the floor.

The room erupted into chaos.

In the last flickering moment before consciousness left her, she thought she saw Clint's face, stricken with panic, racing toward her.

When Millie opened her eyes again, she was lying in a hospital bed.

The door swung open.

Lucille walked in.

She carried an elegant gift box, a gentle smile on her lips, though her eyes gleamed with undisguised triumph.

"Miss Sullivan, you're awake." Her tone was light, almost cheerful. "I came by to check on you. Even brought you a little get-well gift."

Millie regarded her coldly. "Get out."

"I'd advise you not to push your luck. Haven't you figured it out yet?" Lucille's voice was soft as silk. "Clint only has eyes for me now. And I intend to keep it that way."

She ripped open the lid of the gift box.

A hiss split the air.

A dark shape shot out of the box.

Millie's pupils contracted. Before she could react, fangs sank into her wrist.

Searing pain exploded through her.

"Ah!"

She flung her hand back, sending the box crashing to the floor. A slender black snake slithered free and vanished beneath the bed.

Blood dripped steadily from her wrist.

But in the very next second, Lucille let out a shriek, stumbling backward and colliding with the edge of the bed. Tears spilled instantly down her cheeks.

"Miss Sullivan! You—why did you lash out at me like that? I only came to apologize..."

Footsteps thundered toward the door.

"Lucy!"

Clint burst in and rushed straight to her side, catching her in his arms.

"Are you all right?"

Lucille collapsed against his chest, weeping like a broken flower in the rain.

"Sir, it hurts so much... I don't know what I did to upset Miss Sullivan. She just threw the box at me out of nowhere. I really was trying to apologize..."

Her body trembled as she spoke.

Meanwhile, Millie clutched her bleeding wrist. Her face had gone chalk-white, and her breathing was already growing erratic.

"It was a snake..." Her voice shook as she reached for the emergency call button. "She put a venomous snake in that box—"

"Enough!" Clint shoved Millie aside, sending her crashing to the floor.

"Do you honestly expect anyone to believe that?"

"Lucy is terrified of insects. You're telling me she went and found a venomous snake to attack you?"

"Millie, if you're going to make accusations, at least put some thought into them. How can you be this vicious?"

Millie burned with the fury of having the truth twisted inside out. She forced herself upright, scrambling toward the fallen gift box. "I'm not lying. If you don't believe me, just look—"

"Stop making a scene!" Clint seized her wrist. The snakebite wound tore open, blood flowing freely. "Lucy lowered herself to come apologize and you wouldn't even accept it. Now you're bullying her on top of that? What is wrong with you?"

The venom was spreading.

Millie's whole body shook with pain.

"Clint..." Her voice was barely a whisper. "Call a doctor..."

Clint frowned, noticing that the pallor of her face didn't look like an act.

But just then, Lucille let out a soft hiss and clutched her own wrist.

"I think... something scratched me just now too. It really hurts..."

Clint didn't hesitate. He scooped Lucille into his arms and strode toward the door.

"Come on. I'm taking you to get checked out."

Millie was still on the floor. She watched his retreating back, that resolute silhouette disappearing through the doorway, and a chill spread from the center of her chest outward.

She never should have expected anything.

In Clint's heart, she had always been the imperfect stand-in. How could she ever compete with a newer, better copy?

In the end, it was a nurse who found her and rushed her into emergency treatment.

By the time Millie woke again, an entire day and night had passed.

Her new supervisor in New York had sent a message saying her desk was all set up and she was welcome to start anytime.

Something dimmed behind Millie's eyes. She typed back: "About five more days. Then I'll be there."

Her new boss replied with a smiley face.

Then a notification popped up from Lucille's Instagram. Millie had followed the account out of curiosity back when she was abroad.

The photo was painfully familiar. She recognized the setting in an instant: Clint's apartment.

Lucille was curled up on the balcony lounge chair like a contented cat, languid and at ease.

Behind her, in the kitchen, Clint had his sleeves rolled to the elbows. He was focused on chopping vegetables, the lines of his profile soft and warm.

Millie stared at the photo on her phone. No surprise. No anger. Only a despair that seeped into her bones.

Since Carrie's death, Clint had never once set foot in that kitchen.

There had been one night when Millie came home late from a business dinner, her stomach churning so badly she thought she might be sick. All she wanted was a bowl of hot porridge. In the end, all Clint did was hand her a glass of warm milk.

A dull, relentless ache bloomed in her chest. She drew a deep breath and forced the tears back.

Don't cry, Millie.

That was what she told herself.

Hadn't she already decided to let go?

She inhaled slowly, then sent the resignation letter she had prepared to HR.