Amber and Calvin had been married for three years, but Calvin's heart had never truly belonged to her—it was still irrevocably tied to his childhood sweetheart, Iris. A single phone call from Iris would leave him sleepless and rushing her to the hospital in the dead of night. At her slightest whim, he would compel Amber to eat mango cake, fully aware of her allergy. And if Iris so much as shed a tear, Calvin would abandon everything—including Amber.

It wasn't until the day Amber decided to leave that something shifted. Calvin, driving his sleek Maybach, pursued her all the way to the airport. His eyes, red with desperation, betrayed his fear of losing her. "Amber," he pleaded, voice trembling, "can we not divorce? I'm begging you."

***

After three tumultuous years of being married to Calvin—the crown prince of the elite Newark social circle—Amber had finally made up her mind to let go. But this decision was a fragile secret she couldn't let slip. She knew Calvin well enough to anticipate his reaction. He'd likely destroy the house in a drunken rage and buy three boxes of strawberry-flavored contraceptives, implying that she cheated on him.

The piercing roar of his Maybach's engine shattered the late-night silence, reverberating like thunder through the sprawling mansion. Outside, the dim streetlights flickered erratically, their brief flashes seeping through the curtains, casting fleeting shadows that stretched across the cold, empty bedroom.

Amber stirred, her light sleep fractured. Her sharp ears immediately recognized the deep, guttural growl of the Maybach. Suppressing a sigh, she slid out of bed, her movements purposeful but weighed down with exhaustion. Grabbing the carefully prepared divorce papers from her nightstand, she draped her shoulders with a knitted shawl for warmth. Slipping her feet into soft, well-worn cotton slippers, she padded downstairs.

The sight that greeted her was all too familiar. Calvin had stumbled home drunk yet again. His tailored suit lay crumpled on the marble floor, his silk tie and polished leather shoes discarded like forgotten relics of his pristine public image. The pungent stench of alcohol assaulted her senses, mingled faintly with the bitter tang of cigarette smoke.

Amber's brows furrowed, a deep line etched between them. She hadn't stopped frowning for months now, but tonight her face seemed carved from stone. She tightened her shawl around her shoulders, taking shallow breaths to keep the nausea at bay. Calvin knew she despised alcohol and smoke, but he never cared enough to stop. Time and again, he came home like this—reeking, rambling and inconsiderate—leaving her to clean up both the physical mess and the emotional wreckage he left in his wake.

Through bleary, unfocused eyes, Calvin spotted her standing in the doorway. His lips twisted into a pained smile as he staggered toward her. "Amber... Iris is sick again. What should I do?" he slurred, his voice rough and pleading. He collapsed onto the couch and instinctively buried his head against her abdomen, his warmth seeping through the soft fabric of her nightgown.

It wasn't the first time Calvin had sought comfort in this peculiar way, as though her presence alone could ground him, soothe the chaos in his soul. Yet Amber's hands clenched tightly around the divorce agreement.

She stiffened, her expression cold as stone. Refusing to meet his bloodshot eyes, she stared past him, fixating on the mantel clock ticking steadily. She believed—hoped, even—that avoiding his gaze might numb the ache in her chest.

Iris. Always Iris.

Iris, the fragile, porcelain doll of Calvin's past, his childhood sweetheart who could do no wrong. Her battle with depression made her delicate and untouchable, a woman Calvin felt both bound to and obsessed with. She had known him for a decade longer than Amber had and a tragic car accident from their youth—one where Iris had saved his life—cemented her place as his everything. To everyone in Newark's elite circles, Iris wasn't just Calvin's Achilles' heel; she was his entire heart.

But Iris saw Calvin only as an older brother. She never reciprocated the intense, tangled feelings he harbored for her. Even their marriage—Calvin and Amber's—had to remain a carefully guarded secret, all to spare Iris any distress.

So, Calvin also had someone he loved but couldn't have. Amber didn't know if she was envious, jealous, or hateful. Looking at the drunken man before her, she let out a cold laugh and mercilessly pushed his fuzzy head away. She coaxed him into signing the divorce papers.

Calvin and Amber. Two people tied by marriage, each nursing an unrequited love. She didn't know whether to envy, pity, or hate him. As Calvin leaned against her, drunk and vulnerable, her lips curled into a bitter smile. She pushed his head away with calculated detachment.

"Calvin," she began sweetly, her voice masking the steel beneath, "I need your help. I'm starting a studio and need some startup funds. Can you sign this for me?"

Calvin blinked at her, his drunken stupor clouding his judgment. "What's this?" he mumbled, taking the document from her outstretched hands.

"It's just a business agreement," she lied smoothly. "A formality."

Amber's heart pounded painfully in her chest as she watched him scan the paper with glassy eyes. The divorce agreement was clear, listing her terms: the house in Bayview and $4 million—pocket change for a man like Calvin. The precision of her request wasn't born from greed but from survival, a calculated demand for the freedom she so desperately craved.

Calvin's lips quirked into a lazy grin as he picked up the pen. "Oh, my little money-grubber," he teased, his voice laced with drunken fondness. "Good thing your husband has more money than he knows what to do with."

Without hesitation, he scrawled his name across the dotted line in bold, decisive strokes. Each pen stroke felt like a knife slicing through Amber's resolve, the sound of ink scratching paper echoing in her ears. Her body betrayed her, trembling faintly as relief and fear tangled inside her.

When he was done, Calvin tossed the pen aside and pulled Amber onto his lap, holding her hands captive in his own. "Just try finding someone else," he muttered mockingly, his voice laced with both arrogance and affection. "See where you'll find someone like me to bankroll your whims."

Calvin thought nothing of signing the agreement. To him, it was just another routine document. After scribbling his signature, he teasingly tapped Amber on the nose, a fleeting gesture of affection that meant nothing. He failed to notice the sadness lingering in her eyes, veiled by the cascade of her long, dark hair.

Before marrying Amber, Calvin had flitted through numerous lovers—each one more dazzling than the last. Some were the picture of innocence and sweetness; others oozed seduction and sophistication. In the elite world they inhabited, a powerful, wealthy man like Calvin was expected to maintain a roster of paramours. Fidelity was almost a quaint concept, overshadowed by the spectacle of affluence.

When those relationships inevitably ended, Calvin's solution was always the same: a luxury car or a lavish home, tokens of his indifference disguised as generosity. To him, any problem that could be solved with money wasn't a problem at all.

Amber had been Calvin's wife for three long years, during which she came to understand her place in his world. She wasn't his partner, confidant, or even friend. She was a contract, a role he could fulfill with money and public gestures. Amber had tried to console herself with this reality: "If there's no love, at least there's wealth." But even the sparkle of diamonds couldn't hide the emptiness in her heart.

Divorce. It was the only way out. She had repeated the mantra to herself so often that it began to feel true: "I don't love him anymore. I can't love him anymore." Divorce meant freedom—from waiting up alone at night, from covering her silent tears with the sheets and from living in the shadow of Iris.

Amber's love for Calvin had started years ago, on her first day as a transfer student in high school. He had been tall, aloof and devastatingly handsome, the kind of boy who made teenage hearts race. As the daughter of a wealthy family herself, Amber wasn't accustomed to rejection. But Calvin, with his cold indifference, became her first.

She shamelessly pursued him, letting her pride take a backseat to her feelings. She brought him water at basketball practice, only to see it ignored alongside offerings from other girls. Calvin only drank from the bottles Iris handed him. Amber orchestrated accidental meetings on weekends, carefully planning every detail to seem spontaneous. But Calvin saw through it all, refusing even to acknowledge her presence.

Even his best friend, Jason, had once joked about her misfortune: "Amber, you really picked the wrong guy to like."

Now, three years into their marriage, Calvin still celebrated their anniversary with mango cakes. Beautifully decorated and undoubtedly expensive, the cakes were Iris's favorite. Calvin never cared—or perhaps never bothered to remember—that Amber was allergic to mangoes. She ate them anyway, forcing a smile through every bite, unwilling to spoil his mood. The following day, she'd end up at the hospital, her body covered in rashes, all because of him.

That night, as the moonlight faded behind the rain-heavy clouds, Amber lay sleepless once more. The air was thick with the smell of alcohol as Calvin snored softly beside her, his presence a cruel reminder of their reality.

With painstaking effort, she managed to drag his limp body to their bedroom. Suppressing her revulsion, she unbuttoned his shirt, wiped the sweat and liquor from his skin and pulled the covers over him. Then she quietly retreated to her side of the bed, careful not to disturb him further.

Her relief was short-lived. Less than half an hour later, the shrill ring of Calvin's phone sliced through the silence.

Amber flinched, her heart sinking when she saw the caller ID flash on the screen: [Iris.]

Before she could react, Calvin stirred, his hand darting out to snatch the phone. "Shh," he whispered sharply, pressing a finger to his lips as if Amber were a noisy intruder.

"Iris?" His voice was soft, tender in a way Amber had never heard before.

On the other end of the line, Iris's voice was equally delicate, tinged with tears and desperation. "Calvin, I have a fever again. Can you come to the hospital? I'm scared. I don't want to be alone."

Amber's chest tightened as she listened to the exchange, but Calvin didn't so much as glance at her.

"Don't worry, Iris," he said, his voice brimming with concern. "I'm on my way."

Throwing off the blanket, he bolted upright, fumbling to button his shirt and grab his jacket. Turning to Amber, he barked an order: "Get up. You're driving me to the hospital. I've been drinking."

Amber wanted to refuse, to let him feel the weight of his choices, but years of habit kept her silent. She grabbed the car keys and an umbrella before stepping into the storm.

The rain poured in sheets, soaking the ground and turning the air icy. Their mansion, perched in a remote, exclusive area, was surrounded by winding mountain roads. Amber gripped the steering wheel tightly, her knuckles white, as Calvin sat beside her, restless and anxious.

"Hurry up," he snapped, his eyes glued to his phone as if willing updates from Iris to appear. "Can't you go faster?"

Amber bit her lip, refusing to respond. She could barely see through the windshield, the wipers struggling to keep up with the relentless downpour. At one treacherous turn, the tires skidded and the Maybach spun dangerously close to the edge of the road.

Amber's heart leaped into her throat as she slammed on the brakes, fighting to regain control of the car. For a moment, time seemed to freeze—the only sounds were the rain hammering the roof and the squeal of the brakes.

Once the car steadied, Calvin erupted in frustration. "What the hell are you doing?" he shouted, his face a mixture of anger and panic. "Are you trying to kill us? Can't you even drive properly?"

"You can't even handle something as simple as driving? What else are you good for besides spending money?" Calvin's words cut through the tense silence like a blade. His tone dripped with disdain, stopping just short of outright calling Amber a useless burden.

Amber's knuckles whitened as she gripped the steering wheel, her trembling hands betraying her fragile composure. Her heart pounded erratically, still caught in the terror of the near accident. The sound of rain hammering the car mingled with the echoes of Calvin's harsh criticism, creating a chaotic storm both outside and within her.

She fought back tears that threatened to spill, unwilling to let her emotions cloud her already shaken focus. The road stretched ahead, dark and treacherous, illuminated only by the thin beams of the headlights struggling against the relentless downpour.

When Amber remained silent, Calvin's interest in berating her waned. He turned his attention to his phone, scrolling idly as if she weren't even there. Amber clenched her jaw, the taste of humiliation sharp on her tongue. Here she was, risking her safety in the middle of a storm—all for a phone call from Iris.

The hospital loomed in the distance, its cold fluorescent lights piercing through the rain. As soon as the car stopped, Calvin bolted out, leaving Amber to trail behind with dripping hair and soaked shoes.

The moment Calvin entered the private room, Iris's eyes lit up like stars breaking through a cloudy sky. Her smile bloomed, radiant and sweet, but the second she caught sight of Amber behind him, her expression faltered, her lips curving downward.

Wrapped in a thick quilt, Iris looked like the perfect picture of vulnerability—her pale complexion and doe-like eyes seemingly begging for comfort. She cast a hesitant glance at Amber, her voice soft and fragile. "Calvin, who is she?"

"A driver," Calvin replied dismissively, not even bothering to turn around.

Amber froze, the word slicing through her like ice. A driver. That's all she was to him now. She swallowed hard, forcing herself to accept it. "Fine," she thought bitterly. "A driver it is. It doesn't matter anymore. After today, we're done. We'll be strangers. Less than strangers." She repeated the thought like a mantra, as if it could dull the ache in her chest.

But Iris wasn't so easily satisfied. She continued to scrutinize Amber, her gaze sharp despite the frail demeanor. She refused to close her eyes, even as Calvin adjusted her blanket and spoke to her in soothing tones.

Amber shifted uncomfortably. Her presence was clearly unwanted.

"Alright, you can leave now," Calvin said over his shoulder, waving her off like an afterthought. "This has nothing to do with you."

The dismissal stung more than Amber wanted to admit. In that moment, she felt less like a person and more like an obedient dog—summoned at his convenience, discarded just as easily.

Her mind drifted back to their high school days. This wasn't her first encounter with Iris.

It had been during their first year, back when Amber's love for Calvin burned bright and naive. One afternoon, between classes, she had been leaning against the third-floor corridor railing, her gaze fixed on the basketball court below. She had watched Calvin countless times from this spot, hoping he'd glance her way or at least notice her.

But that day, he wasn't on the court. Amber scanned the grounds, wondering where he might be. Suddenly, Calvin appeared, jogging toward her from the direction of the snack shop, his hair damp with sweat and his steps hurried.

He stopped in front of her, catching his breath. "Hey," he said, startling her.

Amber's heart skipped a beat. Calvin was talking to her.

"Can you do me a favor?" he asked, holding out a black plastic bag.

Amber hesitated only for a moment before nodding eagerly. "Sure, anything."

"Great. Can you deliver this to the third stall on the left in the girls' restroom? It's for a girl named Iris. She needs it urgently."

The words hit her like a blow. The excitement she had felt seconds ago evaporated, replaced by a hollow ache. But Amber swallowed her feelings and took the bag.

"Thanks," Calvin said, flashing a brief smile before running off.

Amber had done as he asked, rushing to the restroom to deliver the bag to Iris, who looked up at her with teary gratitude. Even then, Iris had the same effect on people—a delicate vulnerability that made you want to protect her.

Years later, here Amber was again, running errands for Iris, this time in a storm.

By the time Amber made it home, the first rays of dawn were beginning to creep over the horizon. She was soaked to the bone, her body heavy with exhaustion. All she wanted was to climb into bed and sleep, but her stomach growled loudly, reminding her she hadn't eaten.

In the kitchen, she prepared a simple bowl of noodles, the steam rising to warm her cold, damp face. She sat at the counter, staring blankly at her phone.

The screen lit up repeatedly, but it was never a message from Calvin. No updates, no thanks, no acknowledgment of her existence.

The housekeeper, Florence, came downstairs to start her day and stopped in her tracks when she saw Amber. The sight was jarring: Amber, pale and gaunt, picking listlessly at her noodles.

Florence hesitated, then softly asked, "Mrs. Sawyer, are you alright?"

Amber looked up, offering a weak smile. "I'm fine. Just couldn't sleep."