Instantly, his expression softened.

Margaret stopped in front of me carrying two glasses.

"I know I've made mistakes to Olivia," she said, her voice trembling. "I really do." She raised one glass and emptied it in a single gulp before placing the second in front of me. "I never wanted things to turn out like this."

A tear slid down her cheek.

"I just wanted everyone to get along." She bit her lip. "I've been carrying guilt for eight years. Please..." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Can you forgive me?"

The entire room watched, waiting, and watching me as if I were the villain.

As if I were the cruel one.

As if I was supposed to comfort the woman whose lies had destroyed my life.

Slowly, I lowered my gaze to the glass.

Before I could say anything, several people nearby immediately spoke up.

"What is her problem? Marga already apologized so sincerely. She's practically begging for forgiveness. What more does Olivia want?"

Another person scoffed. "We didn't come here tonight to watch Marga get bullied."

"Exactly. Marga stayed by Alaric's side for three whole years and didn't even care about her own reputation. And this is the thanks she gets?"

Their voices grew louder with every sentence, painting me as the unreasonable one, the villain who refused to appreciate Margaret's generosity. I lowered my eyes and remained silent.

Across from me, Margaret bit her lip and looked on the verge of tears. Alaric glanced at her before turning to me, his jaw tightening.

Finally, he reached over and took the wine glass from Margaret's hand. Without a word, he held it in front of me.

"Olivia," he said in a low voice, calm but unmistakably dangerous, "be good. Don't make this into a bigger scene than it already is."

I almost laughed.

A scene?

Who exactly was making a scene here?

Me, or the woman who destroyed my life and was now performing innocence in front of an audience?

When I still didn't take the glass, Alaric leaned closer. His breath brushed against my ear.

"You haven't seen your grandfather in years."

My body froze instantly.

Alaric noticed.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his eyes.

"Drink it," he said, softening his tone slightly. "Be good for me, Liv."

Then came the threat hidden beneath the gentleness.

"Drink this glass, and I'll personally take you to see your grandfather afterward."

My throat tightened.

Grandfather was the only family I had left.

The only person who still mattered.

For a moment, I stared at the wine as the dark liquid swayed inside the glass. A metallic taste suddenly rose into my throat, but I didn't hesitate any longer. I took the glass from Alaric's hand and drank every drop.

The atmosphere immediately relaxed.

Conversations resumed.

People laughed again.

Everyone looked pleased, as though I'd finally learned my lesson and become obedient enough to satisfy them.

At that moment, Alaric peeled a shrimp for Margaret and placed it onto her plate. Margaret smiled sweetly, then suddenly picked up the plate and walked over to me.

Without a word, she held a shrimp in front of my face.

"Olivia," she said warmly, "since we're friends now, have a bite. This is imported shrimp. It costs over a thousand dollars."

I stared at the shrimp.

For a moment, I genuinely thought I was hallucinating.

Alaric knew.

He knew I was allergic to seafood.

Years ago, when we were still dating, I'd nearly died after accidentally eating shrimp at a company banquet. He'd stayed beside my hospital bed for three straight days without sleeping. He knew every ingredient I couldn't eat. He used to remove seafood from dishes before they ever reached me.

Yet now he sat there watching Margaret offer me shrimp.

I almost laughed.

Had he forgotten? Or did he simply not care anymore?

When I didn't move, Alaric's expression darkened. "If you don't eat it, I'll shove it into your mouth myself," he said coldly.

The room immediately fell silent.

Margaret stepped forward and said softly, "Alaric, don't be angry. Olivia, I just want us to be friends again. That's all I've ever wanted."

Before I could react, she pushed the shrimp closer.

My entire body froze as a memory surfaced without warning. In prison, several inmates had laughed while one of them mixed crab meat into my food despite knowing I was allergic. I remembered the suffocating pain that followed, the ambulance ride, the six days I spent confined to a hospital bed, and the internal bleeding so severe that doctors had nearly rushed me into emergency surgery.

Alaric knew all of that.

He had received the medical reports.

He knew exactly what seafood could do to me.

Yet neither he nor Margaret stopped.

The shrimp touched my lips. Instinctively, I tried to turn away.

"Try spitting it out," Alaric said quietly while looking directly into my eyes. "If you do, your grandfather will spend the rest of the year alone. Don't test my patience, Olivia."

My body went rigid.

Margaret smiled sadly as though she were the victim. "Olivia, please. I'm trying so hard to make things right between us."

I looked at the shrimp, then at Alaric, then at Margaret. Slowly, I opened my mouth.

Margaret immediately pushed the shrimp inside.

The room visibly relaxed. Several guests even smiled as though they had just witnessed a touching reconciliation instead of humiliation.

I chewed, swallowed, and sat there in silence.

"There," Margaret said happily. "See? Now we're friends again. I knew you'd forgive me eventually."

Laughter rippled through the room.

Margaret continued placing shrimp onto my plate while Alaric peeled more for her. He never stopped her. In fact, he calmly peeled one shrimp after another and placed them in front of me.

"Eat," Alaric ordered. "Marga prepared this dinner for you. Don't waste her effort."

So I ate.

One shrimp after another disappeared from my plate. Each bite felt like swallowing shards of glass. Nobody noticed. Or maybe nobody cared.

Especially not Alaric.

His attention remained fixed on Margaret.

"Eat more," he told her gently while placing another peeled shrimp onto her plate. "You barely touched your food all day. You'll get sick if you keep neglecting yourself."

Margaret smiled shyly. "Thank you, Alaric. You're always taking care of me."

The tenderness in his voice used to belong to me.

Now it belonged to someone else.

My stomach began twisting violently. The pain was familiar, sharp, burning, and dangerous. Sweat dampened my back while the room slowly started spinning around me.

Across the table, Margaret was still smiling.

"Olivia, let's eat together," she said while lifting another shrimp toward me. "After tonight, we'll put everything behind us."

I looked at the food and felt my stomach lurch. Something surged up my throat. My breathing stopped and a sharp pain exploded through my chest.

I coughed!

Blood burst from my mouth.

Bright red blood splattered across the tablecloth.

The entire room froze.

Someone screamed. Chairs scraped violently across the floor. And Margaret's face turned white.

Alaric reacted instantly. Without hesitation, he stepped in front of Margaret, and the blood splashed across his white shirt.

His first instinct had always been to protect her.

Not me.

Never me.

That was my final thought before darkness swallowed everything.

My body collapsed backward, and the last thing I heard was someone shouting my name.

"Olivia!"

When I opened my eyes again, everything around me was white.

White walls. White ceiling. The sharp smell of disinfectant.

My head throbbed, and my stomach felt as though it had been carved open from the inside.

Beside the bed, Alaric sat silently.

The moment he noticed I was awake, whatever concern had been on his face vanished.

"You really went all out tonight," he said coldly. "If you didn't want to eat the shrimp, you could've just said so."

I stared at him.

Alaric crossed his arms and let out a bitter laugh. "But coughing up blood? That's a new one. I didn't realize you'd become this desperate for attention."

My heart sank.

"You think I faked it?" I asked.

My own voice sounded rough, broken, almost unfamiliar.

For some reason, the question made him frown.

His gaze lingered on me.

Because this wasn't the Olivia he remembered.

The old Olivia smiled.

The old Olivia spoke softly.

The old Olivia looked at him as if he hung the moon.

That woman no longer existed.

His eyes slowly drifted downward. The hospital gown hung loosely on my frame. My wrists were frighteningly thin and my cheeks were hollow.

Prison had taken almost everything from me.

I watched realization slowly settle across his face.

Earlier, when he'd carried me into the ambulance, he must have noticed it too.

I was too light.

Like there was barely anything left of me.

He sighed and sat back down beside my hospital bed. His large hand reached for mine, his palm warm against my ice-cold skin as he gently covered the back of my hand, almost as if he was trying to warm me up.

"Olivia, I know you're angry," he said softly. "But I've already completed three of the six promises I made to Marga. There are only three left, and once I finish them, everything will finally be over."

I stared at the ceiling without speaking.

For the first time that day, there was genuine anticipation in his voice.

"I'll finally be able to put the past behind me," he continued. "Then it'll just be us. No more complications, no more obligations, no more people standing between us."

His expression softened as he leaned closer.

"You always wanted to leave New York, remember? You used to tell me you wanted a quiet life surrounded by flowers. I'll buy an estate overseas, a huge one, and I'll fill every corner with flowers if that's what you want. You won't have to worry about anything ever again because I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

The future he described sounded beautiful.

Peaceful.

Like a dream.

The problem was that I didn't care anymore.

The woman who would've cried from happiness hearing those promises had died eight years ago.

After a long silence, I finally asked, "Where's Grandpa?"

Alaric froze.

The smile disappeared from his face.

For a brief moment, he looked caught off guard.

Before he could answer, the ward door suddenly burst open.

"Alaric, Marga's sick again," a bodyguard said anxiously. "She suddenly started feeling unwell and keeps asking for you."

Everything about Alaric changed instantly.

The concern in his eyes.

The tension in his posture.

The urgency in his voice.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"We're not sure yet. She said she feels dizzy and her stomach hurts."

Before the bodyguard even finished speaking, Alaric was already standing.

The hand covering mine disappeared.

So did its warmth.

"I'll go check on her," he said.

That was all.

No answer to my question.

No reassurance.

Not even a glance back.

He simply walked out of the room.

The door closed behind him.

I stared at the empty doorway and let out a cold laugh.

Of course.

What exactly had I been expecting?

A few minutes later, the ward door opened again.

This time, it was a nurse.

She looked around nervously before hurrying toward my bed.

"Miss Olivia, did you offend someone powerful?" she asked quietly. "You were seriously injured, but someone ordered us to give your husband a fake medical report."

My fingers tightened around the blanket.

"A fake report?"

She nodded and handed me a folder.

"The report shown to your husband only mentioned a minor allergic reaction. This one is your real diagnosis."

I lowered my eyes to the pages.

At first, the words blurred together.

Then they became clear.

Severe stomach damage.

Foreign objects found in the stomach.

Immediate surgery recommended.

My hand trembled.

"There are multiple foreign objects inside your stomach," the nurse explained. "Small stones, metal fragments, and signs of long-term internal damage. They need to be removed immediately."

The room fell silent.

After a while, I asked, "How bad is my throat?"

The nurse's expression darkened.

"The old injuries never healed properly," she admitted. "Whoever did that to you caused permanent damage."

I closed my eyes.

Immediately, the memories returned.

My first month in prison.

Several inmates cornering me in the cafeteria.

Forcing my mouth open while laughing.

Shoving food mixed with stones and metal fragments down my throat.

I remembered choking.

Vomiting blood.

Begging them to stop but nobody came and nobody helped.

That day, I truly thought I was going to die.

The nurse left shortly afterward, leaving me alone with the report.

As I stared blankly at the pages, another memory surfaced.

Years ago, before everything fell apart, a thief had stolen my bag. During the struggle, my leg was slashed by a knife. The wound wasn't even serious, yet when Alaric saw it, he looked as though his entire world had collapsed.

"Fuck, I should've protected you better," he'd said while carrying me home. "Does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts, Olivia. I'll call every doctor in the city if I have to."

After that, he personally picked me up from work every day. Even if it meant driving fifty minutes out of his way.

Even during storms and winter... He never complained.

Not once.

Back then, I truly believed he loved me.

Now, looking at the report in my hands, I could only laugh at myself.

I was the idiot.

The biggest idiot in the world. How could I have believed a man when he promised to love me forever?

The surgery had to be performed immediately.

But I didn't have the money.

Every dollar I'd earned before prison was still under Alaric's control.

So I called him.

The moment he answered, I got straight to the point.

"I need surgery," I said. "The doctors found foreign objects inside my stomach, and they need to operate immediately."

Alaric laughed. "Olivia, are you seriously still doing this?" he asked. "I'm already dealing with enough problems right now. Can't you stop making trouble for one damn day?"

I gripped the phone tighter.

"I'm serious, Alaric. The doctor said there are stones and metal fragments inside my stomach."

"Stop," he snapped immediately. "The medical report is already sitting on my desk. You had an allergic reaction, that's all. Now you're telling me you suddenly need surgery? What's next? Are you going to tell me you're dying too?"

My chest tightened painfully.

Then another voice drifted through the phone.

Margaret.

"Alaric, my stomach hurts."

Everything about him changed instantly.

"Marga, did you eat something you shouldn't have?" he asked gently. "I told you not to touch spicy food while you're on your period. Be good and listen to me. I'll get you something else to eat."

A few moments later, the call disconnected.

I sat there staring at my phone for a very long time.

I'd already given up on him. I knew that. I truly did. So why did it still hurt?

Why did it feel as though someone had wrapped a rope around my heart and kept pulling tighter and tighter?

I wanted to cry but I couldn't. My tears had dried up years ago.

So I laughed instead.

I laughed until my stomach hurt. Laughed until I couldn't breathe. Laughed until there was no sound left.

In the end, the person who paid for my surgery wasn't my husband. It was my childhood best friend. Violet Jones.

She sat beside my hospital bed and stared at me for a long time. Her eyes were red, just like always. Out of everyone in my life, she was the only one who had visited me consistently during those eight years. The only one who cried for me. The only one who never abandoned me.

She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a long drag, and pointed at me. "Tell me something, Olivia. How the hell are you still alive after everything that bastard did to you? eight years, Olivia. Eight damn years, and he let everyone treat you like garbage while he protected that woman."

I looked at her quietly.

Violet let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "No, seriously. That man destroyed your life, yet you're still letting him stay in your world. If I were you, I would've slapped both of them already."

After a brief pause, her eyes flashed with fury. "Actually, forget slapping them. I would've killed them."

That made me laugh.

It wasn't a happy laugh.

It was small.

Broken.

"You think I still love him?" I asked softly. "After everything that's happened, do you really think that's what this is?"

Violet nearly choked on her cigarette. "What else am I supposed to think? Most people would've lost their minds by now, but you're still sitting here acting calm."

I lowered my gaze to the blanket covering my legs. Kill them?

No.

Death was too easy.

Alaric had destroyed my life. He had put me on a stage and let the entire world throw stones at me. He had turned me into a criminal, a joke, a monster.

Meanwhile, he remained everyone's respected a don.

Margaret had done even better.

She had become a famous actress, the rising star of the entertainment world. People praised her talent, admired her success, and respected everything she stood for.

Nobody knew they had climbed to the top using my flesh and blood as the staircase beneath their feet.

One day, I would drag both of them down from that pedestal and make them experience everything they'd done to me.

I looked at Violet and asked calmly, "Do you know anyone at the City Clerk's Office or Vital Records department? Someone reliable."

She blinked in confusion. "Yeah, I know a few people. Why are you asking?"

I turned toward the window. The sunlight looked distant, cold, like something that belonged to another world.

"Can you do me one more favor?" I asked quietly. "In one month, erase everything connected to Olivia."

The room fell silent.

Violet's eyes widened.

For a long moment, she simply stared at me.

Then she understood.

Pain flashed across her face, but she didn't try to stop me.

"I'll handle it," she said quietly. "You don't have to explain anything. Just leave it to me."

...

A few days later, Alaric learned the truth.

He found out I had actually undergone surgery.

Found out there had been foreign objects inside my stomach.

Found out I hadn't lied.

The moment he heard it, he rushed to the hospital.

For the first time in years, I saw genuine panic on his face.

He brought in specialists. Demanded additional examinations. And reviewed every report personally.

From that day forward, he practically lived inside my hospital room.

Until the final test results arrived.

Benign and non cancerous.

Not life-threatening.

The moment he heard the diagnosis, his entire body relaxed. Then suddenly he wrapped his arms around me.

Tightly.

Almost desperately.

I could actually feel him trembling.

It was so ridiculous that I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

"What's wrong?" I asked hoarsely. "I thought you didn't believe I needed surgery. Why are you so scared now?"

Alaric's body stiffened.

"Olivia, that's not what happened," he said quietly. "I found out the truth about the report. I found the person responsible, and I already dealt with her."

I remained silent.

Alaric took both of my hands and pressed them against his lips. "The report was forged by one of Marga's friends. She blamed you for everything Marga went through and thought she was helping. I made sure she paid for what she did."

"Really?" I asked softly. "What exactly did you do to her?"

Silence stretched between us.

For the first time, Alaric looked uncomfortable.

Finally, he lowered his gaze and answered, "She paid three times your hospital expenses. She covered your nursing fees, your recovery costs, and I warned her family. They know what she did."

I stared at him.

That was it.

That was his punishment? We both knew that wasn't justice.

Not compared to what had happened to me.

After a long silence, he finally admitted the truth.

"She's Marga's best friend," he said heavily. "If I punish her too harshly, Marga won't be able to handle it. She's already struggling enough."

Marga.

Again.

Always Marga! Everything was about Marga!

What about mine? Did my pain count for nothing?

I wanted to scream. I wanted to smash everything in the room.

I wanted to ask him why Margaret always mattered more.

Why I was always the one being sacrificed.

But my damaged throat wouldn't let the words come out.

Instead, I dug my fingernails into my palms until it hurt.

Alaric looked like he wanted to explain himself.

Wanted to justify everything.

But even he couldn't find the words.

Then suddenly his eyes brightened, as though he'd remembered something important.

"Olivia, trust me," he said urgently while leaning closer. "There are only three wishes left. Just two. Once I finish them, everything will be over and we'll finally be okay again."

His eyes searched mine desperately.

"After that, it'll just be us. I'll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I promise you won't regret staying."

I closed my eyes.

I didn't want to hear another word.

"Alaric, I'm tired," I said quietly. "I want to rest. Please leave."

The room fell silent.

Neither of us spoke again.

Eventually, I heard the door close softly behind him.

And I was alone.

…

The day I was discharged from the hospital, Alaric drove me home himself. I sat quietly in the passenger seat and watched the city pass by outside the window. Neither of us spoke much during the drive.

When the car finally stopped, I stepped out and looked at the house before me.

It had been eight years since I'd last stood here. Everything looked familiar, yet none of it felt like mine anymore. My gaze drifted toward the courtyard where I used to grow tomatoes, peppers, strawberries, and fruit trees. I had spent countless afternoons caring for them, but now every trace of them was gone. In their place stood rows of bright red roses.

Beautiful. Expensive. Completely useless.

Inside the entryway, I instinctively searched for my old blue slippers. The pair I'd worn for years had disappeared, replaced by a delicate pink pair that perfectly matched Margaret's taste. I stopped walking.

Alaric noticed immediately. Without a word, he kicked the pink slippers aside, opened the shoe cabinet, and pulled out another pair. "Here," he said awkwardly. "I threw your old slippers away because they were worn out. I just haven't had time to buy new ones yet."

I lowered my eyes without responding. Old slippers, old flowers, old memories. Some things were surprisingly easy to replace.

The silence seemed to make him uncomfortable. Before he could explain further, my attention shifted toward the living room. Women's clothes were scattered across the sofa. A designer handbag sat on the coffee table beside lipstick, perfume, and hair accessories. The signs of another woman living here were impossible to miss.

Alaric followed my gaze and immediately explained, "Marga had another episode a few days ago, so one of her friends brought her here. Don't worry, she's staying in the guest room."