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."

As if afraid I wouldn't believe him, he led me upstairs and opened the guest room door. "See? She's staying here."

I glanced inside and nodded.

That was all.

No anger. No jealousy. No reaction.

For some reason, my indifference seemed to unsettle him more than any outburst could have.

His brows furrowed before he suddenly pulled me into his arms. "Olivia, I missed you," he said roughly. "You refused every visit while you were in prison. I couldn't sleep. Every night I dreamed you hated me. Every night I thought you'd never forgive me."

A bitter smile touched my lips.

Dreams?

Reality had kept me awake for eight years.

I pushed against his chest and stepped back. "I don't want to talk about the past."

Alaric froze before slowly letting go. "Okay," he said quietly. "It's over. Everything is in the past now."

I almost laughed.

Over?

Really?

Before I could ask about my grandfather, the front door opened and Margaret walked in carrying several shopping bags.

The moment she saw Alaric holding my wrist, something ugly flashed across her face before disappearing behind a bright smile.

"Olivia, we should go shopping," Margaret said cheerfully as she linked her arm through mine. "You just got out of the hospital. We need to buy you new clothes."

Alaric suddenly looked embarrassed. "Your old clothes were stored too long," he admitted. "Marga thought they wouldn't fit anymore, so she threw them out."

My eyes slowly lifted.

Margaret watched me carefully, clearly waiting for a reaction. Instead, I simply pulled my arm away and said, "Okay."

The disappointment on her face was almost amusing.

Before leaving, I told them I needed the restroom. Instead, I quietly slipped upstairs. First into Alaric's study, then into Margaret's room. My movements were careful and silent. By the time I came downstairs, a tiny pinhole camera had already been hidden inside each room.

...

The mall was crowded that afternoon.

People moved in every direction, filling the halls with noise and movement.

Alaric stayed beside us until Margaret suddenly pointed toward a drink shop across the hall.

"Alaric, could you buy me that drink?" she asked sweetly.

Without suspicion, he nodded and walked away.

The moment he disappeared from sight, Margaret's smile vanished.

"So you're still alive," she said coldly.

I looked at her calmly.

Margaret laughed. "You're really lucky, Olivia. After everything that happened, you still survived."

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "But that's okay. Today I'll show you exactly who Alaric chooses between us."

I didn't respond.

There was no point.

I already knew the answer.

Nothing had changed.

Margaret suddenly raised her hand and slammed it against the emergency alarm. Instantly, sirens exploded throughout the mall.

People screamed and panic spread everywhere.

"What happened?"

"Run!"

"Move!"

The crowd surged forward in a wave.

Within seconds, Margaret and I were separated.

Bodies shoved between us as chaos erupted throughout the building.

Then I saw Alaric, He was running toward us.

His face was filled with alarm.

"Marga!" he shouted.

Margaret immediately stumbled to the floor and burst into tears. "Alaric, I'm scared. Please don't leave me."

Without hesitation, he ran straight to her.

For a brief second, his eyes swept through the crowd.

Searching but Margaret grabbed his arm tightly.

"Please don't leave me," she cried again. "I'm terrified."

Alaric hesitated for only a moment before bending down and lifting her into his arms.

Then he carried her away.

To safety.

I watched his back disappear into the crowd.

I could have called his name.

I could have told him I was here.

But why?

Margaret wanted me to see who he would choose.

How ridiculous.

There had never been any need for a test.

Alaric had already made that choice years ago.

Someone slammed into me from behind.

Pain exploded through my body as I crashed onto the floor.

A foot landed on my shoulder.

Another stepped on my hand.

Nobody stopped.

Nobody cared.

Everyone was trying to save themselves.

My vision blurred as my fingers twisted painfully beneath someone's shoe. The air felt too thin. My stomach cramped violently. My head, shoulders, chest, everything hurt so badly that I could no longer tell where the pain was coming from.

The world spun around me.

Voices became distant.

Fainter.

And fainter.

Until everything went black.

Then I lost consciousness.

…

When I woke up again, I was back in a hospital room.

The first thing I saw was Alaric standing by the window with a cigarette between his fingers. Smoke drifted through the room as he stared into the darkness outside. For a moment, he looked exhausted.

The smell reached me and my chest immediately tightened.

"Cough... cough..."

I started coughing violently.

Alaric spun around so quickly he nearly knocked over the chair beside him. "Shit," he cursed as he crushed the cigarette out with his bare fingers and hurried over.

The smell still lingered in the air.

For some reason, he looked nervous. Almost guilty.

"Olivia, at the mall I was going to come back for you," he said roughly. "Marga suddenly got a headache, and you know how fragile her health is. I was worried something would happen to her, so I got her out first. After that, I planned to come back and find you."

I looked at him quietly.

Alaric ran a hand through his hair and continued, "By the time I came back, you were already gone."

Silence settled between us.

I turned my gaze away. "I understand."

Alaric frowned. "You understand?"

"Yes," I replied calmly. "I understand."

How could I not?

After all these years, I understood better than anyone. Whenever it came down to Margaret or me, he would always choose Margaret. The explanation wasn't for me. It was for himself.

Alaric stared at me. Something dark flickered across his face, and my calm acceptance seemed to make him even more uncomfortable.

After a long silence, I finally asked, "I want to see Grandpa."

His expression softened slightly. "Your grandfather had some heart problems a few days ago, but don't panic," he said as he crouched beside the bed. "I've already arranged the best cardiologist available. It's not serious, and the doctors are monitoring him closely."

My body stiffened immediately.

Alaric squeezed my hand gently. "Focus on recovering first."

I looked at him and asked, "When can I see him?"

After a brief hesitation, he answered, "As soon as you're strong enough to stand properly, I'll take you there myself."

My ribs still hurt whenever I breathed, but hearing Grandpa wasn't well made my chest tighten.

For the next day, Alaric barely left my side. He stayed in the room, reviewed documents, took calls outside, and brought me meals. For brief moments, it almost felt like the old days.

Almost.

The following evening, his phone rang.

The moment he answered, Margaret's sobbing voice filled the room.

"Alaric, I know you care about Olivia and I know she's your wife, but we loved each other first. Why is she doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this? Is she trying to force me to die?"

My fingers slowly tightened around the blanket.

"Marga, calm down and talk to me," Alaric said immediately, his voice softening. "What happened?"

Before she could answer, the call disconnected.

Alaric's expression changed instantly. Without a second thought, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

I didn't know what had happened.

But something inside me sank.

Nothing good ever came from Margaret crying.

As soon as Alaric left, I picked up my phone and called Violet.

She answered almost immediately. "Olivia?"

"Violet, I need another favor."