"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."

"Anything."

"Please find out which hospital my grandfather is staying in."

There was a brief pause before she answered, "I'll handle it."

It was already late at night when Alaric returned.

A thunderstorm raged outside, and rain hammered against the windows. The ward door slammed open so hard it hit the wall.

I opened my eyes.

Alaric stood there breathing heavily. His clothes were soaked, and water dripped from his coat and hair.

At first, I thought it was rain.

Then I looked closer.

The liquid running down his sleeve wasn't clear.

It was red.

Blood.

Before I could say anything, he strode toward me.

His face was dark and furious.

"Olivia, why the fuck did you do it?" he demanded.

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Alaric let out a cold laugh. "You really want to ask me that?"

I stared at him in confusion. "What happened?"

Without warning, he pulled out his phone and threw it onto the bed. The corner slammed painfully against my hand.

I flinched and looked down.

Photos filled the screen.

Photos of Margaret from years ago.

The night she'd been carried out of a hotel.

The headline above them read:

Famous Female Lawyer Assaulted After Drinking!

Thousands of comments flooded the page. People called her a mistress, a homewrecker, a slut, and a disgrace.

Slowly, I looked back up.

Alaric's face was terrifying.

"I found the reporter," he said coldly. "I tracked down everyone involved, and you know what he told me? He said a woman surnamed Muffin contacted him. She didn't want money or fame. She only wanted one thing." He stepped closer. "She wanted to destroy Marga."

The room suddenly felt suffocating.

Alaric stared directly into my eyes. "The evidence is overwhelming. Tell me, what else am I supposed to think?"

I immediately shook my head. "It wasn't me."

"Olivia..."

"It wasn't me," I repeated, forcing the words through my aching throat. "I swear it wasn't me."

For a brief moment, doubt crossed his face.

Then it disappeared.

His jaw tightened.

The next second, his hand swung across my face.

Smack!

My head snapped to the side as pain exploded across my cheek.

The slap left my ears ringing. My face burned, but somehow that wasn't what hurt the most.

Alaric stood over me, his eyes cold with anger, looking at me as if I were the criminal, as if I were the one who had ruined someone's life.

"Olivia, how the fuck did you become this vicious?" he demanded, his voice low enough to make an entire boardroom fall silent.

Slowly, I turned my head back toward him. Blood lingered at the corner of my mouth where I'd bitten myself.

"I didn't do it," I said hoarsely.

But Alaric wasn't listening anymore.

His fists tightened as he said, "Marga slit her wrists because of this. She almost died, Olivia. She cried while people tore her apart online, and you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with it?"

Every word sounded like an accusation.

"This isn't over," he continued. "You don't get to hurt her and walk away."

Then he turned and left without another glance, without asking whether I was telling the truth, without caring enough to hear my side.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The room fell silent.

I stared at the empty doorway for a long time before a quiet laugh escaped me. It sounded more like a sob than laughter.

In my mind, I heard the vows we had exchanged on our wedding day.

What a joke.

"Alaric," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "what exactly did you ever manage to keep?"

A few hours later, I finally understood what he meant when he said this wasn't over.

Margaret's scandal disappeared overnight. Every article, every photo, every trending topic vanished as though none of it had ever existed. The internet moved on from her.

It didn't move on from me.

Instead, a new scandal exploded online.

Mine.

Or rather, the version they wanted people to believe.

AI-generated photos flooded every platform. Fake images showed me tied to a bed. Others showed my dead brother standing over me. More fake pictures appeared with strangers, old men, young men, anyone they could use to paint me as something disgusting.

None of it was real.

None of it mattered.

People believed it anyway.

My name, my face, my entire life were thrown onto the internet like bait.

The comments multiplied every second.

"Disgusting."

"No wonder she's crazy."

"Like brother, like sister."

"Maybe she enjoyed it."

"She's jealous because Marga is prettier."

"She's trying to destroy another woman because her husband doesn't love her."

My hands started shaking as I gripped the phone harder and harder.

No. No. No!

They're fake. Every single one is fake. My brother never touched me, never.

The lies that destroyed me years ago had returned, only this time they were even worse. My chest tightened, the room began spinning, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. The courtroom flashed through my mind, followed by the whispers, the stares, the prison cell, the humiliation, and the hatred. It felt as though invisible hands were wrapping around my throat and squeezing harder with every second.

Somewhere in the distance, voices shouted.

"Olivia, look at me! Take a breath and stay with us!" someone yelled urgently.

"Call a doctor, now!" another voice shouted.

My vision blurred as everything dissolved into noise. Then something covered my mouth and nose. A breathing mask.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three.

Gradually, the darkness retreated. Shapes returned. Colors returned. Eventually, so did Alaric.

His face appeared above me, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw genuine worry in his eyes. Then his phone rang.

Margaret.

Of course.

Always Margaret.

He answered immediately. "Marga, what's wrong? Talk to me."

I couldn't hear what she said, but I watched him leave anyway.

Before disappearing through the door, he said gently, "The posts are gone now. Don't worry, I won't let this happen again."

Then he left.

Again.

And I was alone.

Again.

...

Over the following days, Alaric rarely came to see me. The internet, however, made sure I knew exactly where he was.

Photos appeared online every day.

Margaret and Alaric walking along the beach.

Watching the sunset together.

Sitting side by side on a mountain overlook.

Laughing.

Smiling.

Looking like the perfect couple.

The comments adored them. Nobody cared that Margaret had knowingly pursued a married man. Nobody cared that I was still his wife. Instead, people called them soulmates, true love, and a romance destined to happen.

Stories spread across social media.

Some claimed Alaric once bought gifts for an entire class just so he could secretly give one to Margaret without attracting attention.

Others said Margaret casually mentioned wanting a cake from another city, and Alaric immediately boarded a flight to bring it back to her that same night.

The stories became more ridiculous every day.

People loved them anyway.

Some even begged Alaric to divorce me and marry Margaret.

Margaret made sure I saw every post, every screenshot, and every article. She sent them to me personally, one after another, hoping to provoke me and make me lose control.

I ignored all of it.

I'd already made my decision.

I didn't want this man anymore.

Not now.

Not ever again.

That night, I opened the app connected to the hidden cameras. At first, I only wanted to make sure they were working.

Then the video loaded.

And I froze.

Margaret stood in her bedroom completely naked, tears filling her eyes. Across from her stood Alaric, his face tense and conflicted.

"Alaric, this is my fourth wish. You promised me six wishes, and this is all I'm asking for," Margaret said as she stepped closer and grabbed his hand.

His frown deepened. "Marga, don't do this. You know this isn't right."

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she shook her head. "Please. Just this once. Don't refuse me."

Alaric's jaw tightened.

He closed his eyes.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

He should have pulled away... He should have walked out. He should have refused but Instead, he hesitated.

And he stayed.

That was enough.

A slow smile appeared on my face, not because it hurt and not because I was angry, but because it confirmed everything I already knew.

I copied the video.

Saved it.

Then turned off my phone.