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.

Violet worked fast. Within two days, she found the hospital where Grandpa was staying and gave me another contact number, the person who would help erase every trace of Olivia from the world. Everything was ready. Almost everything. There was only one thing left for me to do.

See Grandpa before it was too late.

The morning I left, I dressed carefully and even put on a little makeup to hide how exhausted I looked. On the way, I bought a bouquet of flowers. For the first time in years, I felt nervous.

When I was sentenced, I had begged Alaric for only one thing. Don't tell Grandpa.

He was the man who raised me, taught me how to ride a bicycle, walked me to school, and always saved the biggest piece of meat for me at dinner. He knew nothing about the rumors, nothing about the lies, nothing about what people said my brother had done to me.

Because none of it was true.

My brother had never touched me.

He was dead and couldn't defend himself, yet people still dragged his name through the mud. Grandpa was old, his heart was weak, and I couldn't bear the thought of him hearing those accusations.

Standing outside his hospital room, I tightened my grip on the flowers and slowly smiled. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe I would finally see him.

My fingers touched the doorknob.

Then something shattered inside the room.

A sharp voice followed.

Margaret laughed. "Look carefully, old man. See these pictures? Your precious granddaughter tied to a bed. I've got dozens more if you want to see them."

My blood turned cold.

Margaret continued mercilessly. "Do you know what your granddaughter's dead brother used to do to her? He molested her for years. He raped her. He ruined her."

Every word was a lie.

Margaret laughed again. "But that's not even the best part. You were the one who sent Olivia to live with him, so what does that make you? An accomplice? A failure? Maybe you deserve this too."

My breathing stopped.

Margaret stepped closer to the bed. "Your granddaughter is disgusting. Everyone online knows it. They know what kind of woman she is and what kind of family she comes from. Tell me, old man, why is someone like her still alive?"

I kicked the door open so hard it slammed against the wall.

"GRANDPA!"

My damaged voice cracked through the room.

Margaret spun around. The smile vanished from her face, replaced by something that looked almost like disappointment.

My bouquet slipped from my hands.

I looked straight at Grandpa.

His face had turned blue. His hands trembled violently. Tears streamed down his wrinkled cheeks while one hand clawed at his chest. The moment his cloudy eyes found me, more tears spilled out.

Grandpa's lips trembled. "O... Olivia..."

I ran to his side. "Grandpa, I'm here. It's okay. I'm here."

His shaking hand reached toward me.

"Oli..."

The monitor beside him suddenly erupted.

BEEEEEEP!

Doctors rushed forward. Nurses shouted. The room descended into chaos.

Then Margaret screamed.

"My foot! It hurts!"

I turned and saw blood spreading beneath her shoe. She had stepped onto the broken porcelain she had thrown earlier.

The door burst open.

Alaric rushed inside. "Marga, what happened?"

The second he saw her crying, his attention locked onto her.

Margaret grabbed his shirt. "Alaric, I'm scared. My foot hurts so much."

Without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms.

Only then did he notice me.

His eyes moved from my tear-streaked face to Grandpa lying unconscious on the bed. Somehow, he still reached the wrong conclusion.

"Olivia," Alaric said coldly, "how many times do I have to tell you? Why do you keep causing trouble for Marga?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

My grandfather was dying.

And he was worried about Margaret's foot.

The monitor shrieked louder while doctors continued trying to save Grandpa.

Margaret suddenly clutched her chest. "Alaric, I can't breathe."

Panic appeared on his face instantly.

"Marga, stay calm."

Then he turned toward the medical staff.

"I said get over here."

One doctor hesitated. "But sir, the patient—"

Alaric's expression darkened. "I said get over here. Don't make me repeat myself."

The entire ward fell silent.

His voice thundered through the room. "If anything happens to Marga, every single one of you is finished."

My heart stopped.

The doctors looked between Grandpa and Margaret, trapped and terrified.

I stumbled forward and grabbed Alaric's pant leg.

"Please," I begged. "Grandpa fainted. Please save him." Tears blurred my vision. "Please."

For a moment, I thought he would listen.

Instead, disgust appeared in his eyes.

"Your grandfather had enough strength to attack Marga," Alaric said coldly. "Stop acting like he's dying."

I shook my head frantically. "He didn't. He never touched her."

But Alaric had already decided.

Like always.

He pulled away from me, turned around, and walked out carrying Margaret in his arms.

The doctors exchanged helpless glances.

Then one of them slowly approached me.

Before he even spoke, I already knew.

"Miss Olivia," the doctor whispered, his voice breaking, "I'm sorry."

No.

"Your grandfather has passed away."

No!

The world stopped.

Tears hit my arm one after another.

I hadn't cried in years, but suddenly I couldn't stop.

I shook my head repeatedly.

"No."

The doctors began leaving. They had already been ordered away. There was nothing more they could do. I grabbed their sleeves desperately.

"Please save him! I'll— I'll do anything." My knees slammed into the floor. "Please!"

I bowed my head again and again until my forehead struck the ground. Blood ran down my face, but I didn't care.

"Please save him. But nobody stopped.

One by one, they left.

Until only Grandpa and I remained.

The room was painfully silent.

I stared at his motionless body.

And something inside me finally shattered.

A scream tore from my throat, raw and broken, the sound of someone who had lost everything.

This time, there was nobody left to hear it.

…

The day I was supposed to leave, the sky looked like it was about to collapse. Dark clouds covered everything, blocking every trace of sunlight. It reminded me of my life.

The past few days had been spent handling Grandpa's funeral. I signed documents, met relatives, accepted condolences, and repeated the same empty words until they lost all meaning. By the end, I felt nothing at all.

I returned home for one reason only, to collect my luggage.

The moment I stepped inside, I saw Alaric sitting in the living room. For a second, I almost didn't recognize him.

He hadn't attended Grandpa's funeral. He hadn't called, texted, or asked how I was doing. Yet there he was, sitting comfortably in our house as if nothing had happened.

Dark circles shadowed his eyes. A stack of documents sat on the coffee table. The moment he saw me, he stood and pushed them toward me.

"Take a look," Alaric said tiredly. "I've already reviewed everything. Just read it and tell me if there's a problem."

I lowered my gaze.

Divorce papers.