On the fifth year of their marriage, finding the vitamin C her husband bought tasted too bitter, Jeanne Dotson went to the hospital with the bottle.

The doctor took one look and frowned. "This isn't vitamin C."

"I-I'm sorry, Doctor?"

"I could say it a dozen times and it'd still be the same," the doctor replied, pointing at the bottle. "This is Mifepristone. Taking too much of it doesn't just cause infertility—it can do serious harm to your body."

Jeanne felt a lump stuck in her throat, and her fingers turned pale from clenching the bottle. "That's impossible. My husband got this for me. His name is Darren Walsh—he's a doctor here too."

The doctor looked up at her, his expression turning strange, tinged with something she couldn't quite read. After a pause, he gave a small smile. "Miss, you might want to visit the psych ward instead. We all know Dr. Walsh's wife—she gave birth just two months ago. Don't let your imagination run wild, all right? There's no point."

The Bitter Truth

The doctor unlocked his phone and pulled up a photo. In it, Darren Walsh stood in a white lab coat, cradling a baby in his arms. Beside him was a woman smiling sweetly into the camera—Alyssa Carver, the so-called sister he was always talking about.

There was a sharp ringing in Jeanne Dotson's ears as her mind went completely blank. The doctor had just told her that the woman in the picture was Darren's wife—and that the baby was theirs.

Her breathing grew heavy and uneven. Stumbling toward the elevator, she hit the button for the 15th floor, desperate to find Darren and demand an explanation.

But as the doors slid shut, two familiar voices drifted in. Maybe it was because she was bundled up with her hat pulled low, but the men didn't recognize her—and they didn't bother to lower their voices.

"Darren, aren't you afraid Jeanne will find out? Why did you beg her to marry you in the first place? If you'd just married Alyssa earlier, you wouldn't have to sneak around like this just to see your kid."

It was Finn Carver's voice.

"She won't find out," Darren said, his voice cold. "Keep it to yourself, got it? When you see Jeanne, you'd better know what to say and not."

"I just don't get you," Finn snorted. "Alyssa's been living with your family since she was five, practically your fiancee. You adored her growing up, and yet you ended up falling for Jeanne instead. You sent Alyssa away, then went through all that trouble to bring her back. Who the hell do you really love?"

It was a long moment before Darren spoke again. "I love Jeanne. But I can't let go of Alyssa. Thinking about how she struggled overseas all those years… it messes with my head. Jeanne already has the tittle of my wife—let Alyssa have the child. At least she'll have something to hold on to."

Finn sighed. "And what if you and Jeanne have a child one day? You really think you'll treat them both the same? Alyssa's my cousin, you know."

The elevator chimed just then, and Darren's voice overlapped with the sound of the doors sliding open. "That won't happen."

Finn blinked, confused—unsure whether Darren meant there wouldn't be a child, or that he wouldn't play favorites. Jeanne, however, understood perfectly. He was saying they wouldn't have a child—he'd already made sure of it. He'd been feeding her sterilization pills, eliminating any "risk" for the girl who grew up with him.

People entered and left, making the elevator stuffy and hot, but Jeanne felt as if she'd plunged into an icy lake. She was freezing from the inside out. Only when the elevator descended back to the first floor did she finally gasp for air, coughing as if she'd just broken the surface after nearly drowning.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket. The screen lit up with a message from Darren—an image of a plane ticket and a line of text. 'See you at the race tomorrow. Don't forget to wear the lucky charm I got you.'

Her emotions burst through all at once, tears spilling down her cheeks.

Darren was always busy at the hospital, but ever since their wedding, he had never missed a single one of her races. Even if it meant catching a red-eye flight, he was always there at the finish line. He would book a restaurant, buy her flowers, celebrate her win—year after year, without fail.

She remembered how his friends used to tease her, calling her the one Darren had fought the world to bring home. To make her return from overseas, he had battled international racing clubs, risking his career more than once. To keep her, he'd poured his savings into building a motor racing club just for her, complete with a top-tier coaching team.

And after they married, he had spoiled her beyond reason. She once murmured in her sleep about missing her mother, and by dawn, Darren had used every connection he had to retrieve her late mother's belongings.

That was the kind of man Darren Walsh had been—yet he'd been living a double life all along.

Suddenly, everything clicked for Jeanne. No wonder Alyssa knew the Walshes' home better than she did. No wonder someone who had supposedly lived abroad could name all his friends and their nicknames. No wonder this so-called sister could make him cancel half a year's worth of surgeries just to accompany her to racing events.

There was no so-called sister. She was the fiancee chosen for him as a child—the girl promised to him long before Jeanne ever came along.

Just moments ago, Jeanne had been thinking that if Alyssa dared to interfere, she would never tolerate it. But now she realized she was the one who had intruded. She was the outsider—the one who should be stepping away.

A bone-deep chill crept up her legs, freezing her from the inside out.

She had always thought that when people broke down, they screamed and sobbed. But now she knew the truth—real heartbreak was silent. Only tears and the weight in her chest told her how much it hurt. It felt as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her heart, squeezing until the last drop of blood was wrung dry.

Her phone vibrated again. This time, it was a message from Alyssa—a family photo accompanied by a message. 'Stop clinging to something that was never yours. I thought you'd have the decency to back off, but I guess not. Darren says the baby looks just like him. Don't you think so too?'

Jeanne glanced at it once and closed it.

If Alyssa wanted him, she could have him. But Jeanne knew Darren too well—he never let go of what he'd claimed as his, even when he no longer wanted it.

Her trembling fingers hovered over the dial pad for a long time before pressing a number she'd nearly forgotten. The call connected, and her voice came out shaking. "Foster… does that old bet of ours still count?"

The Last Straw

There was a pause on the other end of the line before Theo Foster's deep voice came through. "The Foster family's moving in half a month. I'll come get you then."

Jeanne froze for half a second, then let out a soft laugh. She hadn't said a word about leaving, yet he already knew. And the worst part was—he was right.

"Alright."

With Theo's capabilities, once she left, even if Darren turned the world upside down, he would never find her again.

That night, Jeanne didn't reply to any of Darren's messages. He grew anxious enough to leave work early and change to an earlier flight. But the moment he opened the front door, he stopped short, the panic in his eyes melting away. Under the warm glow of the living room lights, Jeanne was sitting on the couch, watching TV.

"Jeanne? You're home?" He rushed over in a few quick strides. "I sent you so many messages…" He didn't even finish before pulling her into his arms, pressing his chin against the top of her head, and rubbing gently. "Thank God you're okay. I was so scared… Jeanne, I can't live without you."

The affection in his eyes was real. Jeanne knew he truly loved her—but she also knew he didn't love her alone.

A lump rose in her throat, and she dug her nails into her palm to steady herself. For a fleeting moment, she almost told him everything. But then reason returned. If she said it, she'd never be able to walk away.

She slipped out of his embrace, forcing her voice to stay calm. "The race got postponed. My phone was off, so I didn't see your messages."

Darren didn't notice the storm beneath her calm. He just smiled, reaching out to playfully tap her nose. "No harm done. Don't pout—I'm not mad. You must be hungry." He jangled his car keys, his shirt and trousers sharp and crisp, his jacket slung casually over his arm. "I booked a table at that barbecue place you've been craving. Come on, princess, let's eat to your heart's content."

He extended his hand toward her, palm up.

Jeanne's gaze lingered on that hand, and for a second, her mind blurred.

She was 18 again, on a bright afternoon, standing on the basketball court. A boy in a sweat-soaked white T-shirt grinned at her, a basketball tucked under his arm, his smile full of sunshine. "Come on, princess, my treat today—eat as much as you want!"

Back then, his heart had belonged to her and her alone.

Jeanne followed him to the barbecue restaurant. He hadn't changed—still the same man who never served anyone but somehow always took care of her. He rolled up his sleeves, portioned for her meticulously, always giving her the first bite. Her plate piled higher and higher until it looked like a tiny mountain.

It wasn't until his phone started ringing nonstop that she snapped out of the daze.

"Answer it," she murmured, stirring her gravy bowl.

Darren glanced at the screen, coaxed her with a smile, and stepped outside to take the call. When he came back, his eyes were filled with urgency and guilt. "Jeanne, there's an emergency surgery. I have to go. I'm sorry I can't finish this meal with you—but I'll take a day off tomorrow, I promise."

Jeanne had already seen the caller's name. She didn't call him out on his lie—she just nodded. "Go ahead."

Relieved, Darren left without another word.

…

Staring at the empty seat across from her, Jeanne felt a sharp sting in her chest, as though someone had driven a needle straight into her heart. She tried to collect herself and pick up her cutlery again—but a video call notification flashed on her screen—Alyssa Carver.

She declined it. Alyssa called again. And again. After more than ten tries, Jeanne finally answered.

Alyssa's tone was sweet, her smile deceptively innocent. "Jeanne, you're not eating barbecue, are you? I thought so. No wonder someone came home smelling like grilled meat."

She put heavy emphasis on the word home. Jeanne caught the provocation instantly, and her face went cold. "Alyssa, you're being childish. Have you forgotten who the legal wife is right now? What do you think would happen if I sent this chat to Darren—who would he choose to keep?"

A flicker of panic flashed in Alyssa's eyes, but she quickly covered it with a smile. "Send it then. Don't hang up, though. Let's see who's really being childish."

Jeanne didn't even know why she didn't end the call. Maybe a part of her still wanted to see—still needed to know.

Moments later, the camera shifted, and Darren appeared in the background. Alyssa immediately turned around, snuggling into his chest, blocking his view of the screen.

"Darren," she said softly, "are you still mad about me running off back then? If I hadn't left… would you have married Jeanne? Or would you have chosen me?"

Darren frowned. "Why ask pointless questions?"

"I just want to know…" Alyssa's eyes reddened, her voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean anything by it…"

After a few seconds of silence, Jeanne saw his lips move. His voice came out hoarse. "Yes."

That single word hollowed her out completely.

So that was it. From the very beginning, she had never been the only one in his heart.

She suddenly remembered their wedding day—Darren holding her hand in front of a room full of guests, swearing on his beloved grandmother's name.

"I, Darren Walsh, swear to love Jeanne Dotson and only her, in this life and the next. My body, my money, my life—all of it belongs to her. She can make mistakes, she can fall out of love, she can even love someone else—so long as she never leaves me."

She had cried uncontrollably that day, thinking she had found the truest love in the world. But now she knew—that vow had been a lie from the start. She had never been his only one. Not before, not now, and never in the future. She was just the stand-in he'd used to fill a void, a pawn in his unfinished love story.

A twisted smile pulled at her lips as tears streamed down her face. She had thought that, at the very least, she'd once been loved fiercely. But the whole time, she'd only been a thief—someone occupying a place that never belonged to her.

Bowing her head, she clutched her chest, trying to breathe through the pain. The lump in her throat wouldn't go down, and tears kept falling onto the table, one after another.

…

That night, Darren didn't come home. Instead, Jeanne received a photo of him sleeping—sent by Alyssa.

She stared at his peaceful face until dawn, her heart growing colder and quieter by the second. Then, she picked up her phone and dialed her friend, who was also an attorney, Amber Lane. "Amber… can you draft me a divorce agreement?"

Cracks in the Glass

When Jeanne woke, the house was still empty. On her phone was a message from Darren. 'Baby, things are crazy at the hospital today. My day off has been canceled. Don't be mad, okay? No matter how busy I am tomorrow, I'll spend the whole day with you. I got you a surprise—wait for me.'

Below it, timestamped an hour earlier, was a photo from Alyssa—of her and Darren smiling by a hot spring pool, the kind of bright, blissful smile that stung to look at.

Jeanne's fingertips burned as she gripped her phone. For a second, she nearly called him to ask whether he was busy performing surgeries—or busy keeping his mistress company. But remembering her plan, she forced herself to breathe and typed a short reply. 'Okay.'

If he wasn't coming home, all the better—it gave her time to pack.

She boxed up the clothes Darren had bought for her, planning to donate them to charity. She fed the framed photos on the wall into the shredder, one after another. She carried the hundred wish cards she had written for him—tiny, colorful pieces of hope—to the balcony and burned them to ash. She didn't dare throw out too much, afraid Darren might notice something was off when he returned.

The next day, he finally came home. The moment he saw her, he dropped the cake in his hand and strode over with open arms. "I'm exhausted, Jeanne. Come here—need a recharge hug."

Jeanne instinctively stepped back, letting his arms fall empty. He quirked a brow, amused. "Still mad? Don't be. Come on, I'll show you your surprise."

Before she could answer, he had already taken her hand and pulled her toward the car.

They drove straight to the training track. Jeanne was confused when Darren tugged her out of the car and turned her toward what waited ahead.

"Do you like it?" he asked, pointing to it.

A sleek, modified race car gleamed before her—its body covered in sparkling pink diamonds that shimmered under the sun, dazzling to the eye. Jeanne blinked, momentarily stunned.

Around them, the club's coaches were watching, their voices filled with awe.

"I heard this custom job cost nearly a hundred million. That's devotion."

"Money's nothing—you don't know the half of it. Mr. Walsh stuck every one of those gems on by hand. Nearly ruined his eyesight over it."

"Come on, Jeanne, give it a spin! Let us have a turn after you. The boss really spoils you."

Their laughter and teasing filled the air. Jeanne's brief surprise slowly faded, her chest tightening. She forced a smile, though her eyes stung. Everyone called him a loving husband, but who among them knew which wife he really loved? His passion burned hot and bright—but it never shone for her alone.

Days of pent-up emotion finally found an outlet. Jeanne climbed into the driver's seat, slammed her foot down on the accelerator, and shot forward like an arrow loosed from its string. Lap after lap, she poured every ounce of pain, anger, and humiliation into the roar of the engine.

Darren stood at the track's edge, hands in his pockets, watching her with a soft smile. His gaze never left her. On the 40th lap, he raised his hands and made a heart. Caught off guard, Jeanne's grip slipped. The car jolted and scraped against the guardrail with a loud clang.

Pain shot through her foot before she even processed what had happened. Darren was already sprinting toward her, pulling the door open, and sweeping her into his arms.

"Does it hurt?" he asked, frowning as he carefully lifted her injured foot. Dabbing a cotton swab in antiseptic, he treated the scrape as gently as if she were made of glass. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let you drive that long."

His movements were tender, his eyes full of worry so deep it almost looked real. But all Jeanne felt was a wave of coldness spreading through her. 'So love can be acted out this perfectly.'

She stared absently at him, almost reaching out to touch his hair. But Darren caught her hand and, lowering his head, leaned in to kiss her….

…

The lounge door flew open.

Without even looking up, Darren grabbed a water bottle off the table and hurled it toward the doorway. "Get out!"

Jeanne turned her head—and froze.

His expression changed the moment he saw who the intruder was. "Alyssa? Why are you here?"

Alyssa stood there, her hand clutching her reddened forehead, lips trembling, eyes downcast. Mud speckled her clothes; she looked pitifully disheveled. "I… I hit the brakes too late during practice," she murmured. "Came to grab the first-aid kit."

Darren's face flickered with irritation, then guilt. He said nothing at first. Instead, he peeled a bandage open and pressed it gently over Jeanne's toe.

"Stay put, don't move. Your foot's injured." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and brushed a kiss against her cheek. "I'll check on her injuries. I'll be right outside. Call me if you need anything."

With that, he grabbed the first-aid kit and walked out.

The room fell silent—so silent Jeanne could hear the faint whistling of wind outside the window.

Minutes passed. She finally pushed the door open. The hallway was empty—so much for "right outside." The disappointment flickered briefly before she smothered it.

'Should've seen it coming, no?' she thought.

Leaning on the wall, she limped toward the race car. She truly did love that car—and with rain clouds gathering overhead, she wanted to drive it into the garage. But as she neared it, she froze.

The car was rocking ever so slightly, and faint, muffled voices slipped out through the gap in the half-closed window…