Hayden let out a relieved breath. "Oh, I forgot—you don’t understand French. My bad. Damien and I are just used to speaking it."

I didn’t break my gaze, keeping my eyes locked on him. My stare must’ve been enough to make him squirm because he immediately tensed, then quickly mumbled something and bolted out of the room.

Two years ago, I wouldn’t have understood a word of what they’d been saying. But I worked hard to learn French, desperate to understand Damien.

And yet, the first words I ever heard spoken in that language pierced through me like a dagger.

...

"Camille, look! I made this soup for you. Try it!"

Damien placed a bowl of chicken soup in front of me like he was presenting some kind of masterpiece. His eyes were wide, full of warmth and anticipation, like I was supposed to be grateful.

How long had he been pretending? Wasn’t he tired of all the lies?

"That’s very thoughtful of you, but I’m not really in the mood for soup," I said, pushing his hand away and turning over to lie back down, closing my eyes.

I saw the flicker of disappointment cross his face before he quickly masked it. Without saying another word, he set the bowl down and left the room.

It wasn’t until later, when I saw the intimacy between him and Naomi in that hospital room, that I realized—my heart wasn’t even aching anymore.

It was numb.

I turned to leave, but as I did, I locked eyes with Naomi.

She smirked, a mocking glint in her eyes.

Was she laughing at how every man I’d ever loved had walked away?

Or was she savoring the fact that I had given everything—believing in love, in happiness—only to have it all come crashing down as a lie?

I lowered my head, unable to even muster the strength to confront her. I turned back to my room, feeling utterly drained.

Right then, I realized I was just… so tired.

...

I sat on the bed for what felt like hours, lost in thought. After a while, I grabbed my phone and called Dr. Jerry Adams, the director of the Antarctic Research Institute.

"Dr. Adams, I want to join the cave exploration mission."

There was a pause on the other end before he spoke. His voice had a cautious edge. "Camille, are you sure about this? The mission’s classified, and it’s incredibly dangerous. You've just recovered, I’m not sure you're physically ready for something like this."

I glanced down at the ring on my finger. "I can do it."

"Alright," he sighed, "I’ll send you the schedule and necessary precautions. Camille... you’re just as brave as your mother. Honestly, after everything that happened three years ago, I didn’t think you’d even want to step foot in Antarctica again."

I had thought the same. I had sworn I’d never go back.

But now? I was ready.

Three years ago, our research team, led by Damien, was deep in the snow-capped mountains on an expedition.

Out of nowhere, Naomi screamed—a piercing, blood-curdling sound that cut through the silence like a knife.

Before any of us could react, the ground shook beneath our feet. A roar filled the air as a massive avalanche descended, swallowing everything in its path.

And then, in that instant, I saw it all.

Aaron, my fiancé at the time, let go of my hand without a second thought.

No hesitation.

No panic.

It's just a cold decision.

He turned and bolted straight toward Naomi, his face etched with fear, but it was all for her.

Meanwhile, me? I was forgotten.

The snow hit with such force that it knocked me off my feet, throwing me like a ragdoll toward the edge of a cliff.

The wind howled in my ears as the snow lashed my face, and I reached out, grasping for something—anything—to hold on to. But all I caught was cold, empty air.

I was about to fall into the abyss when suddenly someone grabbed me.

'Damien...'

He lunged, throwing himself in front of me and pulling me into his arms as we tumbled together.

When we finally came to a stop, we were just inches from the cliff’s edge.

His face was pale, his lips stained with blood from the impact, but the first thing he asked was—

"Are you okay?"

Since my mom passed, that was the first time anyone had shown me real concern.

Or so I thought.

He played his part too well.

For the longest time, I truly believed that Damien’s love for me was real. His pursuit, his sweet words, and the tenderness he showed made me feel special like I had finally found the one who truly cared.

But now, looking back, I see it all for what it really was. From the very beginning, it had been a lie.

His pursuit? Fake.

Our marriage? Fake.

Even his illness? Completely fake.

And somehow, I had fallen for it all—hook, line, and sinker. I had gotten trapped in his so-called love and couldn’t escape.

Dr. Adams was wrong about me. I’m not like my mother. She sacrificed everything—her life, her soul—for the country’s scientific research. But maybe... just maybe, I’d found where I truly belong.

Three days after I woke up in the hospital, Damien came in, just like always. "Camille, how are you feeling? Any pain?" His voice was full of concern like it had been so many times before.

But this time, I couldn’t bring myself to answer with the warmth I once had.

Instead, I gave him a cold look and said, "I want to go home."

He froze for a moment, hesitation flashing across his face.

After a long pause, he finally said, "I’ll ask the doctor if you’re good to go."

A few hours later, after a thorough check-up, I was cleared to leave. Damien took me back to the place I thought of as home.

As soon as we walked inside, I felt something was off. The whole house was decorated like a party—streamers, balloons, and a huge birthday cake sitting in the middle of the dining table.

"Happy 26th birthday, Camille!" Damien smiled as he cupped my face in his hands and kissed me.

I stared at the cake, completely stunned. "You remembered..."

"Of course I did," he said with a grin. "Now, make a wish and blow out the candles!"

I sat down in front of the cake, still in shock, but just as I was about to close my eyes to make a wish, my phone rang. Damien’s face immediately changed. His brows furrowed, and he quickly stepped into the study to answer it.

When he came back, his face was full of urgency. "Camille, something happened with Hayden. I need to go check on him. I’m sorry!"

Before I could even respond, he was already out the door.

A few minutes later, a video popped up on my phone. I clicked it, and suddenly, my whole world shattered.

The video showed Naomi, clinging to Damien’s sleeve, looking pale and fragile like she was about to break.

"Damien, I’m pregnant! I can’t believe it—I’m really pregnant! What should I do?" she cried, her voice shaky.

Damien wiped away her tears, his expression serious and reassuring. "Don’t worry, Naomi. I’ll take care of you and the baby."

Naomi’s eyes filled with fear as she asked, "But Aaron... he died in a car accident! What if my child grows up without a father?"

"Don’t worry," Damien said, his voice soft but firm. "I promise you, I’ll be the father to this child."

And with that, Naomi collapsed into his arms, her face lighting up with hope.

I couldn’t breathe. My chest felt like it was being crushed. I was trembling as I held the phone. The image of them holding each other was seared into my mind. Each second of that moment felt like a hammer, striking over and over.

My vision blurred as hot tears spilled down my cheeks, one after another, without control.

Instinctively, my hand moved to my abdomen.

I remembered the ultrasound—how tiny she was, how fragile. She should have been here.

But the doctor had told me I couldn’t undergo a liver transplant while pregnant. The decision was made for me, and I had no choice but to go through with the abortion.

At first, I was so happy when I found out I was pregnant. I wanted to give her the best life.

But in this cruel twist, I had taken away her right to live.

And her father? He was making promises to another woman, vowing to be a father to her child.

"Why? Why are you doing this to me?!" I screamed, my voice breaking. I swiped my arm across the table, knocking the cake off and watching as it crashed to the floor.

I swept everything off the table—plates, glasses—all of it scattered to the ground.

But no matter how much I broke or shattered, the only thing that remained was the suffocating pain in my chest.

I sat there on the floor, overwhelmed, my sobs echoing in the empty house. The weight of everything was crushing me.

By the time Damien finally returned, I was standing in front of the mirror, staring at the scars from my surgery. Its reflection was all I could see. The deep reminders of the sacrifices I made for him.

Damien approached me, his steps hesitant, like he wasn’t sure what to say.

He rested his head on my shoulder, his voice thick with emotion as he said, “Camille, thank you. I promise I’ll make it up to you. I’ll treat you twice as well from now on.”

I didn’t even look at him. My eyes remained fixed on the scars on my body.

And under my breath, I muttered, “Disgusting!”

Then, before I even realized it, I started rubbing at the scars, over and over, desperately trying to scrub them away.

But the pain, it didn’t even register. I couldn’t stop myself.

Damien panicked, rushing to grab my wrists, trying to hold me still. “They’re not disgusting! If you don’t like them, I’ll find the best doctor to remove them. Just please, stop!”

He pulled me into his arms, lifting me back onto the bed. But I barely felt it.

It wasn’t until I looked into his eyes that I realized something was different. I reached out without thinking, touching the scar between his brows—the one he got when he saved me that day in the avalanche.

“Some scars can never be erased,” I said softly, my voice barely a whisper.

Damien didn’t say anything. He just sat there, staying close to me for the next week as if waiting for me to break.

One evening, as I stared out the window, my thoughts heavy, I turned to him and said, “I want roasted chestnuts from Night Garden Street.”

Without a second thought, he grabbed his car keys and rushed out the door.

I used to love how he’d never say no to any request I made. But now, I knew the truth—it wasn’t love. It was guilt.

As soon as Damien left, I grabbed a cab and went straight to the VIP hospital suite.

Naomi was there, sipping soup, looking completely unfazed. She didn’t even flinch when I walked in. It was like she was expecting me.

She casually took another sip, her eyes meeting mine with that same smirk.

“I know what you’re thinking,” she said. “Damien and I grew up together. He’s my childhood sweetheart. I was the one who told him to pursue you.”

I didn’t say anything. I just stared at her, my anger bubbling up.

She seemed to enjoy my silence, watching me like I was some kind of show.

Finally, I broke the silence, my voice barely above a whisper. “You were never sick, were you?”

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then grinned. “Nope. Thanks for the liver, though. I never used it... threw it to a stray dog. Hilarious, right?”

The words hit me like a punch to the gut. A hot rage spread through me, my hands shaking with fury. I wanted to lash out, to rip her apart.

But it wasn’t just about her. It was about him.

“Damien never loved you,” Naomi said, as she stood up and sauntered over to me. She casually tapped my abdomen with her finger, that cruel smile still on her lips. “By the way, how does it feel to kill your own child?”

“Shut up!” I screamed, the rage exploding.

I shoved her with everything I had, sending her stumbling backward. But at that exact moment, the door burst open.

“Stop!”

Damien rushed in, grabbing my wrist and throwing me to the ground. Without a second thought, he picked up Naomi and cradled her in his arms.

His eyes, cold and piercing, looked down at me. “Camille, Naomi is sick. You shouldn’t have laid a hand on her!”

Sick? He didn’t seem to care that I was just as much of a patient.

But he ignored that. He was too busy paying attention to Naomi, making sure she was okay.

I just stared at his back, my body trembling, my heart numb. There was no point anymore. I picked myself up and walked out without a word.

...

Back at home, I laid everything out on the coffee table—everything that had been a lie. The fake marriage papers, the abortion records, the recording of my confrontation with Naomi.

I put a note next to them, written in French:

[We’re even. From now on, we are strangers in life and death.]

Then, without another word, I walked out the door and headed straight for the airport.