“Oliver, we’ve found a match for your kidney! The surgery is scheduled for next week!”

Oliver’s eyes immediately brightened, his face lighting up with joy. “Really?” He couldn’t contain the excitement in his voice. “Thank you. You’ve worked so hard to get me the kidney. I love you, Bryn.”

His words hit Bryn like a wave and before she knew it, tears were welling up in her eyes once again. She pulled him into a tight hug, her voice thick with emotion as she whispered, “I love you too, buddy. I’ll do anything to make you and Dad happy.”

For a moment, the world outside seemed to blur as she held him, the weight of the moment sinking in. She pulled back slightly, glancing out the window. The winter sunlight poured in, soft and warm, casting a gentle glow over the room, offering a brief respite in the chaos of her emotions.

All of Oliver’s pre-surgery tests had come back normal and with the surgery now set for the following week, Bryn felt a slight easing in her chest, though worry still lingered. As they left the hospital, she pulled out her phone and when she saw the date, it hit her—today was the third anniversary of the day she and Alex had gotten together.

Later that evening, as she prepared dinner, Bryn decided to give the housekeeper the night off. She wanted to do this herself. Within the hour, the table was overflowing with an array of dishes—steaming hot, vibrant with color and rich with aromas that filled the house. Yet, as the clock ticked on and the minutes slipped by, Alex still hadn’t come home.

The food was getting cold. Bryn called him again and this time, the call went through. The noise on the other end was loud — male voices and female laughter, the clinking of glasses.

“Hello?” Bryn kept her voice steady, despite the sinking feeling in her chest.

“Bryn?” Alex’s voice came through, heavy with fatigue and a faint slur, hinting at drunkenness.

“When are you coming home?” she asked, trying to keep the tension out of her voice.

There was a pause, the noise quieting slightly. Alex coughed twice before answering.

“I’m a bit tied up tonight. I’ll be home late. Don’t wait up for me, just go to sleep.”

“Okay…” she said softly, hanging up the phone. She stood there for a moment, staring at the screen, feeling her heart sink further. She knew Alex was lying.

He always coughed before lying.

With a heavy sigh, she silently cleared the table, throwing the dishes away. When she finished cleaning up, she went to bed, but sleep wouldn’t come. Outside the window, the night had deepened, mirroring the darkness in her heart. She longed to ask him, like she used to, why he wasn’t coming home. But the question felt hollow now. She knew she had no right to ask anymore.

The real reason was painfully simple: how much longer could she keep pretending with Alex? How much longer could she continue with this charade that had been her life for so long?

Curled up in bed, Bryn buried her face in her knees, the tears falling freely now. The entire night passed without Alex coming home. And the next day, Bryn arrived at work, her face marked with the exhaustion of sleepless hours, dark circles under her eyes.

It was then that she found out. Alex had gone to Francesca’s welcome party with Hector the night before.

Sitting down at her desk, Hector greeted Bryn with his usual carefree grin, though he paused when he saw her state.

Before Bryn could respond, Francesca appeared, standing behind Hector with a sharp, cold look in her eyes. She spoke with clipped authority. “What does that mean, Hector?”

Hector, sensing the shift in the atmosphere, quickly retreated, mumbling something about needing to take care of a phone call. Francesca stood there, eyes narrowed, her gaze cutting through the air as she turned her full attention to Bryn.

“Miss Miller,” she said, her voice carrying a veiled edge, each word carefully chosen. “You should know your place.”

The words hung in the air between them, heavy with implication. Francesca’s eyes bore into Bryn, making it clear that this wasn’t just a casual remark.

“I’m saying this as your superior,” she continued, her tone becoming colder. “You’ve been working here long enough to understand how things are. Alex is… off-limits. You’d do well to remember that.”

Lately, Bryn had been extremely busy. With her brother’s surgery approaching, she’d been working hard to wrap up her projects so she could take some time off to be with her family.

A major project that Bryn had been overseeing from the start had hit a snag. It had been running smoothly up until now, but suddenly, the client wanted to cancel the partnership—something she hadn’t anticipated, let alone prepared for.

Francesca, the newly appointed director, was technically in charge of such high-profile projects, but for reasons she couldn’t quite understand, the client specifically demanded that Bryn take the reins. The decision was out of her hands; she had no choice but to step up.

After multiple tense meetings, the client pushed for a completely new design. To appease them, Bryn reluctantly agreed to start fresh. She put everything she had into the new proposal, hoping to win them over. But when she showed up with the revised design, eager for approval, she was met with scorn. The client accused her of plagiarism, even questioning her integrity in front of everyone.

It wasn’t until the client presented a proposal eerily similar to her own that Bryn realized the ugly truth. Francesca’s design wasn’t just similar—it was a carbon copy of hers.

Now, standing in the general manager’s office, Bryn was face-to-face with Francesca, both of them tense, ready for the confrontation. The general manager sat beside them, his face pale with unease. The room crackled with tension.

Plagiarism was a serious accusation in the design world, a stain that could ruin reputations and careers. The two proposals were so alike that it was impossible to determine who was at fault without triggering a corporate disaster. On one side stood Francesca, the rising star, freshly promoted to director and on the other was Bryn, with her connections to the CEO. Neither of them could be blamed outright without causing a major ripple in the company.

But Bryn wasn’t about to back down. She knew, without a doubt, that the design was her own creation. The late nights spent perfecting every detail were still fresh in her mind. And the way Francesca had deliberately kept her out of the office on that critical day was all the proof she needed.

Before Bryn could voice her frustration, Francesca’s voice cut through the silence, laced with mocking sweetness. “If you’re struggling to come up with a design, there’s no need to resort to copying. Why would you do something like that?”

Bryn’s pulse quickened, but she held her ground. “Do you have any proof that I copied, Miss Clements? Both proposals are nearly identical. Shouldn’t I be allowed to suspect that you copied mine?”

The air in the room was thick with anticipation as everyone braced for the fallout. The scene had escalated beyond anything they’d expected and the tension was palpable. In an instant, Alex entered the office, his presence commanding the room. The staff quickly scattered, returning to their seats with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

Alex’s gaze swept the room, landing on Bryn. She stood tall, unshaken, but her heart was in turmoil. Slowly, he spoke, his tone smooth, almost too smooth.

“Miss Clements is an overseas talent. Highly skilled, both professionally and in business. I’m sure this plagiarism thing is just a coincidence.”

His words were light, as though brushing aside the matter, but to Bryn, they felt like a slap. What he was really saying was that Francesca didn’t need to copy her work—she was good enough on her own.

But anyone with half a brain knew that two identical proposals weren’t a mere coincidence. If Francesca hadn’t plagiarized, then the only other explanation was that Bryn had been accused of doing so—and that accusation hung in the air like a suffocating cloud.

Bryn, standing there under the weight of the room’s scrutiny, felt the heat rise in her chest, as though the very air was pressing in on her. It felt like she couldn’t breathe. All the words she’d been longing to say to Francesca, all the bitterness and hurt that had been building up inside of her, were trapped in her throat, refusing to come out. She could care less if everyone else didn’t believe her. But what truly stung, what cut deeper than any insult, was that Alex—who knew how hard she’d worked on this project, who knew her dedication—wouldn’t stand up for her. His silence was louder than any accusation.

Everyone in the room had heard Alex’s words and whispers began to spread. Bryn squeezed her palm tightly, trying to control the emotions that threatened to spill over. She forced a smile, one that didn’t quite reach her eyes and spoke to Alex.

“Since Mr. Sinclair says it was a coincidence, then I suppose it is.” She made her way toward the door, each step heavier than the last. Her back was so bent with the weight of the moment, it seemed as though she were a wilting flower, about to crumble.

Though Alex had forbidden anyone from discussing the plagiarism again, the rumors spread like wildfire. Bryn could feel them curling around her, tightening with every passing hour.

“Bryn, are you okay?” Nora caught up to her, her eyes full of concern.

Bryn forced a wave of her hand, a weak gesture that she hoped would signal to Lana not to worry. She couldn’t afford to break down—not now. Not with only three days before her brother’s surgery. But deep inside, she felt like she was crumbling under the weight of it all.

But the pain lingered, sharper than she expected. She couldn’t help but ask herself. Was it only me who had given so much over these past three years?

Her thoughts drifted back to Francesca’s face—the same face she’d once seen as a mirror to her own, only now it seemed like a cruel reflection, a reminder of everything she had failed to be. A cold wave of realization washed over her. It seemed so inevitable now—she had always been nothing more than Francesca’s substitute. From the very beginning, Alex had never truly loved her. It had all been a fantasy, a fleeting illusion.

She shouldn’t have expected more.

Bryn lowered her gaze, her fingers tightening around her phone as she stared at a photo of her and Alex together. Maybe it’s time to leave.

These three years—perhaps she could just consider them a dream. And now, it was time to wake up.

The sound of high heels approaching interrupted her thoughts. Francesca, walking with the unmistakable air of someone who believed she had won, made her way over to Bryn.

“Bryn,” she said, her voice dripping with a satisfaction that made Bryn’s stomach churn. “Don’t mind what Alex said. Maybe it really was just a coincidence.”

Bryn forced a smile, but it felt brittle, like it might crack at any moment. Her throat was tight, a lump lodged there that she couldn’t swallow.

The door opened and Alex stepped in, his eyes immediately seeking out Bryn. When he saw the pallor of her face, a flicker of concern passed through his eyes. But just as he was about to ask if she wanted to grab a bite, Francesca stepped in between them, her arm linking with his as she flashed Bryn a look that could only be described as victorious.

“I’m hungry,” she purred, her tone playful, as though marking her territory.

Her voice felt like a blade to Bryn’s heart, cold and sharp, cutting into the raw wound that was already festering. Francesca then turned, pushing Alex toward the door, but not before pausing to glance back at Bryn, her smile as cold as the steel she was made of.

“Bryn,” she said, her voice all too sweet, “Would you like to join us?”