The smug look on Karylle’s face didn’t fade for long. With a quick, fierce motion, she shoved me back, her eyes blazing with anger. I staggered but caught myself, eyes narrowing as I took her in. Her supposedly “injured” leg—the one Brendon had been carrying her around for—seemed perfectly fine. She didn’t even flinch.

My heart pounded as I held her gaze, seeing the satisfaction in her eyes as she adjusted her stance, perfectly balanced.

“You’re faking,” I said, my voice barely more than a whisper.

She scoffed, rolling her eyes. “You’re delusional, Jasmine. Maybe you should stop obsessing over every little thing. Brendon has more important things to worry about than your drama.”

My fists clenched at my side as I glanced at Brendon, who still stood beside her. “She’s not injured, Brendon. She’s lying to you. Can’t you see that?”

But he just shook his head. “Jasmine, you need to stop. It’s embarrassing. Karylle has been nothing but patient with you, and all you do is attack her. She is your sister!”

A low laugh escaped me, bitter and cold. “Patient? Sister?” I repeated. “You think she’s the patient one here? While I was holding Allen’s hand last night, while he was asking for his father, she was out with you, pretending to be helpless. Is that what a sister is supposed to do?”

Karylle lifted her chin, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh, don’t try to turn this around on me, Jasmine. I’ve seen the way you use Allen’s illness to get Brendon’s attention. It’s disgusting.”

The accusation hung in the air, sharp and cutting. I felt my blood go cold, the disbelief settling in as I stared at her. “Excuse me?”

She shrugged. “It’s pathetic, really,” she continued. “The way you cling to him, pulling the sympathy card whenever you feel him slipping away. Allen’s illness, your little sob stories—it’s all part of your act.”

The rage in me twisted into something deeper, darker, something beyond the pain I’d been holding in. “How dare you. How dare you even speak his name.”

Brendon’s face tightened with discomfort, but he said nothing, just stood there between us, as if this were some kind of minor spat. The weight of it hit me all at once—he was never going to see the truth, never going to put anyone above her, no matter what she said or did.

“Jasmine,” Brendon started, his voice low. “Can we stop this now? This drama of yours has to end. I’m tired of being pulled into every little argument.”

I laughed, shaking my head as I met his gaze, feeling the last bit of patience drain out of me. “Drama?” I repeated, my voice laced with bitterness. “You think this is about me trying to make a scene? I wanted a life with you, Brendon. I wanted you to be there for Allen, to be there for us. But all you’ve done is let me down.”

He didn’t respond, just looked away, his expression blank, as if my words barely registered. The indifference cut deeper than I’d expected.

“Fine,” I said, my voice shaking, though I forced myself to stay steady. “You want peace, Brendon? You can have it.”

Karylle’s smirk widened, her satisfaction obvious as she folded her arms, watching me like I was a show for her amusement. “Finally,” she muttered, almost to herself. “I was starting to wonder how long you’d keep this up.”

Ignoring her, I turned fully to Brendon. “I’m done, Brendon. I can’t keep fighting for someone who’s already given up on me. If you want her so badly, then take her. But I’m not sticking around for this. I want a divorce.”

I still remember the day I married Brendon. I wasn’t supposed to be his bride; I was only there as maid of honor, standing beside my sister Karylle. She was the one chosen for him in our parents’ business deal. But the second she heard “arranged marriage,” she vanished, thinking Brendon was some older man they’d picked out for her.

I was left in her place, confused and stunned, the one expected to carry out the agreement. I didn’t know what else to do but accept. And for a while, I convinced myself that this life—a life Karylle didn’t want—could work. Despite the empty start, Brendon and I were content, even happy, in the early years. We worked side by side, and I thought that maybe, just maybe, we’d built something real.

But when Karylle learned who Brendon really was—a powerful, wealthy man who commanded respect—she came back, smug and determined to reclaim what she called her “rightful place.” And Brendon let her. He let her return and treat me like an intruder, never once stepping in, never once defending me.

“You’re living my life, Jasmine,” she’d said, her voice dripping with mock pity. “I’m just taking back what’s mine.”

I’d looked to Brendon, hoping he’d deny it, tell her she was wrong, that he wanted me. But he’d only sighed, dismissing my feelings like they were a burden. “Karylle’s family,” he’d said flatly, “and I can’t just turn her away.”

A part of me shattered that day, but I’d kept silent, even as I watched the man I loved drift back to my sister, who hadn’t hesitated to abandon him in the first place.

I snapped back to reality, the memories of my wedding day fading as I turned to walk away, intent on leaving this life behind. But before I could take more than a few steps, Brendon’s hand clamped firmly around my wrist, pulling me back.

“You’re not getting a divorce,” he said, his voice steely, each word clipped with finality.

I tried to yank my arm free, but his grip held fast. “Why not, Brendon? You don’t love me. This marriage was nothing but a business deal, remember? So let me go! I have nothing in this marriage anymore.”

His expression darkened, his jaw tightening. “You don’t get to make that decision, Jasmine. This marriage isn’t over until I say it is.”

I laughed bitterly, the resentment spilling over. “So that’s all I’ve ever been to you—a contract. Something you think you own.”

His eyes glinted with anger, his voice dropping lower. “You ask for a divorce, Jasmine, and I’ll make sure you regret it. Maybe I’ll pull the plug on your precious son’s treatment.”

He said it so casually, as if the words cost him nothing, his gaze sharp, taunting.

A chill swept through me, but I kept my expression steady, matching his coldness. “Go on, Brendon. Stop his medication. See if I care.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing, testing me. When I didn’t waver, he pulled out his phone, his gaze fixed on me as he dialed. He held the phone to his ear, his voice dark. “I don’t think you know how serious I am, Jasmine.”

He put the call on speaker, his eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction. After a moment, a voice crackled on the line.

“Mr. Green?” It was his assistant, Chris, speaking cautiously.

“Find out where Jasmine’s son is receiving treatment and cut it off,” Brendon ordered, his tone clipped. “End it.”

Chris’ voice faltered, the hesitation evident. “Mr. Green… Allen passed away,” he said, his voice heavy. “The day after you left for that trip with Miss Karylle.”