During the New Year holidays, I'm hooked to an IV in an ER ward because of my Pathological Lie Aversion, which is a condition that makes me vomit whenever someone lies to me.

Meanwhile, Landon Yale shows up at a public event with his female best friend, Eunice Parker, in a high-profile manner.

Clad in the Ice Queen championship costume that I've worn during the time I won my championship, Eunice whines to Landon cutely that she wants to ride on his shoulders.

With a doting smile on his face, Landon replies, "Alright, alright. You're my queen tonight. If only that figure-skating numbskull is as sweet and understanding as you…"

Thanks to my Pathological Lie Aversion, I keep vomiting the whole time.

After taking off the IV needle, I rush toward the venue in the sports car that I've planned on giving to Landon.

In the stark silence that follows, I hurl the divorce agreement in Landon's face.

"Happy New Year, Landon Yale. By the way, here's an announcement. From now on, I'll be retiring as a figure skater. On top of that, I will be retracting all sponsorships that I've bestowed upon Yale Group."

I want Landon to know that he can never afford to pay the price of offending me.

I shoved the car door open. Under my feet lay the twisted wreck of a supercar, glass shattered everywhere.

On the back of my hand, where I had yanked the IV needle out, beads of blood slid between my fingers and dripped to the ground, one drop at a time.

Eunice Parker, Landon Yale's so-called best friend, was still wearing my Ice Queen championship costume, the one I had worn when I claimed the title. Now, she clung to him, pale and shaken, hiding in his arms.

Landon finally snapped out of his shock. When he looked at me, there wasn't a trace of concern in his eyes, only fury. "What the hell is wrong with you, Olivia?"

That was the first thing he said—not a word about my injured hand, but only condemnation.

"You scared Eunice!" he added.

My heart jerked hard, like missing a landing on a jump. Then, the nausea surged again, rising in waves from my stomach.

This was it. All the affection he had ever shown me had never been real.

Eunice peeked out from his arms. Her eyes were red like a rabbit's, her voice soft and syrupy, her neediness for attention oozing.

"Liv, you took this wrongly. We were just playing Truth or Dare. Landon lost, so he had to… Anyway, it's my fault. I shouldn't have egged him on. Please don't blame him."

Landon jumped to her defense. "Yeah, exactly. It's just friends messing around! What the hell were you thinking, ramming the car in here? You're being way too petty! Can you not ruin the mood?"

Friends? Messing around?

I couldn't hold it in anymore. Right there in front of everyone, I doubled over and retched. Landon froze, then instinctively stepped forward, reaching out to steady me.

"Don't touch me!" I screamed, shoving his hand away with everything I had.

My nails raked across the back of his hand, leaving thin streaks of blood. They mirrored the drops still falling from my hand. What a ridiculous yet bitter kind of symmetry.

I straightened up, pulled out the papers I had prepared, and walked straight up to him. With a smack, the divorce agreement hit him square in the face.

Landon was stunned. He stared at the papers scattered all over the floor, disbelief written all over his face. "Are you for real, Olivia? Over something this trivial?"

I looked at him and laughed, even as tears kept spilling over. "Something trivial?"

I pointed at the wrecked supercar, my voice as cold as ice, each word landing clean. "That car was supposed to be the last gift I ever gave you, Landon. Now, it's nothing but scrap metal, just like your existence in my life."

Without another word, I turned and walked away, ignoring his flustered expression.

I hadn't taken more than a few steps before Landon rushed up from behind and grabbed my wrist. "Stop this madness, Olivia! Say what you actually mean!"

He bent down, picked up the divorce papers, and there they were again—those eyes with mockery dancing in them.

"You think I don't know what you're plotting? You're playing hard to get! Without me or Yale Group's resources, what can your little figure skating prize money even do for you?"

He was certain I wouldn't leave him, just like every fight before this. Every time, he had found a way to make me give in.

Seeing Landon's confidence return, Eunice found her nerve, too. Her tone turned sharp, dripping with fake sweetness. "Oh, Liv. It's just a dress. You have so many—what's wrong with lending me one?"

She tugged at the costume on her body, straightened up, chest lifted, showing it off without shame. "And besides, it looks way better on me—Landon's words, not mine. You're just jealous, aren't you? Gosh, you're petty."

I stopped. Slowly, I turned back, my eyes locking onto the dress she was wearing. That costume was the highlight of my career, the one honor I had earned with blood, sweat, and countless hours on the ice.

Now, it was draped over a clown, paraded around like a trophy.

I didn't bother with Landon tugging at me, nor did I argue with Eunice. Instead, I calmly took out my phone and dialed. "Hello, 911? I'd like to report a crime."

My voice wasn't loud, but in the otherwise dead-silent hall, every word carried.

Landon froze. "What on earth are you doing?"

Eunice panicked, too. "Liv, w-why are you calling the cops?"

I spoke into the phone, but my eyes stayed fixed on her.

"I'm reporting the theft of my trade secret. The item is valued at over seven figures. The suspect is currently wearing the evidence. The address is the Yale Group New Year's Gala…"

Landon lunged for my phone, but I shifted aside and avoided him. Colors drained from Eunice's face.

"What trade secret? It's just a stupid dress!" he argued, still trying to bluff.

I let out a cold laugh. "A stupid dress? That costume was hand-stitched over six months by a top Valtalian designer. Every stone on it is a real diamond from Nafira.

"The design crafts have never been released, and they include three unpublished design patents. So, tell me, what exactly do you think it is, if not trade secrets?"

Eunice was too angry to speak. "You…"

Landon was stumped, too. He had thought it was just an ordinary costume.

Soon, two police officers arrived.

Landon tried to block them, but one of the officers shut him down with a firm warning. "Ms. Fontaine, do you have the evidence?"

Of course, I did.

I snapped my fingers. The giant screen in the hall lit up. Footage from the surveillance in my dressing room started playing.

On screen, Eunice slipped inside, sneaking around. She opened my wardrobe, took out the Ice Queen costume, and stood in front of the mirror, repeatedly posing with it.

Then, without hesitation, she stripped off her own clothes and changed into my costume, greed written all over her face.

The proof couldn't be clearer. Pale was the shade of Eunice's face, and she looked like she might collapse at any second.

Landon was just as shaken. He probably never imagined that the so-called simple, harmless friend that he kept defending would actually steal.

So, he started begging. He tried to smooth things over, dragging our marriage into it like leverage. "Why don't you just let this go, Liv? Eunie didn't mean it. Don't make it worse than it already is. It does nobody any good."

I looked at him coldly, as if he were a stranger I never loved.

The officer turned to me. "Ms. Fontaine, how would you like to proceed?"

I glanced at Eunice, trembling like a leaf, and laid out my condition for settling it privately. Then, I ordered, "Take off what doesn't belong to you and give it back right this instance."

Eunice shook her head, crying, clutching the costume. "No! Not when everyone's around!"

At that, Landon quickly removed his suit jacket and moved to drape it over her.

"Move!" I snapped, stopping him in his tracks.

Then, I reached into my bag and pulled out a small pair of scissors—the sound of the snip cut through the silence. Step by step, I walked toward Eunice, the scissors' tip aimed at that glittering costume.

"You're not going to do it? Fine. I'll cut it off for you."

Eunice's scream pierced the room. Under everyone's eyes, she fumbled and tore the costume off herself, humiliated and shaking. All that was left on her was a set of revealing undergarments, every bit of her disgrace laid bare.

Around us, muffled laughter broke out, mixed with the sound of phones snapping photos.

With the scissors, I lifted the contaminated costume in disgust, turned around, and tossed it straight into the towering champagne pyramid beside me.

I watched the Ice Queen costume slowly sink into the bubbling liquid and said to Landon, "I don't want it anymore. It's filthy."

A wave of anger and physical nausea hit me all at once. My vision blurred, and everything went dark.

When I came to, the sharp smell of disinfectant filled my nose. I was in a VIP hospital room. An IV needle had been reinserted into the back of my hand.

Landon stood by the bed, impatience written all over his face. Seeing me awake, he poured a glass of water and handed it over, his tone stiff.

"Let's put an end to this. I've already handled the gala incident. Eunie's depression relapsed from the shock. She's in the room next door right now. You just need to issue a statement saying it was all a misunderstanding."

He said it so matter-of-factly, as if I were the one causing trouble.

I didn't take the water, but looked at him quietly. The face I had loved for so many years now felt completely foreign.

"Landon, did you ever love me?" I asked softly.

He froze for a moment. His eyes flickered away almost immediately, then he put on that same impatient expression again. "Of course, I do. Why would I marry you if I don't? Stop overthinking things. Eunie is just a good friend. We—"

Before he could finish, another wave of nausea surged up from my stomach. I turned my head abruptly and retched violently into the trash bin beside the bed.

This time, it was worse than anything at the gala. The cardiac monitor at my bedside suddenly blared. Doctors and nurses rushed in immediately.

When the doctor took one look at my condition, he glanced at Landon. The doctor's expression darkened instantly, as if he had understood something.

"Didn't you read her medical records?" the doctor snapped. "She has Pathological Lie Aversion, a severe allergy to lies! Stop feeding her more of them! You could kill her!"

Landon was stunned. He looked at my pale face, then at the doctor's serious expression. Disbelief twisted across his features. "Pathological Lie Aversion? Now, what kind of act is this?"

To him, it was all theatrics, a ridiculous excuse to gain sympathy.

It turned out he had never read my medical records nor once believed the pain I had been describing.

I browsed my phone and tapped into the trending page. It was all about Eunice and her depressive episode.

In a video, she was lying in a hospital bed, livestreaming. Tears streamed down her face as she accused me of tormenting her. The comment section was flooded with insults directed at me.

I turned the screen toward Landon. "Did you do this, too?"

A flicker of unease crossed his face, but he didn't deny it. "I just needed to control the public opinion quickly. As my wife, taking a little hit like this shouldn't be a big deal, should it?"

Wow. What a sentence. I couldn't help but laugh.

This was the man, the husband, whom I had loved for a decade.