A few years ago, the company was on the brink of bankruptcy.

We were barely making ends meet. Yet even then, Nathan insisted on supporting a poor student he had just met—Madeline.

I objected. And for that, he pointed at the birthday cake I had painstakingly saved up for and snapped:

“You said we don’t have money, so why did you buy a cake? Do you know Madeline nearly got tricked into going out drinking just because she couldn’t pay her tuition?”

In the end, he transferred all our savings to her, ignoring my protests.

Now, years later, he tossed a tissue box at me with disdain.

“Look at the mess you made. Clean it up.”

I caught it silently.

I knew if I didn’t play along, getting the dagger—my only hope to save my father—would become impossible.

I set my crutches aside and squatted down slowly. Such a simple motion, yet my leg screamed in agony and sweat streamed down my face.

Then my knee buckled.

I collapsed to the floor.

Nathan hurried over, his voice tinged with a concern he didn’t even seem to recognize.

“Why can’t you do anything right?”

He helped me to the desk, opened a drawer, and placed a cheap plastic hairpin in my palm.

“You said anniversaries should have a sense of ceremony,” he said with a half-smile. “Madeline helped me pick this out. Do you like it?”

I didn’t answer. My eyes were fixed on the velvet box inside the drawer—emblazoned with the logo of a top-tier jewelry brand.

Just yesterday, the TV reported that Nathan had bought a seven-figure necklace as a gift for "the most important person" in his life.

Today, that necklace was around Madeline’s neck.

And on our seventh anniversary, all I got was a five-peso hairpin.

I gripped it until its edges cut into my palm.

“Nathan, I got the cake. Where’s the dagger?”

His face darkened.

“Eva,” he said coldly, “do you really want that dagger so badly? Do you understand what will happen to me if your father’s case is overturned?”

“If that case is reopened, I’ll be accused of perjury! Your father’s old—if he pleads guilty, maybe he’ll be released in a few years. But I’m still young! I run this company! Why should I go down for something that happened years ago? Can’t you consider me for once?”

His voice was full of self-righteous frustration, as if I were the unreasonable one.

“Consider you?” I let out a hollow laugh, tears brimming in my eyes.

“You were kidnapped. My father risked his life with a fruit knife to save you. And when you woke up, you pointed to him and called him a murderer! That man—my father—rescued you from the orphanage. And this is how you repay him?”

I grabbed his collar, my voice rising into a scream.

When it first happened, Nathan was the one who eagerly insisted my father was the killer.

I returned from a business trip to find my father under arrest. I nearly fainted.

I never believed the accusation. I searched tirelessly for evidence—and finally found a clue: the dagger.

And now Nathan had gifted it to Madeline like some trinket.

My words hit him like a slap. He shoved me away and slammed the office door in my face.

The impact made my ears ring.

I stood outside, trembling, my voice hoarse with desperation. “Nathan! You promised! You said you'd give me the dagger—don't go back on your word!”

“Enough!” he shouted through the door. “That’s how it is now! Keep talking, and I won’t testify at your father’s hearing. He’ll never get a reduced sentence.”

His threat hit me like a knife to the gut.

I lowered my hand in numb defeat and turned away.

He was the only eyewitness. His testimony determined my father’s fate. I couldn't afford to lose that.

Just then, my phone buzzed violently in my pocket.

I picked it up with shaking hands.

A man’s voice came through, stern and urgent.

“Ms. Eva, the review for your father’s case has been moved up. You now have three days to submit the key evidence. If not... the verdict will be finalized.”

The phone slipped from my clammy hand and hit the carpet with a dull thud.

Three days.

My father’s weary face filled my mind.

Eva… don’t worry about me. Live your life well…

No. I couldn’t let him die carrying a crime he didn’t commit.

I clenched my teeth, turned around, and slammed the president’s office door open with my shoulder.

It crashed against the wall.

And froze.

Nathan was on the desk, holding Madeline in his arms. His shirt was half undone. The room reeked of lust and betrayal.

I took a step forward—and heard the sharp crack of glass.

Looking down, I saw a shattered wedding photo of us on the floor—discarded.

On the desk behind them, a new photo of Madeline, posed coyly, had taken its place.

“Ah!” Madeline shrank into Nathan’s arms, feigning panic, though her grip on him tightened.

Nathan’s face twisted. “Eva! What the hell are you doing?!”

I smirked and pulled out my phone.

“Nathan, once the photos of your little affair hit the press, your presidency will be history.”

I raised the phone, camera already open.

“Give me the dagger—or I’ll send these pictures to every employee in this building and every news outlet in the country.”

“Give me the phone!” Nathan’s expression twisted with panic as he lunged at me, grabbing for my wrist.

In the struggle, my injured leg slammed against the floor. A sharp bolt of pain shot through me, and for a moment, everything went black.

When I came to, the phone was gone.

He stood above me, breathing heavily, deleting the photos one by one. Sweat beaded on his forehead—not from guilt, but from exertion. Always a germaphobe, he wiped his hands in disgust and threw me a cold look.

“Madeline, get her out.”

He turned and stalked into the lounge bathroom without another glance.

Madeline approached, her fingers lightly grazing her lower abdomen as she looked down on me with smug contempt.

“I’m pregnant,” she said sweetly. “Nathan said our child will be the only heir of the Blake Family.”

Pregnant?

I blinked slowly, bitterness pooling in my throat.

Once, I was pregnant with Nathan’s child too.

But while he was on the phone with Madeline, I mistakenly took expired vitamins at home—alone. The baby died that night. And he never came home.

Now, the pain in my leg made it hard to even breathe, but I forced myself to stand.

“Heir?” I laughed bitterly. “As long as I’m still his wife, your child is nothing more than an illegitimate one.”

Her smile faltered. But I didn’t stop.

“I’ll give you what you want—I’ll divorce Nathan. You can have the title of Mrs. Blake. But I want the dagger.”

Madeline narrowed her eyes. “Do you think I’m stupid? If I give you that dagger, Nathan could go down with your father’s case. You want me to trade his future for a title?”

“It’s true he cheated on me. If I press the issue, I could make him leave the marriage penniless. And you?” I paused, watching her expression tighten. “What if you end up raising that child alone?”

I took a step closer.

“I’ll sign an agreement. I won’t touch Nathan. I won’t even ask him to testify. If I break it, the villa my father left me will be yours—fully transferred.”

She hesitated. I could see the gears turning in her mind.

Madeline had played the long game—pretending to be the perfect woman, worming her way into Nathan’s heart—all for money.

The villa was worth more than enough to tempt her.

But she still frowned. “You’ve been married seven years. What if he doesn’t divorce you? Every time I brought it up, Nathan snapped at me.”

She mimicked his voice: “Madeline, I can give you anything—but not a divorce. I owe Eva too much. Her father raised me. And the company can’t survive without her.”

She used to accept being his hidden mistress. But now that she was pregnant, she couldn’t stand the thought of her child being a secret.

I didn’t reply. I kept glancing toward the lounge door, afraid Nathan would overhear us.

She mistook my silence for weakness.

“I don’t buy it,” she sneered. “What if he still clings to you? What if I’m left looking like the villain?”

Then, her eyes gleamed with an idea.

“Let’s test it. Let’s see who he really chooses.”

She walked over to his desk, opened a drawer, and pulled out a lighter—like she’d done it a hundred times before.

Without warning, she set fire to the curtains.

Flames leapt to life, crawling rapidly up the fabric. The room filled with smoke in seconds.

“Are you insane?!” I gasped, limping toward the door.

But she grabbed my wrist tightly. “Why are you in such a hurry to leave? The real show’s just starting.”

She shoved me deeper into the room, back toward the growing inferno.

The smoke thickened, and soon visibility dropped to nearly zero.

Then, from within the haze, I heard him.

“Eva? Madeline? What’s happening?!”

I coughed violently, struggling to stay upright. My legs trembled beneath me.

“Eva!” Nathan’s voice came closer, panicked. “Where are you?!”

I felt his arms around me. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll get you out.”

For a moment, the urgency in his voice felt real. The Nathan who once loved me... flickered back to life.

He soaked a towel and gently covered my face, then lifted me onto his back.

But just as we reached the hallway, a sharp cry pierced the smoke.

“Nathan! Help me! My throat— I can’t breathe!”

It was Madeline, crouched in a corner, her hands cradling her belly in mock terror.

Nathan froze.

He turned his head and saw her—coughing, crying, clinging to the walls like she was about to collapse.

I felt his hesitation like a dagger in my spine.

She coughed harder, her voice hoarse, her expression pleading.

And just like that, he set me down.

His voice cracked. “Eva… she’s pregnant. I can’t risk it. Wait here—I’ll come back for you.”

He didn’t wait for my response.

He turned and disappeared into the smoke, toward Madeline.

I sat slumped on the floor, alone in the heat and haze. The wet towel on my face had turned scalding, pressing against my skin like fire.

But the burn in my chest hurt far worse.

Thanks to the timely rescue, I survived—but not without consequence.

The smoke had filled my lungs, and I slipped into unconsciousness.

Out of guilt, Nathan sent me to the hospital and stayed at my bedside all night.

He even had the doctor prepare a herbal decoction to help my recovery.

“Drink some of this,” he said softly, gently blowing on the bowl to cool it. “It’ll soothe your throat.”

He brought it to my lips with practiced care.

I stared into the dark, bitter liquid and spoke hoarsely, my voice laced with irony.

“Nathan… you know I hate medicine the most.”

I hadn’t forgotten.

After my miscarriage, I drank countless bowls of this same bitterness, visiting specialists, enduring treatments—hoping to repair my body so we could have another child.

You hated the smell of those herbs.

Said it clung to everything.

You preferred the scent of Madeline’s apartment—light, floral, like the perfume she wore.

The contrast had cut me open then, and the memory still bled now.

I lifted my gaze, searching his face, trying to see if any remorse lived behind those eyes.

His expression tensed. He looked away, then quickly set down the bowl.

“…Drink it if you want. I have something to do.”

And he left.

Moments later, Madeline entered, wearing her usual victorious smile.

“This little test went better than I expected,” she purred. “Seven years, and that’s all it took for Nathan to walk away from you.”

We had already agreed to meet that night for the exchange.

Under the silver moon, at the cliff by the sea, I arrived first.

She stood waiting, the sea breeze teasing her hair, her silhouette like a ghost in the fog.

“I brought it,” she said, holding up a small wooden box. “Where’s the divorce agreement?”

I took the signed papers from my bag—mine and Nathan’s signatures clear on the page—and handed them to her.

Her eyes scanned every word, her expression lit with triumph.

“You actually got him to sign? You really are full of surprises,” she smirked. “Don’t worry—I won’t tell him.”

“I want the dagger,” I said coldly, ignoring her smugness and reaching out.

But instead of handing it over, she clutched the box tighter and took a few quick steps toward the cliff’s edge.

Her voice turned airy, distant.

“Eva… do you know something?”

She looked at me with strange clarity, almost manic.

“I regret it.”

Then—with no warning—she raised her arm and hurled the box into the air with all her strength.

“NO!”

I lunged forward, eyes wide with horror, heart pounding.

The wooden box spun once before vanishing into the black waves below.

Gone.

The last thread of hope for my father—snuffed out by the sea.

My world tilted.

Blinded by rage, I screamed and ran toward her, fueled by anguish and fury.

“Madeline! I’ll kill you!”

But before I could reach her, a force crashed into me from the side.

I hit the ground hard—my body screaming in pain, the impact jarring every bone.

Nathan.

He’d appeared from the shadows and tackled me with full force.

I lay gasping on the cold earth, unable to move, as he ran to shield Madeline.

She clung to him like a terrified dove, trembling in his arms.

“Eva!” he roared, eyes blazing with fury. “You lunatic! Madeline said you were dangerous—and she was right!”

His voice turned cold, final.

“I was going to testify for your father. But after what you just did? Forget it. I won’t be attending the trial. You made your bed—now lie in it.”

He wrapped his arms around Madeline and led her away.

He didn’t even look back.

“Nathan! No!” I screamed, dragging myself across the ground.

But my broken leg gave out again, and I collapsed.

I clawed at the earth, sobbing, helpless.

Despair crashed over me like the waves below the cliff—cold, relentless, drowning me.

Then, my phone vibrated violently in my pocket.

With shaking fingers, I answered.

“Ms. Eva?!” It was Lawyer Carter. His voice was tight with urgency. “Where are you?! The court just moved your father’s final verdict—it's scheduled for tomorrow morning at nine! We’re out of time! Do you have the evidence?!”

The phone slipped from my hands and landed on the dirt.

Tears blurred my vision.

Gone. Everything… was gone.

There was no dagger. No testimony. No time.

And no one left who would save him.

My father's face floated into my mind—tired, worn, but always smiling.

“Eva… Don’t worry about me. Live well.”

But how could I?

How could I live, knowing he would die for a crime he didn’t commit?

There was no hope left.