Olivia went as far as forging a nonexistent contract, fabricating evidence to support her lies.

Sebastian, clinging to fragmented memories of Gabriella, found no trace of Abigail in his recollection. The false narrative spun by his mother took root, and he chose to believe her over the stranger Abigail had become in his mind.

Despite Abigail’s desperate attempts to explain, her words fell on deaf ears. To him, she was now just a woman repaying a favor, and his disdain for her was blatant in his every action.

After walking aimlessly for what felt like an eternity, Abigail’s strength finally gave out. She sank to the ground, clutching her chest as pain rippled through her heart.

Tears streamed down her face, one after another, as she stifled her cries with a trembling hand. Her shoulders quivered under the weight of her grief, her vulnerability laid bare to the cold, indifferent night.

Time seemed to blur—minutes, maybe an hour—until the sudden ringing of her phone jolted her back to reality.

Sniffling, Abigail wiped the tears from her face and steadied her voice before answering.

“Abigail, have you decided about the follow-up on the research project? Do you want to join?”

The voice on the other end was calm, professional. It was about a confidential project, one that promised secrecy and a chance to disappear. If she joined, her whereabouts would be strictly hidden—a clean break from everything.

Her thoughts wavered. Memories of the past flooded her mind. Sebastian has only lost his memory. Love doesn’t just vanish. Maybe… maybe I should wait.

“I’ll think about it, Director,” she said softly, her voice steady despite the turmoil within.

Snowflakes began to fall from the sky, delicate and silent. This year’s snow came early, and it was growing heavier by the minute. Abigail had no choice but to make her way home through the thickening storm.

By the time she reached the villa, her coat was soaked through. Shivering, she opened the door.

Inside, the warmth of the living room was starkly contrasted by the scene before her—several people were already seated on the sofa, chatting and watching TV.

As Abigail stepped into the warmth of the house, the snow on her coat began to melt, forming small puddles at her feet. Her frozen hands slowly regained feeling, tingling with the sensation of warmth.

She walked past the group on the sofa, her wet footsteps faintly audible against the floorboards. Just as she reached the stairs, Sebastian’s voice cut through the low hum of conversation.

“Abigail.”

He had never addressed her with such formality before. The weight of his tone made her stop in her tracks. She turned, a flicker of hope glimmering in her eyes—a hope she didn’t even realize she carried.

But his next words extinguished that fragile spark, plunging her back into the cold.

“There’s so much water on you. Don’t track it everywhere. Gabriella might slip. Go stand by the door and dry off before coming in.”

He never once looked at her. His gaze remained fixed elsewhere, concern only for Gabriella’s safety—not for Abigail, shivering in her soaked clothes.

Her heart tightened, the pain a dull, relentless ache, as though a hand had clenched around it. She turned back towards the door, the faint laughter from inside the house piercing her like shards of ice.

Outside, the snow continued to fall, soft and silent. She stared at it, memories surfacing unbidden.

Every year, when the first snow arrived, Sebastian had insisted they watch it together. He once believed in the superstition—that those who watched the first snow together would stay together forever. He had always held her close, shielding her from the cold, his warmth a barrier against the chill.

Now, the irony was almost cruel. The man who once protected her from the snow had left her to stand alone in it.

When she finally reentered the house, the warmth that greeted her felt hollow. The living room was dark; the laughter was gone. They had forgotten her entirely, retreating to their rooms without a second thought.

She smiled bitterly to herself, climbing the stairs to the bathroom. The shower’s hot water stung her icy skin, but it couldn’t thaw the cold in her heart.

Returning to the bedroom, she slipped quietly into bed, careful not to disturb Sebastian. But as she settled, he shifted deliberately, moving further away from her.

It was a small, wordless gesture, but it hit her harder than any insult. His avoidance felt like a declaration: she was unwelcome, untouchable—a virus he couldn’t escape.

Her body froze, the weight of his rejection paralyzing her. She lay motionless, unsure if she could even breathe without it breaking her completely.

“Are you going to sleep or not?” His impatient voice cut through the silence like a blade.

Abigail swallowed the bitterness welling up inside her and lay down, tears slipping silently down her cheeks, disappearing into the fabric of her pillow. The pain in her chest felt like an endless weight pressing down on her, but she remained quiet, unwilling to let the sobs escape.

The next morning, she rose early to make breakfast. As she entered the kitchen, she noticed the house was quieter than usual. A quick glance confirmed it—Olivia and Gabriella had left. A small sense of relief washed over her, a momentary reprieve from their constant scrutiny.

She set the table just as Sebastian came downstairs, adjusting a tie that hung awkwardly around his neck. Instinctively, Abigail stepped forward to help him. Her hands reached for the tie, but he waved her away, his gesture sharp and dismissive.

In that moment, the realization hit her again—he couldn’t stand her touch anymore.

Sebastian continued his clumsy attempt to fix the tie, fumbling with the knot until it was barely passable. Frustration flickered across his face, though he tried to mask it.

Why? he wondered silently. Why can’t I even tie a simple tie anymore?

The answer was plain, though he wouldn’t admit it to himself—he had never learned because Abigail had always done it for him.

When breakfast was ready, they sat at the table. Abigail mustered her courage to speak, her voice steady despite the storm inside her.

“Sebastian,” she began, her tone pleading. “Your mother lied to you. We truly loved each other. It wasn’t an agreement or a threat. Please, you have to believe—”

“Enough!” Sebastian’s hand slammed against the table, the sharp sound echoing in the room. He stood abruptly, his glare cutting through her like a blade.

“Stop spouting nonsense. When the agreed time is up, I’ll divorce you. You’d better behave yourself until then, or I won’t even wait that long!”

His words dripped with anger and disgust, his eyes cold and unyielding.

Abigail felt as though her heart was being strangled, the pain wrapping itself around her like an unrelenting vine. She stared at him, her chest heaving with the weight of words left unsaid.

Why? She asked herself for the hundredth time. Why would he believe me now when he didn’t before?

Her lips twisted into a bitter smile as she lowered her gaze, resigning herself to silence. She returned to her breakfast, her appetite lost but unwilling to show the depth of her hurt.

Once, Abigail had never needed to cook. Sebastian had always insisted on taking care of meals himself or calling their housekeeper when he was too busy.

But after his car accident and subsequent discharge from the hospital, everything changed.

“Why don’t you cook when there’s no one else here?” he’d snapped one day, his voice laced with disdain. “You don’t even know how to do something as simple as this?”

His words had stung, treating her not as a partner but as a servant.

It was Abigail’s first time in the kitchen, but Sebastian’s reaction was as cold and predictable as ever. He took one bite, his expression hardening instantly, and pushed the plate to the middle of the table. The disdain in his eyes was undisguised, a silent declaration of her inadequacy.

The sharp ring of his phone broke the oppressive silence. He glanced at the screen, and his demeanor shifted. Without hesitation, he answered, his voice softening with unmistakable joy.

“Gabriella?”

The sound of that name made Abigail’s hand, holding her chopsticks, freeze in midair. The dining room fell silent again, but Gabriella’s sweet, coquettish voice on the other end of the line was painfully clear.

“Sebastian, the breakfast my aunt made isn’t good. Can you cook for me instead? I only want to eat what you make.”

A tender smile crept onto Sebastian’s face, and he replied indulgently, “Alright. I’ll make you whatever you want.”

The scrape of a chair being pushed back snapped Abigail out of her daze. She looked up just in time to see him stand and walk out the door, the sound of it slamming shut ringing in her ears.

Left alone, Abigail forced herself to continue eating. Each bite felt mechanical, and tears welled up in her eyes as she struggled to swallow. Her heart was a storm of pain and confusion, the ache in her chest nearly suffocating.

Once upon a time, those same words had been meant for her.

“You don’t have to cook. I’ll make you whatever you want to eat,” he used to say, his voice filled with warmth.

The words hadn’t changed, but the person they were meant for had.

The following days passed in emptiness. Sebastian didn’t return, and the coldness in the house deepened as New Year’s Eve approached.

Summoning her courage, Abigail sent him a few messages.

When will you be back? Will we spend New Year’s Eve together?

Her heart ached as she typed those words, memories flooding her mind. Every year before this, Sebastian had insisted they spend New Year’s Eve together. He had even made her swear to it as if their shared celebration was sacred.

But now, the oath seemed forgotten.

The messages remained unanswered, her screen a stark reminder of his silence.

Until New Year’s Eve, Sebastian still didn’t return. As the hours ticked by, the emptiness in the house grew unbearable, and Abigail made another call.

This time, when she was about to give up, he answered.

“Hello, what’s the matter?” His voice was cold, impatient, as if her call was an inconvenience.

Abigail’s heart clenched, but she forced herself to speak softly. “Sebastian, can we celebrate the New Year together today?”

A beat of silence followed, then his tone turned sharper. “Did I tell you not to call me that again? I find it disgusting. And New Year’s Eve? It’s just part of an agreement. Don’t take it seriously.”

The dull ache in her chest sharpened, piercing her like a knife. She swallowed hard, trying to push back the tears threatening to spill.

“Sebastian, I—”

Before she could say more, a cheerful voice interrupted. Gabriella’s voice, bright and carefree, was unmistakable.

“Sebastian, the fireworks are starting! Come quickly!”

“Okay,” he responded, his tone so gentle it was unrecognizable from the one he’d just used with her.

And then, without another word, the call ended.

Abigail sat frozen, the phone still in her hand. Outside, the sound of fireworks erupted, echoing through the quiet of the house. She walked to the balcony, her gaze blank as she looked up at the sky.

The fireworks were just as dazzling as ever, their vibrant colors painting the night. But to her, they felt gray and lifeless, drained of all their beauty.

The thought of Sebastian being with someone else, cherishing someone else, tore at her heart. It was as if every breath came with a fresh wound, stabbing deeper and deeper until the pain became unbearable.

After midnight, her phone buzzed unexpectedly. It was an email notification. She glanced at the sender and froze.

It was from Sebastian.

Her fingers trembled as she opened the email. Inside was a video.

When she clicked play, his face appeared on the screen.

“Abigail, Abby, baby, my wife,” he began, his voice tender and affectionate. “This is the third year we’ve been together. While recording this, I realized just how much more I’ve grown to love you—and I know I’ll keep loving you even more in the future.”

He chuckled softly, his dark eyes sparkling with emotion. “I’ve been thinking about what you said about wanting to travel and get married. Because of my family, I haven’t been able to give you a proper wedding yet. But next year, on our anniversary, let’s make it happen, okay? I’ve already started planning it.”

His smile deepened, pure happiness lighting up his face. It was a version of him she hadn’t seen in so long—a version she thought she’d lost forever.

The video ended, but Abigail sat motionless, unable to process what she’d just seen. She replayed it, again and again, clinging to his words and the warmth in his gaze.

But before she could fully absorb the bittersweet emotions welling inside her, her phone buzzed again.

It was another video.

This time, as she opened it, her world shattered anew.

The screen showed Sebastian and Gabriella. He was wrapping a scarf around her neck with the utmost care, his eyes filled with unmistakable tenderness—as if she were the only person who mattered in the world.

Gabriella reached up, gently stopping him. “Sebastian, isn’t this the scarf Abigail knitted for you? I shouldn’t wear it—it wouldn’t be right.”

Abigail’s eyes darted to the scarf, and her breath caught in her throat. It was the one she had painstakingly knitted for Sebastian on their second anniversary.

Abigail’s mind spiraled as she stared at the paused video. Her fingers hovered over her phone screen, trembling.

She pressed play again.

The memory of Sebastian’s reaction when she gave him the scarf resurfaced vividly. His smile had been radiant, his joy uncontainable.

“Abby, I like it very much,” he had said, immediately wrapping it around his neck. “I’ll definitely cherish it.”

That moment had felt like a promise, one of countless assurances of their love.

But now, in the video, his words cut through her like shards of glass.

“Don’t be in a bad mood,” Sebastian said softly to Gabriella. “Wear it obediently. You’ll be cold later.”

He adjusted the scarf around her neck with a tenderness that was once hers. “If Gabriella doesn’t like it, you can do whatever you want with this scarf. But for now, you must wear it.”

Abigail’s heart clenched as she watched him hand over the scarf she had painstakingly knitted—a symbol of her love—and tell Gabriella she could treat it however she wished.

The video ended abruptly, leaving her staring at the empty screen, her chest tightening with unbearable pain.

Before she could process the hurt, another notification lit up her phone. It was a text message from an unknown number.

With trembling hands, she opened it.

The words hit her like a thunderclap:

"Sebastian only likes me now. He hates you so much. If you ask me, you should give up your position as soon as possible."