Tristan's silhouette retreated with brutal finality, but I didn't have time to indulge in grief. I forced my emotions down and messaged Dad, telling him to contact the heart donor as soon as possible.

He called back within minutes. "Meredith, don't worry—I've reached them. I won't let anything happen to your brother."

There was a tremor of urgency in his voice, as if he waited for me to reassure him.

I answered coldly, "If my brother can't be saved, then that's the end between us."

Silence on the other end turned frantic; he kept promising everything. But promises were the last thing I trust now.

I decided to go home to collect a few important things and leave for good. At the front door, I discovered the lock had been changed, so I had to knock.

"Tristan—" Hillary's coquettish voice trailed off the instant she saw me. "Oh? It's you."

She acted surprised. "Why didn't you just open the door yourself?"

Her eyes shone with unabashed provocation. Then, as if remembering something, she tapped her forehead dramatically. "Oh dear—how forgetful of me. Tristan changed the code this morning ‘for safety.' Looks like you won't be getting in anymore."

I ignored her and walked straight to the master bedroom. I pushed the door open and was met with chaos. Our wedding photos—Tristan and I—were shattered on the floor, and even the custom gifts I once treasured lay ruined among the debris.

"Really sorry about the mess." Hillary leaned against the doorframe. "I didn't expect you back so soon. Haven't had time to tidy up. Maybe...you could make do in the utility room for now?"

I walked across the shards of glass to the wardrobe, dug out my documents from the back, and turned to leave. As I passed her, my foot caught on something and I fell backward, collapsing hard onto the broken glass.

A sharp, stabbing pain seared across my back. I gasped.

"Hillary!" I bit out through clenched teeth.

Footsteps rushed over, and Tristan appeared. Hillary immediately flung herself into his arms, her face suddenly went pale. "Tristan, hurry—take Meredith to the hospital! She came back, and when saw me, she flew into a rage and smashed things; she must have fallen..."

Only then did Tristan look at me properly. But there was no trace of concern in his eyes—only a coldness edged with disgust.

"Meredith! Hillary is already carrying my child. She'll be staying here from now on. No matter how you scream or put on a show, my mind won't change!"

"In your eyes, am I that kind of person?" My voice trembled.

"Hillary is gentle and kind—she would never do something like this. Who else could it be but you?" He said it with absolute conviction, then softened his gaze on Hillary. "This room's no good. Let's go somewhere else."

His attitude started changing a year ago. Whatever I'd been through, he no longer asked—he judged me without hesitation. The cracks had been there a long time; I'd just been blind to them until now.

I remembered how someone had vandalized Hillary's grave. The Gibson family had stormed over and forced me to confess. Tristan never asked a single question—he protected me fiercely. The Gibson family insisted on punishing me; he spent three days and nights finding the true culprit.

I ran my fingers over his tired, bloodshot eyes and asked, "Why did you believe me back then?"

He cupped my face and smiled. "You're the one I love most. If I don't believe you, who will I believe?"

After that, he never visited Hillary's grave again. I once thought I had finally stepped into his heart. I never imagined that all that unwavering protection had been an act from the start.

I found the first-aid kit and cleaned the wound on my back as best I could. Just as I was about to book a hotel, my phone pinged with a security alert: abnormal activity on the surveillance feed. Compelled, I opened the app.

The camera showed the nursery we'd once so carefully decorated. Tristan and Hillary were there—disheveled, and intimate.

Hillary slyly twined his restless fingers and murmured, "My father's heart transplant can't wait any longer..."

Tristan kissed the back of her hand with indulgent tenderness. "Don't worry—I've taken care of it. Coincidentally, the heart that matches your father's is from Meredith's brother. I arranged the surgery this afternoon."

My hand trembled; the phone almost slipped from my grasp.

"That's great—oh, by the way, my brother is just doing an internship. Why don't you make him your assistant?" Hillary's voice was sweet and bright.

Without hesitation, Tristan agreed. "Sure."

"But..." She lowered her lashes, feigning just the right touch of worry. "Meredith's mood has been all over the place lately. What if she gets impulsive and divorces you?"

Tristan tightened his arms around her and answered with absolute certainty, "Don't worry. She's been with me for seven years—she can't live without me. But if she dares make things hard for you again, you don't have to endure it. Protecting yourself comes first."

"Got it..." she purred.

I stopped listening after that. A heavy weight pressed against my chest—not just grief, but the bitter sense that seven years of my life had been wasted.

No matter how I tried to smother it, a sharp, relentless pain kept surfacing, just as fierce as when I first fell helplessly in love with him.

Tangled and numb, I rushed back to the hospital—and still I was too late. They were already wheeling my brother into surgery.

I sat on a bench in a daze, adrenaline giving way to exhaustion.

Silently, Tristan sat beside me and handed me a cup of warm milk. "Drink a little. You need to keep your strength."

I took it without answering—not because my heart softened, but because I needed energy to wait for my brother to come through.

We sat in cold silence until the surgical light dimmed and a doctor stepped out. His face was grave. "We've stabilized him for now, but his condition is critical. He's extremely weak... he may not wake up. The family should prepare for the worst."

My heart sank to the floor.

Just then, a doctor who had been looking down sprinted forward. I caught the familiar features, and he looked shockingly like Hillary.

I lunged, grabbed him, and shouted, "Stop!"

Ignoring his struggle, I ripped the mask from his face. It was Hector—her brother.

"It's you! You did this to my brother!" I lost control and shook him. "Give my brother back to me!"

He panic-breathed and opened his mouth without forming words. Tristan suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind. "Meredith, calm down. This isn't anyone's fault."

Taking advantage of the moment, Hector slipped away.

Tristan still tried to soothe me. "Don't worry. You have me. I'll find the best doctors—"

I wrenched free and slapped him hard across the face. "Tristan, you've disappointed me so much."

For a moment, anger flared in his eyes, then guilt, then a flicker of shame. "If you need to hit or yell, do it to me—but don't take it out on Hillary. She's innocent."

Even now, his first instinct was to protect her. At that moment, I finally saw it clearly—these seven years had been nothing but an illusion.

When they brought my brother out, I followed. In the ward I clutched his cold hand and choked on the words, "Brother... I only have you... don't leave me..."

No matter how I begged, his eyes stayed shut.

...

The next day, Tristan texted that he would arrange a transfer for my brother. I replied once. [You don't need to concern yourself!] Then I blocked him.

The string of disasters left me hollow. I collapsed into the hotel bed and slept until I fell into a nightmare.

In the dream I stood on a cliff's edge opposite Tristan. He had one arm around Hillary and the other clutching their child. Beside me lay my mother and my brother, broken and distant. Their faces were full of disappointment.

"I told you not to marry him!" my mother cried. "You wouldn't listen. Now he's ruined me and your brother—you don't even have a place to cry!"

"Meredith," my brother said coldly, "I spoiled you too much. That's why you let wolves into our home. I... can't rest in peace."

I screamed and reached for them, but they drifted farther away.

When I woke up, my pillow was soaked with tears. The ache in my ribs—the constant, gnawing pain—forced me back into the harshness of reality. I had once believed we would be two for life; now all that remained was regret so vast it swallowed me whole.

I regretted loving him. I regretted handing him the power to shatter everything.

A dull pain thudded through my abdomen and I remembered with a new, sick clarity: I was carrying Tristan's child. The small life that had once held all my hope had become nothing but an extension of this nightmare.

My brother's condition finally stabilized, but he still lay in a deep, unbroken sleep. Our scheduled trip abroad was only a week away.

I had already been quietly gathering evidence against Hector. That routine surgery—the one that should never have been life-threatening—had turned my brother into a vegetable because someone increased the anesthesia. Whether it was malice or recklessness, Hector and Hillary would both pay!

Just as these thoughts churned in my mind, my phone lit up with a call from an unfamiliar number.

"Meredith."

It was Tristan's voice—cold, firm, leaving no room to refuse. "Tomorrow is Grandma's eightieth birthday. Be there."

He hung up before I could say a word. He assumed I would come—and he was right. Grandma was the only person in the Palmer family who had ever truly cared for me.

The next day, I walked into the Palmer household in a black dress. From the gate, I saw Hillary linked arm in arm with Tristan, both poised and practiced like a perfect couple welcoming guests. The moment she saw me, she hustled over and clasped my hand with exaggerated warmth.

"Sister, you finally made it! I was worried you'd refuse... After all, today we're announcing some good news."

I froze for a heartbeat, then glanced at Tristan. He avoided my gaze, muttering in a low voice,

"Grandma has always wanted a great-grandchild... Hillary and I just want to make her happy."

I slipped my arm free of Hillary's grasp and said flatly,

"Whatever you're planning has nothing to do with me. I'll see Grandma, then leave."

Without waiting for their reaction, I walked into the banquet hall.

Grandma sat supported by Samantha, Tristan's mother, smiling warmly as she accepted the guests' blessings. I knelt beside her, lowering my voice. "I wish Grandma longevity as boundless as the East Sea, and health as everlasting as the Southern Mountain."

Just as I was about to present my gift, Samantha snatched the box from my hands. She opened it, and with a shrill laugh, she jeered, "Mountain ginseng? We have warehouses full of them. Did you bring this to poison the old lady?"

"What nonsense!"

Grandma frowned and gently reclaimed the gift box, patting my hand with her thin fingers.

Everything Meredith picks comes from the heart. She's just being thoughtful."

Her eyes softened with love and guilt.

"Tristan has been confused lately and wronged you. Grandma will make him answer for it."

I wanted to protest, but her happiness made me hold my tongue. I whispered instead, "Thank you, Grandma."

She seemed ready to say more, but Hillary suddenly cut in. She pushed my hand away and pressed Grandma's palm onto her own lower belly, her smile radiant.

"Grandma, guess what surprise Tristan and I prepared for you?"

eyes widened, then lit up with joy. "Hillary, are you... pregnant?"

Hillary blushed and nodded. "Almost three months now. We checked and it's a boy."

"How wonderful! Hillary, you're our family's blessing!" Samantha hugged her, beaming. Then she glanced at me with thin cruelty. "Unlike some people who haven't even managed to keep a child after so many years." She turned to Tristan, voice sharp, "You'd better take good care of her. If anything happens again, don't bother coming back to this house."

Tristan nodded solemnly. The three of them walked off together, laughing, as if I no longer existed.

"Meredith," Grandma said softly, her eyes full of pity. "The Palmer family has wronged you—Tristan, he..."

I cut her off with a shake of my head and forced a smile. "I'll handle my relationship with him. You just eat well and live to one hundred."

I shook my head, forcing a smile.

"I'll deal with him myself. You just need to eat well, rest well, and live to a hundred."

My words made her chuckle, and she said no more.

After settling Grandma, I turned back toward the banquet. Hillary stood at the center of a glowing crowd, basking in the admiration, as if she were already the rightful Madam Palmer.

I clenched my fists, not with jealousy, but with cold hatred.

"Enjoy your happy days while you can," I muttered to myself. "They won't last."

Just then, Tristan suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind. "I'm so glad you finally came to your senses," he whispered.

I stiffened, instinctively struggling to pull away, until his whisper brushed against my ear:

"I know you've suffered for me. Next week is our seventh anniversary. I'll make it up to you."

He kissed my forehead tenderly. I fought down the nausea rising in my throat and let him hold me—without pushing him away.