To be with Faye Sinclair, my childhood friend drugged my milk and sent me to an old man’s bed.

They took nude photos of me and spread them everywhere, turning me into the city's disgrace—the woman everyone wanted to ruin.

My family's company crumbled overnight. Stocks plummeted, debts soared into billions, and ruin swallowed us whole. Unable to bear the shame and devastation, my parents jumped from the rooftop, leaving me an orphan in an instant.

When the creditors cornered me, fists raised, ready to end my life, a man stepped in—my best friend's brother.

He shielded me, knelt before me, and with tens of billions of betrothal gifts, he asked me to be his wife.

I thought he was my salvation. I thought heaven had finally given me a way out.

But two years later, I overheard a conversation that shattered my illusions.

"Mr. Sinclair, your wife is five months pregnant and can no longer take osteoporosis medicine. It will affect the efficacy of the umbilical cord blood."

"I don’t understand," the assistant hesitated. "You advised Wesley to destroy your wife's innocence, to ruin her family. And now, you're planning to take her child—just to save Faye? Aren't you afraid she'll find out and leave you?"

Tristan exhaled a slow ring of smoke, his voice indifferent.

"She won’t find out. And even if she does, I’ll pay her back with my life. As for the child... if she really wants one, I’ll give her another."

A chill ran down my spine. My salvation was never real. The man I trusted had orchestrated my downfall from the start.

——

The assistant still hesitated. "But Faye is only your adopted sister. She has no blood ties to you. Madam has given up everything for you—is it really worth this?"

Tristan’s eyes darkened.

"Of course, it’s worth it. Faye is the only woman I love. The world won’t allow us to be together, so I’ll give her happiness in the only way I can. A few lives—what do they matter?"

He said it without hesitation. Without remorse.

I covered my mouth, but the sobs broke through, spilling out like a dam bursting. I never imagined I would hear such words—from the man I loved most.

My hands trembled violently, my body overcome with emotion. The thermos slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the floor with a deafening clang. The sound sliced through the silence of the corridor like a knife.

Inside, Tristan’s expression shifted. He shot to his feet, striding toward the door. The moment he saw me, panic flashed in his eyes.

"Wife… why are you here? Did you hear what we just said?"

I had already wiped my tears away. My fingers curled tightly together to suppress the shaking. Lowering my gaze to the spilled chicken soup pooling on the cold tiles, I let out a sigh of regret.

"What could I have heard?" I smiled faintly. "My hands started shaking again the moment I got here, and I knocked over the thermos. Such a shame… I spent all morning making that soup."

Tristan glanced at my trembling hands and seemed to relax. He took them on his own, his grip was warm and reassuring—an illusion of tenderness.

"It’s my fault," he murmured, his voice filled with guilt. "I failed to protect you, and now you suffer from this hand tremor. From now on, let the servants handle these things. My wife only needs to enjoy life."

He spoke as if he cherished me. As if he cared.

But I knew better now.

My tremors had started after the brutal beating from the creditors. The damage had been so severe that I could no longer hold a scalpel, forcing me to abandon my career as a doctor. Over time, the tremors worsened, more persistent and uncontrollable than they should have been. Doubt had gnawed at me for years—no injury could cause this kind of lasting affliction. At times, I wondered if I had been poisoned, but that thought always seemed absurd.

After all, my meals were carefully prepared by the nutritionist Tristan hired. They knew my dietary restrictions, my allergies. How could anything have been wrong?

Now, the truth crashed over me like a tidal wave.

Osteoporosis medication.

Tristan had been feeding it to me all along, weaving weakness into my body, ensuring my hands would never be steady again. The falls, the trembling, the helplessness—he had orchestrated it all.

And all of this—my ruined career, my trembling hands—was just to keep me from returning to medicine, to force me into submission, all for Faye, who was also a doctor.

Tristan led me into his office with the same gentle care he had always shown. He guided me to the sofa, his voice warm and indulgent.

"Sit here, wife. Rest a bit."

Moments later, an assistant arrived with a platter of my favorite fruits and snacks. Tristan placed his laptop in front of me, queuing up my favorite TV series. Finally, he reached out and rubbed my head affectionately.

"I still have some work to finish. Be good and wait for me here, okay? Once I’m done, I’ll take you out for seafood."

His tone was soft, his gaze filled with love—so convincing, so practiced.

He turned away, settling into his chair, but barely a minute had passed when a message popped up on my screen.

"Brother, my heart is getting worse. Am I dying soon? When will you give me my sister-in-law’s umbilical cord blood?"

My breath hitched.

He had forgotten to log out of Facebook on his laptop, syncing his messages in real time.

And then, right before my eyes, he responded.

"Soon. In five days, I’ll arrange a car accident. She’ll believe the child died in the crash. Then, we’ll use the umbilical cord blood to treat you. My Faye will be fine."

A car accident.

He had planned it all.

The joy on his face when he learned about my pregnancy, the way he had cradled me as if I were his most precious treasure—none of it was real. He wasn’t excited to become a father. He was just thrilled that he could finally save Faye.

Perhaps sensing my gaze, he suddenly turned to me and flashed a reassuring smile.

"Wife, just a little longer. I’ll finish up soon, and then we’ll go have that seafood dinner you love."

His eyes were filled with sincerity, his tone dripping with affection, as if he weren’t plotting my death just moments ago.

I clenched my hands beneath the blanket, forcing down the rage and nausea clawing at my throat. My fingers hovered over the keyboard as I scrolled through the rest of his chat with Faye.

And what I saw made my blood turn to ice.

"Tristan, I got my period again. My underwear is dirty. Come wash it for me."

"Tristan, my sister-in-law won’t be mad that we talk every day, right? We’re just siblings. If she gets jealous of her sister, she’s too petty."

"Tristan, Wesley kept me up all night again. He’s been clinging to me lately, but I still miss the days with you. My brother is better than Wesley."

"Brother, why are you pretending to be so serious? No one knows we’re not really related by blood. Didn’t you do enough to confront me when we were in love?"

They chatted almost every day. And every time Tristan told me he was out socializing, he was actually on his way to see Faye.

But that wasn’t the only betrayal I uncovered.

I made another discovery—one that shattered the last remnants of trust I had left.

The notebook I had used to record my years of medical knowledge—the one containing unique theories and findings that could revolutionize medicine—was missing. That notebook had been my life's work, a collection of medical truths I had painstakingly practiced and refined. If I had applied for a patent, it would have been worth hundreds of billions.

It disappeared on the third day after I married into the Sinclair Family.

I searched the entire estate, desperate to find it, but it was nowhere to be seen. Tristan had told me it must have been misplaced during the move. At the time, I believed him.

I never expected that he had given it to Faye.

I gripped my phone tightly, my heart numb with disappointment. Without hesitation, I sent a message to a contact I had prepared long ago.

"Draft a divorce agreement for me."

Then, with a deep breath, I booked a flight. Three days from now, I would leave—disappearing to the other side of the world.

That evening, we had dinner at a high-end restaurant, a place we had dined at countless times before. Tristan played his usual role—the doting husband. He poured water for me, peeled shrimp with practiced ease, and even wiped the corners of my mouth with a napkin. He was so attentive, so consumed with caring for me, that he barely touched his own food.

In the past, this devotion had made my heart ache for him. After a long day of work, he would still focus all his energy on me, doing everything he could to make me comfortable. Especially after I became pregnant, it was as if my only responsibility was to exist—he took care of the rest.

I used to think it was love.

But now, I know better.

Everything he did—every tender gesture, every whispered promise—was never about me. It was about my child.

Because to him, I was nothing more than a vessel.

And my child’s umbilical cord blood was the only thing that truly mattered.

That should have been the end of it.

But just then, a child at the next table suddenly collapsed, his body convulsing violently as he fell off his chair. White foam frothed at his mouth, his limbs jerking uncontrollably.

His family panicked, their faces stricken with fear. It was clear they had never encountered this before. Desperate, they called for help, but I knew the child wouldn’t last until the ambulance arrived.

Without hesitation, I stepped forward.

I quickly placed chopsticks horizontally into his mouth to prevent him from biting his tongue, then began administering first aid. Slowly, his convulsions subsided, and the foaming stopped—but his eyes remained unfocused, dazed.

I turned to his parents. “Take him to the hospital now while he’s stable.”

But before they could react, Faye suddenly rushed forward.

She shoved me aside, stuffed a pill into the child’s mouth, and gently wiped his face with a tissue, her movements practiced and careful.

Moments later, the child blinked, his consciousness returning. His family sighed in relief, their panic melting into gratitude. They turned to thank me—only for Faye to step in, blocking their way.

“I’m a doctor,” she declared with a warm, reassuring smile. “It’s my duty to save lives. I’ve given him medicine, and he won’t have another attack. If you ever need help again, just come find me at the Pioneer Medical Center.”

Her words immediately captured their attention. A doctor. The one who saved their child. They showered her with thanks, their relief turning into admiration.

I clenched my fists, anger simmering beneath my skin.

After they left, I stepped forward and grabbed Faye’s wrist. “How can epilepsy be cured with just one pill? You should have told them to go straight to the hospital! What if the child has another seizure?”

I didn’t yell. My voice was steady, controlled.

But Faye acted as if I had struck her.

Her eyes turned red, brimming with unshed tears as she ran to Tristan, her voice trembling with grievance.

“Brother… why is Sister-in-law like this? I was only trying to save a life, and she’s accusing me instead.”

Tristan’s gaze snapped to me, his expression darkening with impatience.

“Eliza,” he sighed, his tone carrying the weight of irritation. “Faye is a doctor. She knows more than you—a full-time wife. Isn’t it a bit much for you to act like you know better than her?”

Yes.

I am just a housewife now—someone who only knows how to make money around men, while Faye stands at the pinnacle of medicine. Even if my way of saving people was correct, who would trust an ordinary woman like me over an esteemed expert like her?

I lowered my head, swallowing the bitterness rising in my throat. The sadness pressed down on my chest, but I forced myself to stay silent.

Tristan must have noticed my mood shift because he reached out, as if to comfort me—

But then, Faye suddenly clutched her chest and staggered, her face twisting in pain.

“Tristan… my heart… it hurts… I think my heart disease is flaring up again…” she whimpered, her body collapsing dramatically onto the floor.

Tristan hesitated for only a second.

Even if her exaggerated act was transparent, his reaction was instinctual—without thinking, he rushed to her side, scooped her into his arms, and carried her out.

It was only when I heard the roar of the car engine outside that I realized—he had left.

Without me.

The skies opened up, and heavy rain poured down in sheets, drenching everything in sight. I stood there in the doorway, shivering, my clothes sticking to my skin as I watched his car disappear down the road.

He didn’t look back.

I hadn’t brought an umbrella, and taxis were nowhere to be seen. With no other choice, I started walking.

The road home stretched endlessly before me. The rain blurred my vision, and my body—already weakened by pregnancy—stumbled more than once. I fell hard, my palms scraping against the cold pavement, my knees bruising. But I forced myself to stand and keep going.

By the time I reached home, my whole body was frozen, feverish.

That night, I burned with illness, drifting in and out of consciousness. In my dazed state, I reached for my phone and dialed Tristan’s number.

The call connected, but instead of his voice, I heard a familiar, sweet tone.

“Sister-in-law, are you looking for my brother?” Faye’s voice was laced with feigned innocence, but the smugness underneath was unmistakable. “He’s cooking for me right now. He doesn’t have time to answer the phone.”

I froze.

In the two years we had been married, Tristan had never once cooked for me.

Not even when I was sick. Not even when I was carrying his child.

But for Faye?

Tears slipped silently down my cheeks, but I didn’t bother wiping them away.

I had been foolish. So, so foolish.

I had actually thought that if I got sick in front of Faye, if she saw me weak and vulnerable, it would make Tristan realize my importance.

But the truth was—

I had never been important to him at all.

For two days, Tristan didn’t return home. Not a single call, not even a text.

Yet, Faye’s social media was filled with posts—pictures, updates, little snippets of their time together. Cooking together. Eating together. Laughing together.

As if she wanted the whole world to know.

As if she wanted me to see.

By the third day, my fever had finally subsided. And just as I thought things couldn’t be any more absurd—

An invitation arrived.

It was for Faye’s award ceremony.