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.

When I was a child, my mother died because of insufficient medical skills. That day, I could do nothing but watch as she slipped away.

Since then, my dream had always been clear—to become a brilliant doctor, one who could conquer all diseases, one whose name would be etched in history. I had imagined standing on grand stages, receiving countless awards for my achievements in medicine.

But reality was cruel.

That dream never came true.

Still, before I walked away from it all, I wanted to see for myself.

So, I went to the award ceremony alone.

As soon as I stepped inside, my eyes landed on Tristan, who was standing close to Faye, carefully adjusting her hair. His fingers lingered, his expression soft. Their faces were so close that their lips almost touched.

I shouldn’t have been surprised.

Tristan noticed my arrival, but there was no guilt in his eyes. Instead, he merely turned to me and said, with the same practiced gentleness he always used:

"I'm sorry, my wife. Faye’s condition hasn’t been stable these past two days, so I couldn’t go home to take care of her."

His words were an apology, but they carried no weight.

I ignored him and found a seat.

Seeing this, he hesitated for a moment before sitting beside me.

Not long after, Faye approached, her gaze sweeping over me before she smiled sweetly and spoke in that familiar, saccharine tone:

"Sister-in-law, I’ve always liked sitting with my brother since I was little. I still do, even now. You don’t mind, right?"

I met her gaze and hummed lightly, "No mind."

It might have been my imagination, but I thought I saw a flicker of disappointment in Tristan’s eyes.

The award ceremony began.

The host on stage praised Faye to the heavens, reciting her so-called achievements one by one. But with every word, my hands clenched into fists.

Because every medical breakthrough they attributed to her—every brilliant discovery—had come from the knowledge recorded in my own notebook.

The very notebook I had spent years filling.

The audience was in awe.

"Dr. Faye is incredible! She’s solved so many medical challenges."

"Look at her and her brother sitting together—they’re both so good-looking. Honestly, if they weren’t related, they’d make a perfect couple."

"Unlike that pregnant woman sitting beside them… no matter how much she tries to cover up, you can tell she looks old. And I heard her private life is a mess. She was with an old man even though she already had a husband. I don’t know what Mr. Sinclair saw in her."

"She used to be a doctor too, right? Thank God she isn’t practicing anymore. I’d feel disgusted to be treated by someone like her."

The words stung, but I didn’t flinch.

Beside me, Tristan’s expression darkened. With just one cold glance, the whispers died down.

He took my hand, his grip warm and firm, as if shielding me from their words. His voice was filled with tenderness as he said:

"Wife, don’t listen to them. They’re just jealous of our happy marriage."

I looked at him.

For the first time in a long time, I really looked at him.

And finally, I asked the question that had been weighing on my heart.

"Did you give my medical notebook to Faye?"

His fingers stiffened around mine.

For a brief second, guilt flickered in his eyes. But then, just as quickly, he smoothed his expression and feigned ignorance.

"Wife, what are you talking about? Didn’t you lose that notebook a long time ago? Faye is smart—she wouldn’t need to rely on something like that."

In that moment, whatever little affection I had left for Tristan completely shattered.

After the ceremony, I stood outside the garage, waiting for Tristan to bring the car around. The night air was cold, but not as cold as the realization settling in my heart.

Footsteps clicked against the pavement.

I didn’t need to turn around to know who it was.

Faye approached, her trophy clutched tightly in her hands, a smug smile playing on her lips. She lifted it slightly, as if to make sure I saw it sparkle under the dim light.

"Eliza," she said, her tone dripping with triumph. "No matter how smart you are, no matter how talented you were in medicine, in the end, the trophy still belongs to me."

She took a step closer, her eyes gleaming with malice.

"I’d say you’re nothing but a failure. You lost your career, and in love—you’re even worse. The childhood sweetheart who should have stood by your side? He betrayed you for me. And the man you married? He’s nothing more than my obedient slave."

Her words cut like a blade, but she wasn’t finished.

"Do you know who gave you to that old man?" She leaned in, lowering her voice as if savoring the moment. "It was my brother. He planned it all—to make sure you could never ruin my happiness. And your family's bankruptcy? That was his doing too. Every creditor who hunted you down, every moment you spent struggling to survive—it was all part of his design."

I already knew the truth.

But hearing it from her lips still made my chest tighten, made something inside me twist and ache.

She waited for my reaction, expecting to see me crumble.

Instead, I met her gaze and let out a soft laugh.

"Faye," I said, tilting my head, "you can steal a trophy, a career, even a man—but no matter how high you climb, you know the truth better than anyone, don’t you?"

I leaned in slightly, my voice dropping to a whisper.

"You didn’t earn this. You never could. And you should worry less about flaunting your stolen achievements…" I let my gaze drift to the trophy in her hands before meeting her eyes again.

"…and more about how hard the fall will be when the truth finally catches up to you."