A sharp pain shot up my wrist, and I couldn’t hold back a gasp. I struggled against her grip.

“Let go of me!”

Lucy suddenly grabbed my hand and shoved it hard against her body—then flung herself backward with a dramatic cry.

She crashed to the floor, her forehead slamming against the corner of the table.

Blood trickled down her face.

James bolted forward, catching her in his arms.

“Lucy! Are you okay? I’ll call a doctor.”

He was already dialing his assistant.

Lucy winced, playing up her injuries. But she put on a brave front. “It’s nothing… just a small cut. No need to make a fuss.”

Then, as if on cue, she glanced at me.

“Don’t blame Miss Simmons,” she added weakly. “She didn’t do it on purpose.”

James turned toward me, his expression dark and furious.

“Amelia! You did that on purpose, didn’t you?”

I pressed a hand to my aching side and let out a bitter laugh.

“If I told you I didn’t, if I said Lucy set me up, would you believe me?”

His response was a slap.

The force snapped my head to the side, the taste of iron blooming in my mouth.

“I saw everything,” he spat. “You pushed her.”

“And now you have the audacity to play the victim?”

“Lucy was still kind enough to convince me to buy your liquor—she actually pitied you.” His voice dripped with disgust. “You don’t deserve an ounce of her sympathy.”

I didn’t bother explaining. What was the point? No matter what I said, he wouldn’t believe me.

I picked up the bottles and turned toward the door.

“Stop right there!”

James’ voice was sharp, commanding.

I froze, then turned back to face him. His expression was as cold as ice.

“What else, Mr. Larson?”

“Apologize to Lucy,” he ordered.

My fists clenched.

I knew that if I didn’t comply, I wasn’t walking out of this room.

A fresh wave of pain throbbed from my kidney.

What does it matter? I’m dying anyway. Why fight over my pride?

If an apology would make him happy, then fine.

I turned to Lucy, bowed, and said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you.”

Lucy smiled in satisfaction, playing the role of a gracious host.

“Oh, Miss Simmons, don’t worry about it. It’s nothing.”

Then she took the bottles from my hands.

“I’ll buy these.”

“I know times are tough for you, so think of it as a little help.”

“If you ever need anything, just ask us—don’t… lower yourself to this.”

I knew she was being condescending, but I still forced out a quiet thank you.

Then, without another word, I turned to leave.

But before I could take a step, James yanked me back, shoving me onto the couch.

“My wife just bought your liquor,” he said coldly. “Shouldn’t you drink with us?”

My head spun from the sudden movement. I gritted my teeth and whispered, “I’m sorry… I can’t drink.”

The doctors had been clear—if I wanted to live even a little longer, I had to avoid alcohol at all costs.

Lucy feigned concern. “James, maybe let it go? I heard she has cancer. Drinking might be bad for her.”

James let out a sharp, mocking laugh.

“Cancer? Seriously?”

“She probably just paid off some doctor to fake a diagnosis so she could scam me for money.”

Lucy sighed, pretending to be understanding. “Even if she did lie, I’m sure she had her reasons.”

“But you know, I should be grateful to her.” She turned to James with a sweet smile.

“If she hadn’t been so blind, I never would’ve had the chance to marry you.”

The room burst into jeers.

Disgusted glances turned my way.

“So you’re the gold-digging ex who dumped Mr. Larson?”

“I can’t stand people like you—heartless and shallow!”

“Come on, guys, let’s drink this scum under the table!”

The man I had rejected earlier grabbed a case of liquor and stalked toward me, his eyes dark with malice.

Egged on by his words, the others followed, forming a circle around me.

They grabbed bottles, laughing as they loomed closer.

Panic surged through me.

I turned to James, my breath hitching.

“Please—help me! I don’t want to die here!”

But James just gave a cold, indifferent smile.

“Quit the act, Amelia Simmons.”

“A few drinks won’t kill you.”

“Didn’t you used to handle clients like a pro? You could drink anyone under the table.”

He wasn’t wrong. Back then, I could drink.

When James and I first graduated college and started our business together, I’d do whatever it took to land deals—including drinking with clients.

Some were difficult, dragging me through all-night drinking sessions just to test my limits.

I’d spend the next morning in the hospital getting my stomach pumped—only to go back out and do it all over again that night.

I was strong then. My body could take it.

And James… he hated seeing me like that.

Whenever he could, he’d shield me, taking the drinks himself.

For years, he loved me with everything he had.

Not only did he fight beside me in business, but he also took care of me in every way.

He never let me lift a finger at home—always handling everything himself.

But fate was cruel.

Eight years ago, James was diagnosed with kidney failure. He was dying.

The doctors warned that without a transplant, he wouldn’t make it.

We searched desperately, but a donor never came.

Until they tested me.

I was a perfect match.

Without hesitation, I volunteered to donate my kidney.

But the doctors urged me to reconsider—my kidneys weren’t in great shape either.

Losing one could have devastating consequences.

It was a life for a life.

Still, I didn’t think twice. To save James, I gave up my kidney without regret.

But I knew the truth—I wouldn’t live long. I wouldn’t be there to take care of him.

So I lied.

I hired an actor to pretend to be a rich man, staged a betrayal, and shattered his heart.

I made him hate me, so he’d let me go.

And now… he had everything.

Success. Wealth. A woman who loved him.

I should be satisfied.

But watching him treat me with such cold indifference—why did it hurt so much?

As bottle after bottle was forced down my throat, my body began to fail me.

My kidney couldn’t handle it.

My heartbeat turned erratic, my blood felt like it was boiling.

Nausea churned in my stomach, pain ripping through every organ.

Breathing became harder and harder—my body shutting down.

I looked at James in despair.

He just watched.

Didn’t move. Didn’t care.

A bitter smile curled my lips.

James… seeing me suffer like this—does it make you happy?

Does it make you feel better?

And when you finally learn the truth… will you regret today?

Just as I was about to lose consciousness, the door to the private room burst open.

“Stop this right now!”

“Amelia is in end-stage kidney failure! She could die at any moment!”

“Force-feeding her alcohol—you’re killing her!”

The voice belonged to Susie.

She rushed forward, shoving the men away as she yelled at them.

Faced with the weight of responsibility, the drunkards hesitated—then quickly scattered.

Susie didn’t waste a second. She pulled out her phone and called emergency services.

As we waited for the ambulance, she held me tightly, her tears soaking my shoulder.

“You idiot,” she sobbed.

“Why would you do this? Why sacrifice so much for a man who doesn’t even love you?”

Across the room, James stood watching, cold and detached, casually swirling the liquor in his glass.

“Sacrifice?” He scoffed.

“A selfish, greedy woman like her—capable of sacrifice?”

“What a joke.”

“She’s willing to sell her dignity for money. Whatever happens to her now—she deserves it.”

Susie shot him a glare, shaking with rage.

“One day,” she spat, “you’ll regret this.”

“You’ll regret every bit of your cruelty tonight.”

James chuckled, the sound laced with contempt.

“I doubt it.”

“The only regret I have is ever loving her.”

“She’s my greatest humiliation.”

Something inside me snapped.

I coughed violently, a sharp pain tearing through my stomach—before a mouthful of blood splattered onto the floor.

I lifted my gaze, my vision blurring.

“James…” My voice was hoarse, barely a whisper.

“Do you really hate me that much?

“Would my death finally make you happy?”

For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes—hesitation, maybe even concern.

But his next words were like ice.

“Yes.

“So die, then.”