Of course, my name was on the list too.

[Callum Lister – suitable gender, suitable age, high kidney match. Jordan felt great after using one. Can take the second one. Compensation: none. Economical and affordable.]

I stared at those words, my stomach twisting. Economical and affordable.

That was all I was to her. Not her husband. Not someone she cared about. Just a convenient organ donor with a perfect match.

I felt a strange kind of numbness settle in, like my brain refused to process the betrayal all at once. Without thinking, I printed out the list, along with the divorce agreement I had prepared earlier.

Then, I sat down on the couch and stayed there all night. By morning, my back ached from sitting so long, but my mind was clearer.

Yolanda walked in, assuming I had just woken up early. She didn’t suspect a thing. As usual, she placed a bowl of porridge in front of me.

"Here, I tried a new recipe today. Let me know if you like it," she said with a smile. Because of my artificial kidney, I could only eat soft food. She made sure I had something warm and nutritious every morning, always switching up the ingredients so I wouldn’t get bored.

I used to think it was sweet. Now, it just made me feel sick.

She noticed me hesitating and frowned. "Callum, are you okay? Why aren’t you eating? Do you want me to make something else?"

My fingers brushed against the divorce papers in my pocket. "Yolanda, we need to—"

Before I could finish, her phone rang. She glanced at the screen and instantly, her whole expression changed. A gentle expression appeared in her face as she quickly picked up. "Hello? Mm… Of course, I didn’t forget. Everything is ready. See you later."

She turned back to me with an apologetic smile. "Callum, something urgent came up at work. I have to go in and it might take a while. If you need anything, let’s talk when I get back, okay?"

She grabbed her coat and left before I could get another word in. I let out a slow breath, staring at the untouched porridge in front of me.

Even now, after everything, I wasn’t her priority. Even now, I was waiting for her.

That evening, my phone buzzed with a text. [Callum, it’s me. My phone is dead. Come to the Crown Hotel, I have a surprise for you.]

Yolanda.

I checked the date, it was my birthday. I almost laughed. Perfect timing. I was going to see her anyway—I still had things to say.

When I arrived at the hotel, I overheard two waiters talking near the entrance. "Ms. Sinclair really goes all out for her husband, huh?" one of them said, sounding impressed.

"Right? She booked the entire top floor and filled it with roses. Not just any roses, either, some super rare variety. She even had them flown in on private jets. Can you imagine? Just because her husband's favorite flower is roses!"

"You see that watch Ms. Sinclair just gave her husband? That thing could probably buy a whole country!" one of the waiters gushed.

The other sighed. "I know, right? I heard she got it as a welcome-home gift just for him. Seriously, how lucky can a guy get?"

And just like that, it all made sense why Yolanda never gave me roses and why she used sunflowers when she proposed.

I had asked for a rose once. Just one. She laughed, said they were too fragile, too delicate—not for me.

Now I knew the truth. It wasn’t that I didn’t suit roses. It was that Jordan did and to her, I simply wasn’t worth them.

The realization sat heavy in my chest as I stepped into the hall. That was when I saw them.

Yolanda, standing in the middle of a sea of roses, carefully fastening an expensive watch onto Jordan’s wrist. She adjusted it with a tenderness I hadn’t seen from her in years, then leaned in and pressed a soft kiss to his cheek.

They looked like they belonged there. like they were the perfect couple. Jordan noticed me then. His brows pulled together in confusion before he let out a dramatic scoff.

"What’s up with security tonight? Since when do they let beggars in?" His voice carried over the crowd, drawing even more attention my way. "Get him out of here before he ruins the party Yolanda threw for me!"

Laughter followed. Whispers spread like wildfire. I could feel their eyes on me; mocking, judging. Picking me apart like I was nothing but a joke.

"Wait a second," someone sneered, "isn’t that Ms. Sinclair’s useless husband?"

"Yeah, I heard he lost both kidneys. Now he just leeches off her, waiting to die."

"If you ask me, a guy like that should just end it already instead of dragging other people down."

"Seriously, just look at him. Weak as hell, a total disgrace. And compared to Jordan? It’s embarrassing. He must’ve tricked Ms. Sinclair into marrying him or something. And now he’s out here, making a fool of himself."

More laughter. More whispers. And Yolanda just stood there, she didn’t deny it. Didn’t defend me. She didn’t say a damn thing.

Losing both kidneys left me looking weak and apparently, that made me an easy target. "I heard kidneys help filter waste," someone snickered. "Since he lost both, his stomach must be full of shit. No wonder he reeks."

Laughter rippled through the room. I stood there, silent, as they laughed at me like I wasn’t even a person.

Then Yolanda finally saw me. Her eyes widened for a second before she quickly composed herself and walked over, looking embarrassed.

"Callum, what are you doing here?" she asked, forcing a smile. "Don't get the wrong idea. Jordan just got back today and I wanted to welcome him properly."

Before I could say anything, Jordan slung an arm around her shoulders, grinning like he was enjoying the moment.

"Oh, Callum, it's you?" He laughed. "My bad, man. Yolanda went overboard with these crystal chandeliers, said they’d make me look even more handsome. Guess the glare messed with my eyes. Thought some random beggar wandered in."

More laughter. I ignored him and looked at Yolanda. "Do you know what day it is?"

She blinked, confused. I waited, still nothing. I let out a short, bitter laugh. Of course. She had forgotten. Again.

For years, she brushed it off, saying old couples didn’t need birthdays. That just being together was enough.

Yet here she was, throwing a grand celebration for him, surrounding him with imported roses, draping him in designer gifts.

For me? Nothing. I must’ve looked ridiculous standing there.

Yolanda hesitated like she was about to say something, maybe explain, but Jordan suddenly groaned and clutched his stomach.

"Yolanda… my stomach hurts," he murmured, leaning into her. "I think my old wound isn’t fully healed."

Six years. He had been milking this same excuse for six years, but Yolanda panicked like it was the first time she’d heard it.

"What? You were fine just now! Maybe your shirt is too tight?" She fussed over him, adjusting his collar. "I told you, even if you wore a sack, you’d still be the most handsome man in the world, but you never listen."

Then she turned to me. "Callum, just sit down for a while, okay? Jordan isn’t feeling well. I need to take care of him."

And just like that, she was gone, helping him upstairs like I didn’t even exist. I stood there, stuck in a sea of roses and whispered laughter.

"Some people really think that just because they married Ms. Sinclair, they actually matter," someone sneered.

Another scoffed. "Please. Everyone knows Ms. Sinclair only ever loved Jordan. If Kyra hadn’t gotten there first, you think he would even be here?"

Mocking voices. Disgusted stares. I was just standing there, humiliated, while the woman who once swore to love me disappeared into an elevator with another man.

"Get lost already. No amount of roses can cover up the stench coming from your gut. Stop polluting the air. Honestly, what’s even the point of you being alive?"

Laughter followed, cruel and sharp, cutting through me like a blade. I said nothing.

My fingers curled around the divorce papers hidden in my pocket, crumpling the edges. My chest tightened, but I refused to let them see me break. Without a word, I turned and walked away, heading upstairs.

When I reached the suite, I noticed the door wasn’t fully closed. Something told me to turn around and leave. That I didn’t need to see whatever was happening inside.

But I looked anyway and I regretted it instantly.

Jordan was sprawled out on the sofa and Yolanda was practically draped over him, her skirt riding up as she clung to his neck. Her eyes were hazy, lips slightly parted, caught between hesitation and desire.

"Yolanda, is my skin still smooth?" Jordan murmured, his fingers trailing lazily over her arm. "Are there any scars?"

She squirmed, a weak attempt at resistance. "Jordan, we shouldn't... You're married now, I—"

"Shh..." He pulled her closer, tilting her chin up. "Yolanda, I remember everything you did for me. Even if I had to marry someone else, my heart still belongs to you." His voice dropped, smooth and coaxing. "I'm your rose, remember? Tonight, you can touch me as much as you want."

With that, he unbuttoned her dress, revealing a tattoo beneath her collarbone. He pressed his hand against it, then leaned in and kissed her.

Yolanda trembled. Whatever willpower she had left snapped in an instant and she kissed him back—hungry, desperate, as if she had been waiting for this moment all her life.

I had never seen this side of her before. The woman who always prided herself on composure, who once told me she hated recklessness, now throwing herself so completely at him.

For a second, I couldn’t move. Then something inside me cracked. I raised my phone, hit record and captured every second of it.

By the time I stopped, my hands were shaking. I couldn’t watch anymore. I stumbled out of the room, my legs weak beneath me.

Downstairs, I collapsed onto the curb outside the hotel, my head spinning. Laughter and music spilled out from inside, but none of it belonged to me.

I sat there, cold and empty, staring at nothing. Then, without warning—Splash.

A bucket of filth; rotten fish, shrimp, God knows what else, crashed over me, soaking through my clothes and chilling me to the bone.

"Callum, let me do you a favor."

Jordan’s voice was light, almost playful, as he stepped out of the shadows, twirling a knife between his fingers. "Since you reek of shit, how about a bucket of swill to cover it up? No need to thank me."

The cold liquid dripped from my hair, soaking through my clothes. My whole body stiffened, but I didn’t react.

Jordan smirked. "How did it feel, watching me and Yolanda? Must’ve been quite the show, huh? Since you were so generous with your kidneys, I figured I’d be generous too—let you watch us for free."

I clenched my jaw. So that was his game. He wanted me to see it.

"I didn’t give them to you," I said, my voice calm but firm. "You cheated. You stole them."

Jordan let out a dramatic sigh, like he was disappointed. "And? What are you gonna do about it? Some people are born to serve and you? You’re one of them. Doesn’t matter if it’s your kidneys, your pride, or your whole damn life—you were made to be used by people like me."

His eyes gleamed with amusement as he took a step closer. "And Yolanda? She understands that. If I told her to get rid of you, she wouldn’t even flinch. Because I’m the only man she’s ever truly loved."

His words hit harder than I wanted to admit, but I kept my face blank.

Jordan tilted his head, studying me. "You’re even more pathetic than I thought, Callum. You actually believed you could keep Yolanda? That you could share her with me?" He laughed, slow and mocking. "What a joke."

I said nothing.

"Your fiancée. Your wife. Your father’s life. Both of your kidneys. Everything you had, I took. Because I wanted to. And because Yolanda let me."

My hands curled into fists.

Jordan grinned, like he was enjoying this. "Don’t believe me? Let me break it down for you. That night, I pretended to have a stomachache. Told Yolanda I was worried one kidney wouldn’t be enough. And you know what she did?"

He paused, waiting for a reaction. "She took your last kidney without a second thought. Handed it over like it meant nothing."

A cold, sick feeling twisted in my gut, but he wasn’t done. "And your father? He screamed when he died. Eyes bulging, teeth cracking from clenching so hard. But you know what’s funny?"

Jordan leaned in, his voice dropping to a whisper. "Even in his last moments, he was worried about you."

He pulled back, laughing like it was the funniest thing in the world. "The old man was in agony, but all he cared about was his useless son. How pathetic is that?"

I exhaled sharply, my vision blurring with rage. I had known Jordan was shameless, but this was something else.

My whole body was trembling. This man had killed my father and still acted like he’d done nothing wrong.

I clenched my fists, my breath coming in sharp, ragged bursts. Before I could even lift a hand, Jordan grabbed a dinner knife, dragged it across his own arm—just deep enough to break the skin—then threw it at my feet and let out a dramatic scream.

The next thing I knew, I was shoved to the ground.

"Callum, are you insane?!" Yolanda’s voice cut through the cold night air like a whip.

She had thrown herself at Jordan, her hands frantically pressing against his arm like he was bleeding out. The tiny cut had already stopped bleeding, but that didn’t stop her from tearing the hem of her expensive dress to wrap around his wound.

I just sat there, stunned. Jordan buried his face against her shoulder, his voice laced with pitiful desperation.

"Yolanda, I was just worried about Callum," he said, his tone shaking just enough to sound convincing. "I thought the cold wind might make him sick, so I invited him back to the hotel. But out of nowhere, he threw swill at me!"

He let out a shuddering breath. "I—I didn’t expect it to spill back on him and I even offered to give him my own clothes! But he—he called me a hypocrite! He blamed me for taking his kidney, for killing his father, for seducing you…"

Jordan clutched her tighter. "He said I ruined his birthday and then he tried to stab me! If I hadn’t dodged in time, Yolanda, you wouldn’t even have me anymore…"

Yolanda turned to me, her eyes dark with contempt.

"Callum, are you seriously throwing a tantrum over your stupid birthday?" She scoffed. "You’re not even gonna live to see another one, so what does it matter?"

Her words hit harder than a punch.

"And your father? He died because he was unlucky. Surgery is always risky. What does that have to do with Jordan?" She gave me a cold, condescending look.

"Even if you killed Jordan, your father wouldn’t come back. And let’s be real—this whole thing had nothing to do with him in the first place."

I couldn’t breathe.

"Why don’t you blame your own kidneys?" she went on. "Your father’s body rejected them, how is that our fault? Now quit being dramatic and apologize to Jordan."

I stared at her, my heart pounding so hard it hurt. "Yolanda…" My voice was barely above a whisper. "I just want the truth. Tell me, how did my father really die? Did you actually give him my kidney?"

For a split second, something flickered in her expression—annoyance? Guilt? Then she let out an exasperated sigh.

"Of course I did," she said, like I was the biggest idiot in the world. "What else would we have done with your kidney?"