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?"

"I've told you a hundred times, Callum, your father’s death was an accident! Why won’t you just drop it already?" Yolanda snapped, exasperated. "Honestly, I think you need to get your head checked. And while you're at it, apologize right now!"

I stared at her, the woman I had loved for six years, but at that moment, she felt like a complete stranger.

A bitter laugh escaped me. Without thinking, I reached down, grabbed the knife Jordan had thrown earlier and plunged it into my own shoulder.

The pain was sharp, hot, but I barely reacted. Blood immediately spilled down my arm, darkening my shirt.

"Callum, what the hell are you doing?!" Yolanda shrieked, her face going pale.

I met her gaze, completely unfazed. "You wanted me to apologize, right? Well, here it is—my sincerity. Satisfied?"

She stood there, frozen.

I yanked the knife out, the wound stinging, but it didn't matter. "You're right, Yolanda," I murmured. "Nothing I do will bring my father back."

Then, without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving a trail of blood behind me. Yolanda sucked in a sharp breath and for the first time, she actually hesitated.

"Callum—" But before she could say anything else, Jordan groaned dramatically, clutching his arm.

"Yolanda, Callum is so strong, he’ll be fine," he whined. "My arm, though… it really hurts. Can you take me to the hospital? I—I don’t want it to scar…"

And that was it. Yolanda bit her lip, glanced between us for a second… then stayed with him.

She never came home that night. I spent hours packing my things, then tossed everything into the fireplace, watching the flames turn my past into ash.

By morning, there was nothing left. The next day, my phone rang. Yolanda’s voice came through, softer than usual. "Callum… how’s your shoulder? Did you get it bandaged?"

I didn’t respond.

She sighed. "I’m sorry about yesterday. I shouldn’t have forgotten your birthday. And I shouldn’t have said those things about your dad."

I stayed silent.

"Jordan's arm was injured," she added quickly, like she needed me to understand. "You know he’s been weak ever since the transplant. I was worried about him. And… I didn’t want Kyra to give you trouble."

I almost laughed.

Kyra wasn’t the one who destroyed my life. You did, Yolanda.

But I kept my tone even. "I'm fine. You're right, Jordan isn’t in good health. You should take care of him."

Relief flooded her voice. "I knew you’d understand." She brightened up. "Let’s celebrate your birthday tomorrow, okay? I’ll be back in the morning and I’ll bring you a gift. Buy whatever you want, it’s on me!"

But some things, once broken, could never be fixed.

"Okay," I said.

Morning came, she never showed up.

I left the divorce papers and a USB drive on the table, containing every lie, every betrayal, every piece of evidence she thought I hadn’t noticed. Then, without looking back, I walked out the door.

For the first time in years, I felt free.

Outside the hospital, my phone buzzed with a voice message from Yolanda. "Callum, I'm really sorry. An important client showed up out of nowhere and I have to meet him. How about this, I'll have my assistant take you to the mall. Pick out whatever you want and we'll meet at the banquet tonight, okay?"

I stared at the message for a second before replying. "Okay."

Sweet words. Too bad they were built on a lie.

Yolanda had no idea Jordan had just posted a story. I clicked on it. There they were—relaxing in a hot spring, Yolanda sitting right beside him, close enough that their shoulders touched. Behind them, a full wall of frozen roses glowed under soft lights.

[I was only slightly injured, but she insisted on taking me to the spring, saying it's good for my body. She was worried I wouldn’t like it, so she gave me all these roses instead. Turns out, I’m loved wherever I go.]

I locked my phone and let out a slow breath. My wallpaper was still Yolanda. For a moment, I just looked at it. The woman I had loved for years, smiling like she actually cared.

Then, without hesitation, I walked over to a trash can and dropped my phone inside. I didn’t stop to watch it fall. Didn’t care when it hit the bottom with a dull thud.

I just turned and stepped into the hospital, leaving it behind. Meanwhile, Yolanda was still with Jordan. After the hot spring, she took him to the mall, staying by his side the whole time. It wasn’t until the sun started to set that she finally made her way to the hotel.

The party hall was exactly how she had planned it; filled with sunflowers, golden petals glowing under the soft lights.

She thought it was a nice touch. After all, this was the flower she used when she proposed to me. She thought I would still love them. She thought they would be enough.

Yolanda had been waiting for what felt like forever, but I still hadn’t shown up. She checked her phone, hesitated, then sighed. Just as she was about to call me, her assistant came running over, looking flustered, clutching a small box in his hands.

"Ms. Sinclair, he's not at home," he blurted out, breathless. "And someone just dropped this off for you. They said it’s from him."