Lulled by the anesthetic, Margaret soon sank back into a heavy sleep.

When she woke, the Little Tails group chat already showed over 99 unread messages.

[Why did Sister Margaret suddenly go quiet?]

[@Margaret Did something happen? Did Patrick hurt you?]

[I just checked flights. I can be back tomorrow.]

…

The last message, sent half an hour ago, was from Jacob:

[I can’t reach Sister Margaret, and Patrick isn’t answering either. I’m heading to the airport now.]

A tightness gripped Margaret’s throat.

Besides Patrick, the other four boys who had followed her all those years ago were now thriving. To avoid competing with him for resources, each had chosen to build a career in a different city—Jacob had even made a life overseas.

When they left, they told her: if Patrick ever treated her poorly, they would come and take her away.

So many years had passed. She never imagined that escape route they’d offered was still being held open.

Margaret took a deep breath. “I’ve decided not to marry Patrick. I’ll go anywhere, really. I just don’t want to stay in Seabrook anymore.”

“None of you need to rush back. I still have some loose ends to tie up.”

She and Patrick had built their business together for years. Untangling their shared assets would take at least two weeks.

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready—in about two weeks.”

“Don’t worry about me for now. Just go about your lives.”

The Little Tails had always listened to Margaret. Even with obvious reluctance, they agreed.

She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Though she had decided to leave Patrick, part of her still hoped the other four wouldn’t come to hate him for it. After all, they had all grown up together. Better to part cleanly, with no lingering bitterness.

Drowsiness washed over her again. Margaret was just about to close her eyes when the hospital room door swung open.

Patrick walked in, carrying two takeout bags.

“Margaret, how are you feeling?”

She said nothing.

She watched as he placed the bags on the bedside table, pulled out a cheaply wrapped sandwich from one, and held it to her lips.

“I went all the way to the university district for this. You used to line up for these all the time, remember?”

Margaret pressed her lips together, her gaze drifting into the middle distance.

She had never told him the truth: she didn’t actually like those sandwiches, overloaded with vegetables and stingy on meat. Back then, she was just so poor—saving every penny for Patrick’s university fees. For herself, a three-dollar sandwich was enough to get by.

She had sacrificed so much for him. Could he really be that oblivious?

A wave of sorrow washed over her. Silently, she turned her face away.

Patrick’s voice turned cold. “Margaret, don’t make this harder than it has to be. You know I had no choice.”

“Sharon’s family is struggling. Both her parents are sick. If anything happened to her, how could I face her family?”

Margaret let out a bitter, choked laugh and raised her bandaged hands. “So I’m the one who deserved this? And to be kicked out of the company on top of it?”

Patrick faltered. His eyes flicked to her gauze-wrapped hands before darting away.

“The company can’t function without a secretary. You’re injured. I had no choice but to let Sharon fill in temporarily.”

“And when I’m healed and ready to come back, are you sure you’ll give me my position back?”

His gaze grew evasive, a flash of irritation crossing his face.

“Margaret, you have plenty of savings. Do you really need to fight Sharon over a salary? Most people dream of an early retirement. I’m giving you that chance. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Margaret almost laughed out loud.

She closed her eyes, utterly exhausted. “Fine. Consider it done. If that’s all, you can go.”

In two weeks, she’d be gone anyway. Whether Patrick wanted Sharon as his executive secretary or his vice president, it would no longer be her concern.

Patrick’s mood visibly brightened. “I knew you’d be reasonable about this.”

Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he produced a document. “Actually, there’s another reason I came today.”

"The Financial Weekly ran photos of me and Sharon."

Patrick opened the folder to reveal a series of high-definition paparazzi shots:

Him with Sharon in a bubble tea shop, the girl tilting her head back, guiding a straw toward his mouth.

The straw bore the unmistakable smudge of lipstick—Sharon’s, clearly.

And Patrick, who’d never had a sweet tooth, had nothing but pure sweetness swimming in his eyes.

The photos were dated two days ago.

The same day Margaret lay unconscious on an operating table.

"Now the public is accusing her of coming between us. Some are even calling her out directly in their social circles."

Margaret’s gaze shifted from the photos to Patrick’s face. "So?"

His voice was gentle, yet left no room for argument. "I’ve already issued a statement. You are not my fiancée."

Margaret suppressed the sneer tugging at her lips. "But we’re getting married at the end of the month. The wedding planner has everything ready. The invitations were about to go out. How do you plan to explain *that*?"

Patrick replied coolly, "The wedding will proceed as scheduled. Just with a different bride. I’ll marry Sharon first."

"It’s only temporary. Once this scandal dies down, Sharon and I will divorce. Then I’ll marry you."

"Margaret, you just need to focus on recovering. Wait for me quietly. That’s all."

A wave of tinnitus washed over Margaret.

She remembered the abandoned warehouse three days earlier. When the kidnapper forced Patrick to choose between them, he’d used that exact same tone. "Margaret, wait for me."

Margaret couldn’t help but laugh.

All the grievance and disappointment welled up inside her. She laughed until tears streamed down her face.

Patrick was stunned. He reached out to touch her cheek, but Margaret jerked away violently, knocking over the water glass on the bedside table.

"Calm down," Patrick frowned. "I know this isn’t fair to you. But Sharon is so vulnerable. She has no one else. I can’t let her face this public shaming alone."

Margaret finally stopped laughing. She closed her mouth and said nothing.

Patrick sighed and sank into the chair beside the bed.

"Get some rest. I’ll stay with you."

But the very next second, his phone rang.

Patrick glanced at the screen and scrambled to his feet.

"Sharon’s surrounded by paparazzi. I have to go get her."

"You rest. I’ll visit another time."

Margaret watched him dash out of the hospital room, her heart a desolate wasteland. Once again, she had lost to Sharon.

Fifteen years of mutual support and companionship—all of it—couldn’t measure up to a college classmate he’d met only in his senior year.

Margaret forced herself not to grieve, not to overthink.

Just consider all those years of genuine feeling fed to a dog.

But the hurt wouldn’t stop.

To keep from obsessing over Patrick’s news, Margaret threw herself completely into her finger rehabilitation.

Even though every session left her drenched in sweat from the pain.

One day, as Margaret was slowly shuffling out of the rehab room, leaning heavily on the wall, a cloud of perfume hit her at the corridor’s corner.

"Ah!"

Sharon tumbled to the floor, her eyes instantly welling up. "Margaret…"

The impact sent a sharp pain through Margaret’s chest, and the ensuing sobs made her head throb.

"Could you please shut up?"

Sharon paused, then suddenly knelt upright. She seized Margaret’s heavily bandaged hand and pressed it against her own face.

"I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! If Patrick had chosen you that day, you wouldn’t have been hurt like this."

Her voice choked with sobs, she bowed her head so low her forehead nearly touched the floor tiles.

Her open collar revealed a suggestive red mark on her collarbone.

Margaret tried to pull her hand back, but the damaged joints in her fingers had no strength left.

"What’s going on here?"

Patrick’s voice echoed from the end of the hallway.

He strode over, yanking Sharon behind him in one swift motion, his gaze defensive as it swept over Margaret. “Margaret, Sharon’s already blaming herself. Why can’t you just forgive her?”

Margaret’s voice came out hoarse. “I never laid a hand on her.”

Patrick’s face darkened. “I saw it myself. End of discussion.” Turning back, he gripped Sharon’s shoulders. “Give her a taste of her own medicine. You’re going to be the CEO’s wife someday. Being this soft won’t do.”

Sharon shrank back. “That’s not right… I don’t dare…”

“Go on,” Patrick encouraged her. “I’ve got your back.”

Sharon crept timidly toward Margaret. Then, in a blind spot where Patrick couldn’t see, her eyes flashed with venom. She put her weight behind her wrist.

Still recovering from major injuries, Margaret lost her balance. Her lower back slammed against a fire hydrant, and she tumbled down the stairs.

Agony exploded from her spine. Before her vision blurred, she saw Sharon nestled in Patrick’s arms, flashing a triumphant smile.

But when Sharon looked up at Patrick again, her expression was on the verge of tears. “Patrick, I really didn’t push that hard.”

He pulled her close. “I believe you. You’re so delicate—you couldn’t possibly have that much strength.”

Standing on the steps, he looked down at Margaret with contempt. “It’s just a few stairs. When you’re done with your little act, get back on your own.” With that, he walked away without a backward glance.

Margaret, who had waited for him to save her, was once again the fool left behind.

…

Margaret woke to searing pain. Outside the window, deep night had fallen.

A figure sat by her bed, its outline blurred in the shadows.

“Patrick?”

The name slipped out instinctively, her voice a ragged whisper that didn’t sound like her own.

The figure stiffened.

Lights blazed on, forcing Margaret to squint.

It was still her assistant, Maria, keeping vigil. Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying.

Margaret’s foggy consciousness gradually cleared. She managed a weak smile. “Why the tears?”

Maria choked back a sob. “Margaret, please stop loving Mr. Patrick. He’s just a total scumbag!”

Margaret was taken aback.

The incident on the stairs had no other witnesses. Patrick would never own up to it. So Maria’s anger had to be about something else.

“What else did he do?”

“You had a bad fall, and your fever spiked to 104. I called to tell him, and he said… he said you should stop playing these games—that it only made him despise you more.”

Maria swallowed hard. “And… at the press conference just now, a reporter asked if the kidnapper had… violated you. He didn’t deny it.”

“Now everyone’s saying you’re… tainted. That it’s no wonder Mr. Patrick fired you and chose Sharon instead…”

Even with all the mental preparation, the words hit Margaret like hammer blows to the chest. She forced a deep breath, struggling to keep her composure.

“Contact a streaming platform for me. Tell them I want to go live, and I want them to push all the traffic my way.”

Maria’s eyes lit up. “Yes! I’ll do it right away!”

Margaret had navigated the business world for years. Her connections were just as good as Patrick’s—if not better. In fact, most of his current social circle had originally been introduced by her. Securing a slot on a streaming platform would be easy.

But soon, Maria was escorted back by several bodyguards.

Margaret’s face turned to ice. “What are you doing? Let her go!”