Vivienne stood at the doorway, watching. A cold, piercing chill slithered through her veins.

She lingered for a moment, then let out a quiet, self-mocking laugh.

What was she feeling sentimental about? Vivienne, weren’t you always just an outsider?

Without another glance, she turned and left.

For the next few days, she didn’t step foot in the hospital. She buried herself in finalizing the paperwork, tying up every loose end.

Three days before her departure, Rafael was discharged.

The moment she entered the house, she was greeted by an all-too-familiar scene. Freya was carefully helping Rafael onto the couch; her touch was gentle, and her expression was full of concern.

Rafael’s gaze snapped to Vivienne the second she walked in. His expression darkened.

“I just came back to grab a few things. I won’t be in your way.”

She barely spared him a glance as she turned away. “You two go on.”

“Vivienne!”

Rafael shoved Freya aside and limped toward her, his voice sharp with frustration. “Can’t you even look at me properly?”

“I was in a car accident! I was hospitalized for days; do you even care? If it weren’t for Freya’s timely blood donation, I might have—”

Freya bit her lip and gently rolled up her sleeve, revealing faint bruises beneath the delicate skin.

Rafael let out a cold laugh.

“But you, Vivienne… You didn’t visit me. Not once. You have no heart. You’re completely cold-blooded.”

Vivienne tilted her head, watching the man before she seethed with rage. Amusement flickered in her eyes.

“Don’t you have Freya?”

“You love her, and she loves you. So why does it matter whether I look at you or not? Do you expect such respect from a mere servant?”

Rafael let out a sharp, bitter laugh, his fury barely restrained.

Freya, sensing his temper spiraling, quickly stepped in and helped him upstairs, murmuring soothing words.

Vivienne stood still, her gaze following his retreating figure. Absentmindedly, she touched her arm.

To donate blood for him, she had pushed her frail body to its limits; her limbs had trembled uncontrollably, sweat dampening her skin.

Her entire arm was swollen, but he never noticed.

Forget it—there was no need for him to know.

She was leaving soon anyway. If he wanted to hate her, so be it.

Ever since Freya had donated blood, Rafael’s affection for her had only deepened. The pretense of loving Vivienne had crumbled entirely.

The media feasted on their so-called romance. Everywhere she turned, there were photos, images of Rafael kissing Freya in public, of him holding her close. Their love, displayed for the world to see.

Before, Rafael had cared enough about his reputation to keep such images out of the public eye.

Now, he no longer bothered. In the comments, he openly declared Freya as the love of his life.

Freya, glowing with pride, accompanied him on strolls through the garden, by his side during hospital visits.

Lost in their affection, they embraced and kissed in public without restraint.

For days, the media was flooded with their photos, sparking heated discussions.

Vivienne heard enough whispers to last a lifetime.

“At the very least, she’s still his fiancée. This is just too humiliating.”

“So tragic. For a woman to end up like this....”

“It’s all that scumbag Rafael’s fault!”

But to Vivienne, those comments were fleeting and insignificant, disappearing before they could leave a mark.

The next time she saw Rafael was the day before his birthday.

“You’re coming,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Grandfather has already decided that our wedding date will be announced at the banquet. Don’t even think about running away.”

His expression darkened. “Freya will be there too. Take care of her.”

Before Vivienne could respond, Rafael added coldly, “And when you make the cake, be mindful. Freya doesn’t like sweets. Use strawberries; she’s allergic to mangoes.”

Vivienne nodded, but a sharp pain tore through her chest as if an old wound had been ripped open.

Once, he had known her preferences just as clearly.

And now…

Forget it.

She turned toward the kitchen without another word.

The higher-ups had already informed her she would be leaving in the next couple of days.

Since this would be the last birthday cake she ever made for Rafael, there was no point in lingering on anything else.

Vivienne busied herself through the night, her hands moving in practiced motions.

As she baked the cake base, memories surfaced, clear, vivid, inescapable. She and Rafael had once tried baking together. It had been their first attempt, and neither of them had any control over the heat. The batter had sunk, the edges had burned, and yet, through every failure, they had laughed.

Later, while she spread the cream, Rafael slipped his arms around her from behind, his chin resting against her shoulder. His warm breath brushed her skin, and his voice rumbled softly.

"Vivienne, you're so good to me."

Then, he'd turned his head, kissing her cheek.

"Can you make a cake for me every year from now on?"

She had dipped her finger into the cream, smearing it across his face with a playful grin. His stunned expression had sent her into peals of laughter.

The sharp chime of the oven dragged her back to the present.

Vivienne took out the cake, and a sweet aroma filled the dining room.

She reached for the cream, a small smile tugging at her lips, and then, a sudden sound from the bedroom shattered the warmth.

A teasing, breathless voice rang out.

"Oh no, your injury hasn’t healed yet! You can’t, you can’t touch me!"

"I don’t care; I’ll touch you anyway!"

Laughter followed, light, coy, filled with unmistakable intimacy.

Freya’s voice was heard, saying, "Brother, you said you’ll always be by my side tomorrow, right?"

"Of course," Rafael answered.

"Brother, you're so good to me. I feel so happy, so, so happy."

Another giggle.

"Ah, I told you not to touch me there; it tickles!"

"Forget it. You might as well just eat me up. I can’t escape from your grasp anyway."

The laughter that followed was laced with breathless gasps, intimate and teasing.

Vivienne felt something inside her twist violently, as if an unseen hand had wrenched her heart from her chest. Her vision blurred. She pressed her fingers against her eyes, rubbing hard, willing herself not to see, not to feel.

So, she busied herself, anything to drown out the sounds echoing in her mind.

The three-tiered fruit cake was complete when the first light of dawn spilled through the window.

Rafael had always asked her to limit sugar, so she had added only a hint of xylitol, letting the fresh fruit’s natural sweetness carry the flavor.

Vivienne placed the cake in the fridge. The exhaustion she had been ignoring finally caught up to her. She rested her head on the dining table, and before she knew it, sleep pulled her under.

And in her dreams, she drifted back to a time untouched by pain, to days that had once been so simple, so beautiful.

Senior year had been relentless, with nights of studying stretching endlessly and stealing her sleep. She often stole short naps between classes, resting her head on her desk whenever exhaustion weighed too heavily.

The golden sunlight had always spilled through the windows, warm against her face.

"Why are you sleeping here? You’ll catch a cold."

Rafael’s voice was gentle, familiar.

She had felt the soft weight of his coat as he draped it over her, careful not to wake her.

Such a familiar feeling.

Such a warm dream.

Vivienne didn’t want to wake up. But the moment her arm slipped, she startled upright, reality dragging her back.

Blinking, she wiped away the tears that had gathered at the corners of her eyes, not even realizing when they had fallen. Slowly, she straightened her posture.

A thin coat slid from her shoulders, pooling onto the floor.

It was Rafael’s jacket.

The stillness in her heart, once as quiet as an undisturbed lake, rippled with faint waves.

She picked up the jacket, running her fingers gently over the fabric.

It carried his scent.

Her gaze lifted, landing on a large gift box on the dining table.

It was wrapped exquisitely and adorned with a bold red bow, the satin ribbon tied with perfect precision. Beneath it, a small card rested.

"Wear this dress, or you’ll embarrass me."

A tremor ran through her hands as her fingertips brushed against the bow.

Lifting the lid, she found an evening gown nestled inside, fiery red, vibrant, breathtaking.

A memory surfaced, his voice echoing softly in her mind.

"You look beautiful in red."

Vivienne stood frozen, her fingers tracing the fabric as she lifted the dress.

For a fleeting moment, something stirred within her, a heartbeat she thought had long since withered.

But it was gone just as quickly as it came. Before she could even try on the dress, her phone vibrated with a message from Freya.

She was at a boutique, selecting outfits for the banquet.

With Rafael.

The image that followed made Vivienne’s breath catch.

Rafael stood tall in a perfectly tailored suit, his presence commanding even with the faint bruises marring his face and the slight unsteadiness in his step. None of it dulled his striking allure.

Beside him, Freya wore white. Not just any dress. A light wedding gown.

A sharp, unbearable pain clawed at Vivienne’s heart.

She shut the messaging app, set her phone aside, and tried to steady her breathing. But the ache refused to fade no matter how long she sat there.

Rafael had countless lovers, more than she could ever count, but she had never seen him this devoted to any of them.

Maybe whatever sliver of love he once had for her had long been swept away by the wind.

Ultimately, she couldn’t bring herself to wear the dress he sent.

It repulsed her.

When she finally stood before Rafael, she caught the fleeting moment his smile faltered, the unnatural twitch of his lips betraying his reaction.

Beside him, Freya clung to his arm without hesitation.

"What’s wrong, brother? Did she upset you again? So bad!"

Rafael shook off Freya’s hand and limped toward Vivienne, his gaze dark and unreadable.

"Where’s the dress I gave you?"

"You did this on purpose, didn’t you? You dressed like this just to disgust me, to provoke me, to humiliate me?"

Vivienne lowered her gaze, taking in the casual outfit she wore.

"No."

"You’re not that important."

"Not important enough for me to dress for you nor to go out of my way just to displease you."

Rafael drew in a deep breath, his eyes darkening, the rims tinged red.

Had Freya not latched onto his wrist and dragged him away, Vivienne feared he might have crushed her in his grip.

Just then, a man approached, his voice laced with enthusiasm.

"Mr. Moretti, hello! Is this your wife? Hello, ma’am!"

Freya’s face instantly brightened, her smile stretching wide as she nodded eagerly.

But the moment her gaze flickered toward Vivienne, something shifted.

"And she is...?"

"Ignore her."

Rafael’s expression darkened, his voice dripping with impatience. "She’s just the housemaid."

Vivienne’s heart plummeted, a sharp, violent ache tearing through her chest.

Humiliation burned beneath her skin. She turned her head away, only to catch sight of the three-tiered fruit cake being wheeled in.

Rafael gently took Freya’s hand, guiding it as they cut the cake together.

Then, with a warm smile, he lifted a small piece to her lips, feeding her the first bite himself.

Freya chewed delicately, her eyes crinkling with joy.

"Thank you, brother."

"I love you."

For a brief moment, Rafael’s hand trembled. But the hesitation vanished as quickly as it came, replaced by a soft smile.

"As long as you like it. If it makes you happy, I’ll have her make it for you every day, different flavors, just to keep you smiling."

Freya beamed, throwing herself into his arms in a tight embrace.

Then, right there, in front of everyone, they kissed passionately.

Vivienne stood frozen, her gaze locking onto the scene as someone in the crowd raised their phone, snapping pictures.

Instinctively, she stepped back.

Just then, Freya suddenly pushed Rafael away, her brows tightly furrowed, her lips pressing together in discomfort.

"Brother… Brother, I… I feel awful."

An alarm flashed across Rafael’s face. "What’s wrong, Freya?"

Freya staggered, her breath coming in shallow gasps before her body gave way, collapsing to the ground.

Rafael dropped to his knees beside her, gripping her trembling hands.

"Freya!" His voice was urgent, thick with worry.

Freya’s fingers clutched at his sleeve as panic filled her eyes.

"Brother, I can’t breathe… I think… I think I’m having an allergic reaction…"

Rafael’s gaze flickered to the cake, then swept past the murmuring crowd until it landed on Vivienne.

"I… I didn’t—"

"Didn’t what?!"

"How many times have I told you? Freya can’t eat mango! She can’t! And yet you still made her allergic! I know you did this on purpose, to hurt her!"

Rafael stormed toward her, his steps unsteady but fueled by rage.

Vivienne barely had time to draw a breath before a sharp slap cracked across her cheek.

"Stop acting like some helpless little rabbit. I see right through you. You’re nothing but vicious! Once the hospital confirms the diagnosis, let’s see what excuse you have left!"

With that, Rafael swept Freya into his arms and tore through the crowd, vanishing from sight.