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.

Vivienne clutched her stinging cheek, her vision blurred by the flood of tears spilling down her face.

Around her, whispers slithered through the crowd like venom.

"I heard she’s just a maid in the Moretti family."

"A maid? That explains it. Maybe she wanted to poison the real mistress and take her place."

"Don’t be ridiculous. That Freya isn’t the real mistress, either. Wasn’t Rafael supposed to marry his childhood sweetheart? Vivienne something? He even promised to announce their engagement, but there’s been nothing since."

The words stabbed deep, but Vivienne had no strength left to care. She shoved past the murmuring onlookers and ran.

That day, she sat alone in the garden, time slipping through her fingers like sand.

By evening, word came from the hospital that Freya had suffered a severe allergic reaction to mango and had to be hospitalized. Meanwhile, the cake Vivienne had spent all night making had been sent for testing.

The results arrived.

No mango pulp. No jam. But traces of mango juice had been found, enough to nearly cost Freya her life.

At the hospital, Rafael seized Vivienne’s wrist, his grip tightening like a vice, his voice laced with venom.

"You’re despicable. First, you nearly ruined my family, and now, on such an important day, you try to kill the woman I love?" His eyes burned with fury. "Apologize to her!"

"If you don’t, I’ll have you charged with attempted murder. You’ll rot in prison for the rest of your miserable life."

Vivienne’s gaze flickered to Freya, unconscious on the hospital bed, her breathing shallow. A bitter smile curled her lips.

Rafael really did love her.

That soft, agonized look in his eyes, she hadn’t seen it in so long.

Once, he used to look at her the same way.

Familiar. Yet impossibly distant.

She inhaled deeply as if trying to keep herself from drowning, but the weight in her chest only grew heavier.

"I didn’t do it, and I won’t apologize," she said despite the storm raging inside her.

"If you’re so eager to see me suffer, then send me to prison."

The air in the room turned suffocating.

Without warning, Rafael drove his knee into the back of hers. Pain shot through her legs as she lost her balance, collapsing to the floor with a harsh thud.

"You won’t apologize? Then kneel here and repent! You can stand when she wakes up and forgives you!"

Pain pulsed through Vivienne’s knees, but she clenched her teeth, refusing to let a single sound escape.

Rafael turned on his heel, heading for the door. But just as he reached it, he halted, his shoulders stiffening before he spun back to face her.

"It’s because you’re jealous, isn’t it?"

"Because I treat her better, you couldn’t stand it, so you tried to hurt her. Admit it, and maybe, just maybe, I’ll forgive you."

A bitter laugh built in Vivienne’s chest. Forgive her? How laughable.

She shook her head. "No."

"You can love whoever you want, however you want. It has nothing to do with me."

For a moment, Rafael just stared at her, his expression unreadable, but the rage in his eyes burned like wildfire.

Then, without another word, he yanked open the door and strode out, disappearing into the cold, sterile hallway.

A moment later, Vivienne’s phone buzzed with a message.

An hour later, she stepped into a sleek office building, the weight of the past still clinging to her like a ghost.

"Are you ready?" someone asked.

"I’m ready."

She reached out and took the identification card offered to her.

"This is the name we selected for you, Tatiana Devereux, according to your request."

Vivienne let the name settle on her tongue before giving a faint nod.

"Thank you."

As she stood there, she told herself that everything from the past had been carried away by the wind.

A black car waited downstairs, its engine humming in the stillness of the night.

"Comrade Vivienne, your sacrifice will not be forgotten. Thank you for your service to the nation."

Without hesitation, she was ushered inside. The door shut with a quiet finality, swallowing her in darkness.

The car sped westward. From that moment on, she no longer existed. Under a new identity, she would vanish from the world she once knew, boarding a plane bound for the distant, unforgiving expanse of the Rousseau Desert.