Liora’s POV

It shattered something deep inside me to finally accept the truth: Corwin Sterling—the billionaire CEO I had devoted ten years of my life to—had never planned to marry me. Not once. Not ever.

For a full decade, I stayed by his side, inside his world, holding on to promises that were never meant to be kept. He told me I was the woman he’d chosen. That he loved me. That one day, I would stand beside him as his wife, the future Mrs. Sterling. I believed every word. I built my entire life around those assurances. But all of them lost their meaning the moment she walked into our lives.

Calista Hawthorne.

She arrived carrying a handwritten letter from her father, explaining that their family company had collapsed overnight after a hostile takeover. They were under threat, their security compromised. He begged Corwin to take her in—temporarily—until things stabilized. She needed protection. She needed shelter.

And just like that, Corwin’s attention shifted so completely it was as if I had never existed at all.

After leaving the private clinic that treated executives and their families, I sat alone in my car and called my parents. My hands were still trembling. I genuinely didn’t think I would survive the night.

“Mom,” I said quietly, forcing the words out, “I’ll agree to marry the man you chose for me.”

A long, heavy breath escaped my chest as memories from two nights ago tore their way back into my mind.

It had been the Sterling Annual Gala—an event Corwin and I had attended together every year. It was our night. Or at least, it used to be. This time, with Calista on his arm, I was reduced to nothing more than background noise, a forgotten accessory.

I still remembered the way he handed me a crystal glass of wine, his face cold, distant, stripped of all familiarity.

“Have this, Liora,” he said under his breath. “And don’t humiliate me in front of the board and international investors.”

When I lifted the glass, the scent reached me instantly. Sweet. Sharp. Artificially fruity.

Berries.

My stomach twisted violently.

“Corwin, wait—” I started.

“Just drink it,” he cut in impatiently, already turning away from me.

Calista laughed softly beside him, her voice light and melodic, drilling straight into my skull.

Berries. Of all things, he had chosen a wine infused with the one ingredient that could kill me—because Calista liked it. And because I loved him more than my own life, because I still wanted to stand by him even as he erased me, I raised the glass and drank.

The liquid scorched my throat on contact. Almost instantly, my lips tingled, then burned. My chest seized as my lungs began to close in on themselves. Breathing became agony, each inhale sharp and shallow, like shards of glass slicing my airways.

The orchestra continued playing. Soft jazz echoed through the hall—Calista’s favorite genre. Everything around me carried her imprint.

My vision blurred as I staggered forward, searching for Corwin. My entire body screamed in pain. I saw him standing beside Calista, her fingers looped possessively around his arm. They were smiling, leaning into each other, looking like the perfect couple—more natural together than he and I had ever seemed.

“Corwin…” I whispered, barely audible.

He flicked a glance at me, then turned away again.

“That’s enough wine for you, Calista,” he said gently. “You’re already a little dizzy.”

The concern in his voice crushed me. That look—soft, attentive—used to belong to me.

The emotional pain cut deeper than the allergic reaction ravaging my body.

“Corwin… I don’t feel well,” I rasped, blood coating my tongue. My fingers clawed at my throat as panic set in. “Please… take me to a doctor. I can’t—”

“Liora, what are you—”

He stepped toward me, just once.

Then Calista let out a small cry.

“My stomach hurts,” she whimpered. “It really hurts.”

Corwin didn’t hesitate. He turned instantly and swept her into his arms as though she were fragile porcelain.

“Hey, hey, talk to me,” he murmured. “Where does it hurt?”

I stood there, watching him hold her, his face tight with worry. Tears blurred my sight as my strength drained away. Something inside me broke completely.

“Corwin…” I tried again.

The music stopped. Conversations died down. Every eye in the ballroom turned toward me. Corwin finally faced me, annoyance flashing across his features.

“What is it now, Liora?” he snapped. “Can’t you see Calista needs medical attention? Stop acting jealous. And stop pretending you’re on the verge of death.”

Jealous.

Pretending.

Those words hurt more than anything else.

Blood slid from the corner of my mouth as my knees gave way. I swayed, barely upright. So this is it, I thought bitterly. You’d rather watch me die than choose me. You said you loved me…

I hate you, Corwin. I hate you.

Darkness crept in from the edges of my vision, swallowing the lights, the faces, the music.

Is this where I die?

Liora’s POV

When I finally regained consciousness, a faint medicinal scent drifted into my senses—clean, bitter, and unmistakably herbal. I was stretched out on a narrow but comfortable bed inside a private medical suite, its curtains drawn to let in soft afternoon light. An elderly doctor stood nearby, her expression calm and reassuring as she noticed my eyes open.

“You’re lucky you were brought here before it was too late,” she said gently, though there was an unmistakable note of seriousness beneath her kindness.

I wanted to answer her, to say something—anything—but my throat burned as if I had swallowed fire. No sound came out. The sharp agony from earlier was gone, yet an overwhelming fatigue clung to my body, weighing me down to the mattress. It felt as though every ounce of strength had been drained from me. I had come far too close to dying.

“You must never consume anything containing berries again,” the doctor continued, lightly tapping my chilled fingers as if scolding a careless child. “For you, that ingredient is lethal. Elisha rushed you here herself, begging me not to give up on you. Everyone knows you’re supposed to be Corwin Sterling’s future wife. You need to value your life more than this.”

Her concern was sincere, but her words struck painfully deep.

Future wife.

Once, that title had been everything to me. A certainty. A promise. Now, it felt like a cruel joke.

She placed a small glass vial into my palm. “Take this medicine three times a day for the next forty-eight hours. It will help your body stabilize. You’ll recover, but only if you rest.”

I nodded weakly in thanks. The rest of the day passed in silence as I lay there alone, staring at the ceiling, trying to piece together my thoughts. For a brief moment, the quiet almost soothed me—until the door slowly opened.

Corwin walked in.

The sight of him no longer brought comfort. Instead, a dull ache settled in my chest. He looked exhausted, dark circles beneath his eyes, his suit wrinkled as if he hadn’t slept.

He lowered himself beside my bed and wrapped his hand around mine. “Liora… thank God you’re awake,” he said softly. “I’m sorry I wasn’t here sooner. Calista’s condition worsened. She needed me with her.”

Each word reopened wounds I didn’t think could bleed any further. I wanted to shout, to tell him that I had nearly died alone while he stayed with her—but my voice failed me, and the truth remained trapped in my chest.

His fingers brushed my cheek, familiar and gentle. For a split second, I almost convinced myself that the tenderness was still meant for me. But I knew better.

“I’ll come back later,” he added, standing up. “I just need to make sure Calista’s all right. She’s an important guest—the daughter of one of our partners. I can’t let anyone accuse me of neglecting her. You understand, don’t you? This is just responsibility. Don’t misunderstand.”

He pressed a light kiss to my forehead, just like he used to, then turned and walked out.

He didn’t return.

Later, Elisha—one of the private tutors employed by the Sterling estate—quietly told me that Corwin had left the city with Calista to resolve a corporate dispute overseas. The news hollowed me out. There was a time when I stood beside him in meetings, when I was the one he relied on. Now, that place belonged to her.

Left alone in my room, my eyes drifted to the wooden chest tucked neatly beneath the window. Inside were four hundred ninety-eight handwritten letters Corwin had given me over the years. Each one had carried a promise—that when the count reached five hundred, he would propose.

But six months had passed since the last letter.

My fingers trembled as I rested my hand on the lid. The memories were unbearable. I shut the box and stood abruptly. I couldn’t breathe in a room built on broken vows.

I stepped outside, hoping the breeze and the familiar chatter of the children I taught would steady me. Instead, I froze.

Corwin stood a few feet away, laughing easily beside Calista. He was helping her carry a basket of fresh apples, his smile brighter than I’d seen in months.

Once, that sight would have filled me with jealousy.

Now, I felt nothing at all.

Calista noticed me first. Her smile widened, sweet and innocent. “Liora! Would you like some apples? Mr. Muxim sent them over. Corwin said you’re fond of them.”

Corwin turned toward me, still smiling. “She loves apple pie,” he said casually.

I shook my head. “No. I don’t.”

His expression flickered in confusion. “What? Of course you do. We—”

“No,” I repeated quietly but firmly. “You do. I never did.”

Calista’s face twisted into exaggerated hurt. “Did I offend you? I was only trying to share.”

Her tone grated on me, but I kept my composure. I recognized the act—the helpless innocence she wore so well. And every time I rejected it, Corwin looked at me like I was cruel.

“Liora,” he said sharply. “Calista is being considerate. Can’t you try to be civil? She’s done nothing wrong, and you’re being unnecessarily cold.”

I swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat. I was too tired to fight anymore.

“Thank you for the apples, Calista,” I said, forcing a polite smile as I took three from the basket. “I have a class to teach.”

I turned away—

And Corwin’s hand closed around my arm.

Liora's POV

“You’re deliberately being unkind, Liora,” Corwin said, irritation threading through his voice as he held my arm.

I tilted my head, feigning calm, while Calista lingered just behind him, lips curved in that infuriatingly smug smile. “Unkind? To whom?” I asked, my tone almost polite.

“To Calista,” he replied sharply. “I’ve already told you—stop treating her this way. You’re always letting your jealousy show, and frankly, I’m exhausted by it. Why can’t you understand something so simple?” His fingers tightened around my arm, just enough to sting. “Why do you insist on making this difficult?”

“I’m not jealous, Corwin,” I answered evenly, forcing control into every word despite the anger coiling inside me. “I understand perfectly. And don’t worry—I won’t cause trouble.” The words tasted sour as they left my mouth, but I swallowed the bitterness down. I wanted to tell him that none of this mattered anymore. That I was leaving. That I was getting married to someone else. But what was the point? He wouldn’t care enough to listen.

He finally let go, his hand drifting up to my cheek in a familiar, almost intimate gesture. Once, that touch alone could make my heart race. Now, it felt hollow. “Just trust me, Liora,” he said softly. “I would never hurt you. Stop imagining things between Calista and me.”

I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from laughing. Trust him? Not hurt me? Those were the same assurances he had shattered again and again over the past six months. If I had died yesterday, I was certain he wouldn’t have mourned me—not truly.

When I reached the study hall where I taught, the children rushed toward me, laughter filling the space. Their excitement wrapped around me like a fragile comfort, easing the ache in my chest for just a moment. I had always dreamed of having children of my own—Corwin once promised we would, someday. Now those promises felt as empty as his touch.

I was going to miss these kids. The thought hurt more than I expected.

Later that evening, I checked my phone and found another message from my parents. They were asking about wedding arrangements—what kind of flowers I preferred, the cut of my gown, whether I wanted a veil or something simpler.

I had loved weddings since I was young. Years ago, I even helped plan Sinna’s wedding—Corwin’s younger sister. She was married now, with two beautiful children and a husband who adored her. And me? Ten years of loving Corwin had left me with nothing but humiliation and heartbreak. If I had let my parents choose for me back then, maybe I would already have a family of my own. Instead, I was standing here, discarded by the man I thought I would grow old with.

At the estate’s private market, I bought farewell gifts for the children and for Elisha—one of the few people here who still treated me with genuine warmth. Seeing me struggle under the weight of the packages, two security staff quietly stepped in to help, their wordless kindness nearly undoing me.

The moment I returned, Corwin noticed the bags. His eyes sharpened with suspicion. “What are those?” he asked. “Who are they for?” Then he lifted a sealed envelope a courier had handed him. “And what’s this about a wedding?”

I took the letter from his hand, instantly recognizing my mother’s handwriting. “I think we need to talk,” I began carefully, keeping my voice steady. “About marriage—”

Before I could finish, one of the staff rushed in, visibly flustered.

“Sir, Calista isn’t in her room. We’ve checked the entire house—she’s nowhere to be found.”

Corwin’s expression changed instantly. Worry overtook everything else. Without sparing me another glance, he turned and hurried away, chasing after Calista as if nothing else in the world mattered. He didn’t even say a word to me.

I delivered the gifts to the children and to Elisha, forcing a smile as I did. My hands shook, but I didn’t let them see it.

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?” Elisha asked quietly, her voice heavy as she gently guided the children away.

“There’s no reason for me to stay,” I admitted, my voice cracking despite my efforts. “He’s chosen someone else. I need to move forward.”

“The children adore you,” she whispered. “And I… I won’t have anyone to help me anymore.”

“I’m getting married, Elisha,” I said softly. The words still felt strange on my tongue. “I can’t remain here.”

“To whom?” she asked, hope flickering in her eyes. “Is he better than Corwin?”

I hesitated, then nodded slightly. “I hope he is,” I said honestly. “I really do.”