It was exactly seven o'clock in the evening.

The private manor, nestled on the outskirts of the city, was brilliantly illuminated, its grand facade glowing like a beacon against the darkening sky.

Corina Logan stood at the towering wrought-iron gates, her attire glaringly out of place. She wore a simple, unadorned plain dress, the kind one might wear for a quiet evening at home, standing in stark contrast to the opulence unfolding before her.

Just two hours ago, the illusion of her life had still been intact. Her husband, Jayson Mccormick, had called her, his voice carrying its usual clipped, authoritative tone. "There's a critical board meeting tonight that's going to run late," he had said through the receiver. "I won't be coming home. Go to sleep early, Corina."

Yet, here he was. Not in a boardroom surrounded by executives, but in this lavishly decorated estate, preparing to hold a wedding ceremony with another woman.

Through the grand windows of the manor's main hall, Corina could see the head table. Sitting there, adorned in their finest evening wear and beaming with pride, were her biological parents, Arthur and Eliza Logan, alongside her older brother, Oliver.

The guests mingling on the manicured lawns and inside the grand hall were a familiar crowd. They were the mutual friends, business associates, and extended family that made up the social circle she and Jayson shared.

Yet she, the lawful wife, had been kept entirely in the dark.

As Corina took a step closer, the evening breeze carried a scent that made her breath hitch. It was a complex, intoxicating fragrance-a masterful blend of deep, velvety rose intertwined with the rich, smoky notes of agarwood.

This specific perfume was named "Surrender." It was a unique, one-of-a-kind fragrance that Corina had personally formulated and blended as a wedding gift for Jayson three years ago. It was meant to symbolize a love that was absolute, a yielding of the heart.

Now, this very scent, representing possession and ultimate surrender, saturated the air of a wedding where her husband was the groom, and the bride was not her.

Her gaze traveled down the pristine white carpet that served as the aisle. At the end of it stood Jayson, looking breathtakingly impeccable in a custom-tailored, pure white high-fashion suit. His usually cold, calculating eyes were currently filled with a profound, melting affection as he looked at the woman standing opposite him.

The bride was Kate Logan.

Kate was the fake daughter who had occupied the Logan family's nest for over twenty years. Corina, on the other hand, was the true daughter, only found and brought back to the family a mere three years ago. Because their grandfather and the patriarch of the Mccormick family had been comrades in the trenches, they had arranged a marriage pact for their grandchildren.

When Corina returned to the family, she fulfilled that pact, marrying the heir to the Mccormick empire, Jayson. It felt like destiny to her, because Jayson was the man Corina had desperately, silently loved for seven long years. He was the man who had once pulled her out of the darkest abyss of her life.

She had truly believed this was a match made by fate, that she was destined to be the happiest woman in the world. But reality had just delivered a resounding, brutal slap across her face.

At this moment, Kate, draped in a voluminous, sparkling white wedding gown, leaned weakly against Jayson's chest, looking so fragile that a strong gust of wind might blow her away.

As Corina stepped fully into the light of the entrance, the melodious strains of the "Wedding March" suddenly warped. The musician had spotted her, and his fingers slipped, producing a harsh, piercingly discordant note that echoed across the lawn.

Instantly, every pair of eyes in the venue snapped toward Corina.

The joyous smiles on the faces of the Logan family froze, replaced by expressions of sheer panic and guilt.

Whispers erupted among the guests, spreading like wildfire.

"Is that... isn't that Corina? Why is she here?"

"I thought everyone agreed to keep this an absolute secret from her!"

"Who leaked the information? This is going to be a disaster."

The hushed voices were deafening. She was his actual wife, yet in this place, surrounded by her own family and friends, she was treated as an unwanted intruder.

When Jayson's eyes finally landed on her, a flash of genuine shock crossed his deep gaze, but it was almost instantly swallowed by his habitual, chilling composure.

He lowered his head, whispering a few soothing words to Kate, before gently handing the bride's hand over to a bridesmaid. He then stepped off the altar, his long legs eating up the distance as he strode purposefully toward Corina.

As he neared, the familiar, crisp scent of cedarwood that always clung to him enveloped Corina. It was the scent she had once been so hopelessly addicted to.

"What are you doing here?"

Those were his first words. Not an explanation, not an apology, but a cold, hard interrogation.

Corina looked up at the face she had loved for seven years. The sharp, aristocratic line of his brow, the thin, cool lips she had kissed a thousand times. Suddenly, she found the entire situation utterly laughable.

"Shouldn't I be here?" Corina's voice was incredibly soft, as casual as if she were inquiring about the weather. "My husband is getting married here today. Shouldn't I come to offer my congratulations?"

Jayson's brow furrowed deeply, a clear precursor to his impatience.

He took a sudden step forward, his large hand shooting out to clamp down hard on her slender wrist. Without another word, he dragged her away from the prying eyes of the crowd, pulling her into the shadows of a secluded stone corridor.

Once they were enveloped in the dim light of the corridor, he stopped and released her wrist.

"Corina, don't make a scene," he commanded, his voice tight.

"Kate... she doesn't have much time left." Jayson reached into the inner pocket of his suit jacket, pulling out a silver cigarette case. He extracted a cigarette but didn't light it, instead rolling it restlessly between his long fingers, a sign of his internal agitation. "Late-stage liver cancer. The doctors have confirmed she has, at most, half a month left to live."

Corina stood perfectly still, her eyes locked onto his.

"And so?" she asked, her voice devoid of inflection.

"Her final, greatest wish in this life was to wear a wedding dress and marry me," Jayson said, meeting her gaze with a look that suggested his actions were the most logical, reasonable thing in the world. "This wedding is entirely fake. I am simply putting on a performance for her, allowing her to leave this world without any lingering regrets. Do you understand?"

He paused, taking a breath, and when he spoke again, his tone softened marginally, sounding like a king offering a generous concession to a peasant. "Corina, it is merely a ceremony. Why must you be so petty and hold a grudge against a dying woman?"

Petty? Holding a grudge?

Corina's gaze drifted past his broad shoulders, looking out toward the distant, brightly lit lawn where the guests were still murmuring, their faces painted with a mix of celebration and nervous anticipation.

Through the arches of the stone corridor, Corina could clearly see the scene unfolding on the lawn. Her mother, Eliza, was holding Kate's hands, dabbing at her own eyes with a lace handkerchief, playing the role of the heartbroken mother to perfection. Her father, Warren, stood close by, his posture radiating protective concern. Her older brother, Leo, was leaning in, speaking in hushed, comforting tones to the fragile bride.

They were her blood relatives. The people who shared her DNA. Yet, they had all conspired behind her back, actively participating in this grotesque theatrical production where a foster daughter married her husband.

They had deliberately excluded her, treating her not as a daughter or a sister, but as a volatile outsider who might ruin their precious Kate's special day.

It was beyond laughable; it was a tragedy written just for her.

Corina felt a sharp, acidic burn at the back of her eyes. She slowly pulled her gaze away from the sickening tableau on the lawn, forcing down the bitter lump in her throat. She looked straight into Jayson's dark, fathomless eyes, wrapping herself in a fragile armor of absolute calm.

She spoke softly, her voice steady. "Jayson, if this is truly just a fake wedding, a harmless performance, then why did you hide it from me?"

Jayson's jaw tightened, a flicker of profound annoyance crossing his handsome features.

"If I had told you, would you have agreed to it?" he countered, his tone defensive. "I didn't want you overthinking things and causing unnecessary drama. Furthermore, Kate's condition is incredibly fragile. She cannot handle any emotional shocks. I simply couldn't take the risk of you upsetting her."

Couldn't take the risk.

Because he was terrified that Kate might suffer the slightest emotional distress, he had chosen to treat his actual wife like a fool, keeping her entirely in the dark!

The realization hit Corina with the force of a physical blow. In Jayson's meticulously ordered world, organizing a grand wedding for his wife's sister was a noble duty, while she, his lawful wife, didn't even possess the basic right to know. She was nothing more than a potential hazard, a ticking time bomb that might detonate and ruin the perfect atmosphere he had curated for his beloved Kate.

"Jayson," she asked, her voice dropping a degree colder, "if I hadn't shown up tonight, how long were you all planning to keep this charade going?"

"Until she passes away," Jayson answered instantly, without a shred of hesitation or guilt.

"And during the time between this 'wedding' and her death?" Corina pressed, her nails digging into her palms. "What then?"

Jayson's voice remained infuriatingly level. "I will play the role of a devoted husband. I will stay by her side and accompany her through her final days. But you have my word, Corina, I know where the boundaries are. I will not cross the line into anything physical."

Corina stared at the breathtakingly handsome face of the man she had worshipped. A short, breathy scoff escaped her lips, sounding loud in the quiet corridor.

He will play the role of a devoted husband.

Then what was she supposed to do? What role was the legal, actual wife supposed to play while her husband played house with her sister?

"Once she is gone, everything will revert exactly to how it was," Jayson added, as if this was the ultimate reassurance. "You will still be Mrs. Mccormick. Nothing of substance will have changed."

Nothing will have changed?

Corina lifted her chin, her green eyes turning into chips of ice as she glared at the man who looked like a god but possessed the empathy of a stone.

For the past seven years, and especially during their three years of marriage, she had systematically filed down every sharp edge of her personality just to be the perfect wife for him.

When his demanding schedule ruined his stomach, she spent hours in the kitchen, mastering the most complex, soothing herbal soups. When the stress of the Mccormick empire caused him severe insomnia, she scoured the globe, consulting experts to find the perfect calming incense to help him sleep.

She had naively believed the old adage that even a stone could be warmed if held close enough to the heart. She thought that even if Jayson's heart was a glacier, her relentless, burning devotion would eventually melt a corner of it.

But standing here tonight, the brutal truth finally shattered her illusions.

It wasn't that the stone couldn't be warmed. It was simply that this man had reserved every ounce of his tenderness, his compassion, and his warmth for another woman.

To fulfill another woman's twisted "fairytale," he was perfectly willing to drag Corina's dignity through the mud and trample it underfoot.

"You are incredibly selfish, Jayson."

A bone-deep exhaustion washed over Corina. It felt as though her internal organs had been hollowed out, leaving only a dull, throbbing ache with every breath she took.

She didn't scream. She didn't throw a hysterical fit. She merely looked at him with a chilling, hollow tranquility.

"Let's get a divorce."

The moment those four words left her lips, Jayson's hand, which had been continuously rolling the unlit cigarette, froze mid-motion.

He stared at the woman who had loved him to the point of losing herself.

When she spoke those words, there were no dramatic tears streaming down her face. There was no shrill questioning, no screaming accusations. There wasn't even a trace of fiery anger to be found in her eyes.

It was a terrifying, detached calmness that completely defied his expectations and control. For the first time in his life, a sudden, inexplicable wave of panic seized Jayson's chest.

But almost as quickly as the panic flared, it was consumed by a much darker, more familiar emotion: absolute, towering fury.

"Are you out of your mind, Corina?"

Jayson's voice was a low, dangerous snarl. He crushed the unlit cigarette in his fist, the tobacco spilling over his knuckles, and hurled the mangled remains onto the stone floor. He looked at her like a predator whose territory had just been challenged.

"I have already explained this to you! It is a performance! Kate is a dying patient. She might not even live to see the sun rise next month, and you insist on choosing this exact moment to threaten me with a divorce?"

"Threaten?"

A hollow, self-deprecating laugh slipped past Corina's lips.

"Jayson, we have known each other for seven years, and we have been married for three. In all that time, when have I ever used anything to threaten you?"

She had always been the compliant one, the one who bent to accommodate everyone else. When his aristocratic mother, Eleanor, had made her life miserable with endless, petty criticisms, Corina had swallowed her pride and endured it in silence. When Jayson worked until the early hours of the morning, she was the one who always kept a warm light burning in the penthouse, waiting for him.

She had done it all because this man had once reached into the abyss and pulled her out. For that, she had willingly digested every ounce of grievance and pain.

But what had her endless understanding and compliance earned her?

It had earned her his absolute certainty that she would never leave him. It had given him the audacity to brazenly gather their family and friends, right under her nose, to throw a lavish, fairytale wedding for another woman.

"I am completely serious," Corina said, taking a deliberate step backward, physically severing the invisible tether between them.

As she moved, the intoxicating scent of cedarwood that had always clouded her judgment faded, replaced by the crisp, biting chill of the night wind sweeping through the corridor. The cold air cleared the last remnants of fog from her mind.

"Didn't you just say this was a fake wedding with no legal standing?" Corina looked at him, her eyes as cold and distant as if she were appraising a stranger. "If we get a divorce, you can march straight to the courthouse and sign the papers with her. That way, she won't just get a pretty ceremony; she will legally and truly become Mrs. Mccormick. Wouldn't that make her dying wish even more perfectly fulfilled?"

"Corina!" Jayson roared, cutting her off. A thick vein throbbed visibly at his temple.

"If you feel you've been wronged tonight, I will compensate you when we get home. Shares in the company, prime real estate-whatever you want, name it," he dictated, his tone laced with an overbearing, unquestionable authority. "But divorce? Don't even let the thought cross your mind."

"Jayson..."

A frail, trembling voice echoed from the far end of the stone corridor.

Kate had somehow managed to find them. She was struggling under the weight of the massive, crystal-encrusted skirt of her Vera Wang gown, her face ashen and completely devoid of color.

She leaned heavily against the rough stone wall, looking at them with wide, tear-filled eyes, the very picture of a tragic, helpless victim.

"Sister, please don't be angry with Jayson. It's all my fault..." Kate's voice broke, and tears began to cascade down her cheeks like pearls from a broken string. "I truly never intended to steal him from you. I... I just wanted to know what it felt like to wear a wedding dress. I know I don't deserve this, but I have so little time left..."

As she spoke, a violent fit of coughing seized her, her slender frame shaking so violently it looked as though she might collapse into a heap of tulle and lace at any second.

The color drained from Jayson's face. He closed the distance between them in three massive strides, sweeping Kate into his arms and supporting her weight entirely.

"Kate! The wind is too cold out here, why did you come out? The doctors explicitly said you can't be exposed to the cold!"

The raw, unfiltered panic and deep, aching tenderness in his eyes were expressions Corina had never, not once in seven years, seen directed at herself.

Kate rested her head weakly against Jayson's chest, her tear-stained eyes shifting to look at Corina.

Corina searched those watery pupils, looking for a shred of genuine guilt or apology. She found none. Instead, hidden beneath the sheen of tears, was a unmistakable glint of victorious mockery.

"Jayson, please, go comfort my sister. I'll be fine, I can walk back to the hall by myself..." Kate whispered, her voice breathy and weak, yet her fingers were locked in a death grip around the lapel of Jayson's pristine white suit.

Jayson shot a look over his shoulder at Corina, his eyes as hard and unforgiving as glacial ice. "Corina, do not make me view you as a cold-blooded, heartless woman."

His words were a physical blade, slicing through the air of the corridor and burying themselves to the hilt in Corina's chest.

Without waiting for a response, Jayson wrapped his arm tightly around Kate's waist. He didn't look back again as he hurried her toward the warmth of the VIP lounge.

The guests and family members who had been hovering near the end of the corridor immediately swarmed them, a flurry of anxious voices and reaching hands, fussing over the tragic, star-crossed couple.

As her parents and brother passed by, they shot Corina looks of profound disappointment and blame, as if she were a monster who had just tried to ruin Kate's one moment of happiness. Not a single one of them stopped to speak to her. They simply followed Kate, leaving Corina behind.

Corina stood alone in the cavernous, echoing corridor, her feet feeling as though they had been cast in lead.

The wind picked up, howling through the stone arches, whipping her long hair wildly around her face.

Her phone vibrated sharply in the pocket of her dress.

She pulled it out. It was a text message from her mother, Eliza:

[Corina, Kate is a pitiful child. Aside from us, she has no one else in this world, and now she is so terribly ill. Just treat this as doing a good deed. Step aside and let her have these last few days. Jayson still has you in his heart, ultimately.]

A good deed?

Corina stared at the glowing pixels on the screen, a wave of pure, nauseating absurdity washing over her.