My husband's adopted sister invited me out to dinner, and while we were eating, disaster struck—a violent earthquake shook the ground beneath us.

My husband, a firefighter, rushed to the scene as quickly as he could. But fate had a cruel plan for us. We were trapped beneath a massive boulder, unable to move, and the rescuers could only save one of us.

He made his choice.

He chose her—the adopted sister who had always been frail and sickly—over me, his wife, who was five months pregnant with his child.

I begged him, pleaded with him to save me. But he turned his back on me.

The boulder pressed harder, and I felt the sickening crack of my arm breaking. He didn't even flinch.

"Alice has always been weak," he said coldly. "If I leave her here, she'll die."

But when I died, he lost his mind.

When Grayson Blackwood arrived at the earthquake site, both Alice Blackwood and I were trapped beneath a massive boulder.

I couldn't move an inch; the weight pinned me down, sending a sharp, dragging pain through my abdomen. A cold dread settled in my chest—I knew the baby inside me wasn't doing well.

I hadn't heard a single sound from Alice, and worry gnawed at me. Despite my own dire condition, I forced myself to comfort her.

"Don't be scared, Alice," I whispered hoarsely. "Your brother will come to save us soon."

This morning, Grayson and I had quarreled over Alice. We were in the midst of a cold war, but even so, I believed he'd come for us. After all, I was carrying his child.

Even if he didn't care for me, surely he cared about the baby.

But I overestimated the weight of my existence in his heart—and our child's too.

When it came down to saving one of us first, he looked at me, his voice as icy as the ground beneath us. "I have to save Alice first."

"What?" I thought I'd misheard him. My gaze locked onto his face, searching for some trace of hesitation or warmth, but his tone remained frigid, devoid of the slightest flicker of emotion.

"Belle," he said, as if explaining to a dim child, "I hope you can be sensible. Alice's health has always been fragile. If I save you first, she might die. I can't let that happen. You just have to hold on. Once she's safe, they'll come back for you immediately."

I bit down hard to stop myself from crying, but my voice betrayed me, trembling as it cracked. "Honey, you can't do this. I can wait, but the baby can't. The baby won't make it."

"No," he said firmly.

"Grayson, please, don't do this. Our baby—our baby will die!" I pleaded, desperation and agony clawing at my throat.

He looked at me, cold and resolute. "Belle, if the baby dies, it's only what you owe Alice. You killed her child once; now you can repay her."

The words landed like a knife to my chest, but he wasn't done.

"And let's be honest—you and I both know whether that child is even mine. I'll just pretend that baby never existed."

His voice was glacial, the words cutting me so deeply I trembled.

I tried to explain, my voice breaking as I struggled against the weight and my despair. "How could the child not be yours? I would never—"

But I never finished.

The rescue workers began their operation, and the boulder shifted. Before I could protest, the massive stone came crashing down, plunging me into utter darkness.

My heart froze solid, ice spreading through my soul. Seven years of love, the child in my womb, and yet they still couldn't compare to Alice in his heart.

He even went so far as to deny his own child, just to save her.

And that was how I died.

I floated above, a silent, invisible witness to the scene below. I watched as Alice was pulled free, her fragile form cradled in his arms. Relief and joy radiated from him as though he'd just regained his entire world.

One of his colleagues, perhaps unable to stomach the scene, muttered softly, "Grayson, we still haven't found your wife."

"If you can't find her, keep looking," he replied curtly, without even a glance in my direction.

His words sent a chill deep into my core. I was his wife, the mother of his child—and yet my life meant less than nothing to him.

To him, I wasn't trapped beneath the rubble, fighting for life. I was merely… out for a meal.

"Grayson, I was so scared," Alice whimpered, pale and trembling in his arms. "When the earthquake struck, I thought I'd never see you again. My stomach hurts. Can you take me to the hospital? I'm worried about my baby."

Her pitiful, tear-streaked face was enough to make him turn away completely. Without so much as a glance back, he carried her off, resolute, his steps unwavering.

He never once looked back at me—at the woman he had left for dead.

In that moment, I felt a strange sense of relief.

Relief that I was already dead.

Because if I were still alive, I wouldn't know how to face this betrayal.

I drifted along behind him, floating like a restless ghost all the way to the hospital, until I found myself in Alice's ward.

There she was, lying on the hospital bed, her face pale and pitiful, as though she were the very picture of tragedy. But looking at her only brought a fresh wave of agony as I thought of my own child—a child fully formed, yet never given the chance to see this world.

I glared at Alice and Grayson with a rage so fierce it burned through my spectral being. In that moment, I wished I could transform into a vengeful spirit and drag these two wretched souls to the grave to accompany my child.

"Grayson, do you blame me?" Alice murmured, her voice soft, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "If it weren't for me, you could've saved Belle first."

"Don't be ridiculous," Grayson replied, cradling her as though she were made of glass. He gently patted her back, his voice tender as a spring breeze. "She's always been strong. I've already sent people to rescue her. A little hardship won't kill her."

"But she is your wife," Alice hesitated, her voice trembling. "Even if she had made a mistake…"

"Mistakes should be punished," Grayson interrupted coldly. His words were sharp, slicing through me like a blade.

Grayson. Do you even know? This punishment you speak of—it has already cost me my life. And the life of our child.

Grayson and I had grown up together. We were childhood sweethearts, tied by an old-fashioned betrothal made when we were kids. Alice came to the Blackwood family when she was six years old, and from that moment on, Grayson treated her better than any blood sibling could.

I had loved him for as long as I could remember. But Grayson was always distant. He had rejected my advances more than once.

There were times I suspected he harbored feelings for Alice. Yet, when I confronted him, he brushed it off, saying she was nothing more than a sister to him.

Then Alice went abroad. That night, Grayson drank too much and kissed me, pinning me against the wall in a haze of liquor and desperation.

I was too overwhelmed to resist, my heart soaring as though I'd won the lottery.

The next day, his face was grim, but he told me he'd take responsibility.

And so, he married me. No proposal, no wedding photos, no honeymoon, not even a proper confession of love.

I knew he didn't love me. He married me because he felt obligated after that one drunken mistake.

But I couldn't stop myself from falling deeper for him. I thought marriage would change things. That someday, he'd love me the way I loved him.

It never happened.

After the wedding, he was neither warm nor cold—just indifferent. Even our physical intimacy was mechanical, like an obligation he had to fulfill. Three times a week, no more, no less.

Then, in our second year of marriage, Alice returned from abroad. Pregnant. She refused to say who the father was.

During that time, Grayson came home every day—every single day. He'd even cook dinner just to make sure Alice ate well.

Jealousy consumed me. I couldn't help myself. I argued with him, accused him, let my anger spill over into bitter, reckless words.

"If someone didn't know better, they'd think she was your wife, not your sister!" I snapped. "Or are you so worried about her because the child she's carrying is yours?"

That was the first time Grayson hit me.

The slap came out of nowhere, leaving me stunned and seething with fury.

I didn't notice Alice standing at the doorway, watching.

I stormed off, crying, determined to go back to my parents' house. Alice stopped me at the door.

"Belle," she said, her voice shaking with hurt, "I didn't know you thought of me as such a shameless person. I still have some dignity—I would never do something so immoral. I'll leave tomorrow. I'll go abroad again."

After that, Grayson and I didn't speak for half a month. Or rather, he froze me out completely.

In the end, Alice didn't leave. I cooled off and felt guilty, eventually apologizing to her.

But she never forgot.

She harbored that grudge until one fateful day when she grabbed my hand and threw herself down the stairs.

And just like that, her child was gone.

Grayson witnessed the entire scene with his own eyes.

"Belle, if anything happens to Alice, I will never forgive you for the rest of my life."

From that moment on, Grayson's disdain for me deepened, growing colder with each passing day. He even brought up divorce.

I clung to him desperately, refusing to let go, but our marriage was already teetering on the edge, hanging by a thread.

Alice had always been a thorn between us—sharp, immovable, impossible to ignore or remove.

I looked at Grayson now and wondered: if he knew I was dead, would he feel relieved that he was finally free of me?

Grayson's phone rang. He answered it, not bothering to put it on speaker. I drifted closer, curious. Could it be someone calling to report my death?

I studied his face intently, waiting to see his reaction when he learned I was gone.

But when I glanced at the screen, I froze.

The caller ID displayed my name.

The voice that came through the line was unmistakably mine.

"Grayson, I can't believe you abandoned me to save Alice! I want a divorce!"

His expression darkened instantly.

"Belle," he said coldly, "since you're fine, get back here."

"If you want me to come back, you'll have to kick Alice out!"

"Then don't bother coming back at all. You're better off dead out there," he snapped, slamming the phone down.

His words hit me like a blow, sending a fresh wave of pain through me.

Well, he's gotten his wish. I'm dead and gone, never coming back.

Still, I couldn't shake the question: who made that call? It couldn't have been me.

"Grayson, you should go check on her," Alice's soft voice broke the silence. "After all, she's carrying your child."

"My child?" Grayson scoffed, his tone dripping with disdain. "That baby's father is probably some random guy she picked up from who knows where."

"Even if it's mine," he added coldly, "she and the child together aren't worth as much to me as a single one of your fingers."

Though I was dead, his words tore through me, leaving an ache in my chest I couldn't explain.

He hated me. He hated me so much that when my father died unexpectedly, he didn't even bat an eye.

"Grayson, why don't you just divorce her? You don't love her. I want to be with you," Alice murmured.

"Alice, we're siblings," Grayson said firmly.

"Grayson, do you really see me as just a sister?" she shot back, her tone laced with bitterness. "Don't forget, I'm not biologically part of the Blackwood family."

"Alice!" Their mother's voice rang out, sharp as a whip. Her face was pale with anger. "What are you saying? You and Grayson may not be related by blood, but you grew up together! How could you even think that? You… You're going to be the death of me!"

"Mom," Alice said, her eyes filled with defiance, "you've loved me since I was little. If Grayson has to marry someone, why can't it be me? What does Belle have that I don't?"