During her university years, to fill the financial void left by her father—who had embezzled company funds and vanished—Carolyn accepted the arrangement Peter proposed. It bound her to him in exchange for security.

Rumour had it Peter had no interest in women.

Yet Carolyn became the first to appear publicly at his side.

He was good to her. So good that, for the first time, she felt the warmth of a passionate romance.

Once, she sighed over a rare, out-of-print poetry anthology, lamenting she’d missed the chance to own a signed copy. On her birthday, Peter flew in just to celebrate with her—and inside the cover of the latest novel she adored, he had inscribed a poem dedicated to her.

When an unexpected allergic shock sent her to the hospital, he halted the company’s year-end review to stay by her side, caring for her through the night.

The day she was accepted into her master’s program, she received the deed to a sprawling themed estate. At dawn, with dew still fresh on the grass, he carried her up the spiral staircase. The usually inarticulate man stumbled through several revised drafts of a love letter, reciting it to her step by step.

She believed it was all real.

Until tonight. Peter returned from abroad. Following the routine of their arrangement, she went to the bedroom—only to be handed a Termination Agreement.

Carolyn stood frozen, her hands trembling so badly it took her a long moment to open the document.

“Peter, come help me with this necklace! I can’t get it off!”

A sweet, girlish voice rang out. Without knocking, a woman breezed into his room.

She paused upon seeing Carolyn, then smiled and extended a hand. “You must be… Carolyn, right?”

“Hello, I’m Amanda. I’m Peter’s~ closest person.”

She carried herself with all the poise of the lady of the house.

Clutching the agreement, Carolyn’s face turned ashen.

She studied business. In that world, Peter was a legend—and the latest twist in his story was the rumour of a fiancée.

It seemed, now, that must be Amanda.

She looked down at the stark white paper in her hands, and everything clicked.

No wonder he needed to dispose of the old mistress.

To avoid dirtying his fiancée’s eyes.

Carolyn glanced at Peter from the corner of her eye. His expression was calm, his gaze fixed on Amanda with helpless affection and indulgence.

Stiff as a board, she watched as Peter chided Amanda softly, teasing that she was the clumsy one trying to blame him.

Amanda stuck out her tongue, basking in the intimacy, and snuggled into his arms.

“Hey, you’re wrinkling my tie.”

Carolyn instinctively took a step forward—only to see Amanda twist around and deftly reach up to remove it for him.

That used to be *her* duty.

Her eyes went empty as she watched Peter bend slightly to make it easier for Amanda.

A knife twisted in her heart. Tears she hadn’t even felt coming streamed down her face, dampening the crumpled agreement in her hand.

“I’ll go find a pen.”

She wiped her face roughly and hurried out.

By the time Peter looked up, all he saw was the door swinging gently shut.

“Oh no! Did your… did *Carolyn* misunderstand something?” Amanda covered the triumph in her eyes, feigning panic. “It’s my fault! Ever since Mom and Dad adopted me as a child, I’ve been so used to being close to you, I forgot you have a… you have her now! You’re planning to propose to her in ten days, aren’t you? I’ll go explain right away.”

Amanda left and soon spotted Carolyn, curled up and sobbing on the staircase landing.

She stopped in front of her, stiletto heels clicking. “Why is Miss Carolyn crying so pitifully?”

Bending down, she snatched the Termination Agreement from Carolyn’s grasp, pretending surprise. “Oh! So you’re being thrown out!”

Carolyn looked up as Amanda contemptuously tossed the papers back into her face.

“You know,” Amanda said, her voice sugary, “Peter specially bought a manor for us. It’s going to be our wedding home.”

She unlocked her phone. The wallpaper showed her and Peter. He was looking down, gently adjusting her veil—a tenderness that stabbed at Carolyn’s eyes.

“The wedding is in ten days. Would you like to come and watch?”

Carolyn staggered, bracing herself against the wall. On that manor’s spiral staircase, Peter had once carried her, reciting love poems as the morning dew soaked the shoulders of his suit.

Amanda crouched down, her perfume invading Carolyn’s senses. Leaning close, she whispered with a light laugh, “Some people, even from a top-tier MBA program, are still just birds in a gilded cage. Can’t you take a hint and just… disappear?”

Carolyn shoved past her and rushed back to her room.

From the balcony, she looked toward the master bedroom. Through the floor-to-ceiling windows, a warm glow spilled out.

Inside, Peter was ruffling Amanda’s hair, his fingers brushing through her strands with a gentleness that mirrored how he’d once tucked the blankets around a feverish Carolyn.

Watching them, she broke down into heaving sobs.

She pressed the pen tip into the last page of the agreement and signed her name, stroke by deliberate stroke.

Then, she dialed the Research Institute.

“The experimental brain cancer drug has a 67% mortality rate. Miss Carolyn, are you certain you wish to participate?”

Outside, lightning split the night sky. Carolyn looked at her own reflection in the glass—eyes swollen and red. She exhaled a heavy breath.

“I’ll come sign the consent form tomorrow.”

“Sign the agreement, and a five-million deposit will be wired to you immediately. The remaining fifteen million will follow in ten days—just before you enter the operating room.”

A crack of thunder split the silence outside.

After hanging up, Carolyn’s fingers drifted absently over the edges of the medical report. The words “cancer metastasis” had long since blurred into watery smudges.

One week earlier, while her mother Sarah was tearing her hair out over the company’s cash-flow crisis, Carolyn had been sitting in a sterile consultation room, listening to the doctor deliver her death sentence.

“Terminal brain cancer. We recommend immediate hospitalization.”

The sharp scent of disinfectant stung her eyes. Her phone lit up with a message from Peter: *Returning tonight.*

Fingers trembling, she deleted the half-typed words *I’m sick* and replaced them with a cute, pink cat sticker begging for attention.

Back then, she’d still been naive enough to believe that if she just curled up obediently in his arms—like she always did—she might somehow coax the money she needed to survive out of him.

Now, Carolyn simply patted her cheeks and began to pack.

She had ten days. She wouldn’t leave in a rushed, forgetful mess.

Better not to give anyone the impression she was still clinging to his coattails.

“Miss Carolyn, Mr Peter has requested your presence at the dinner tonight.” The secretary’s knock echoed through the door.

Hurriedly, Carolyn stuffed the medical report into a hidden compartment of her suitcase. She layered foundation over her puffy, red-rimmed eyes and painted on a bold red lipstick—forcing a look of vitality.

In the banquet hall, crystal chandeliers glittered, dizzying in their brilliance. The moment Carolyn pushed open the private room door, she froze.

There was Amanda, draped in a silver mermaid gown, leaning lightly against Peter’s side. His elegantly defined hand rested on the small of her back.

“I hear Mr Peter spent a fortune abroad to win that necklace for Miss Amanda at auction?” Business partner Mr Jacob swirled his wine glass, raising an eyebrow in Peter’s direction.

Amanda tightened her grip on Peter’s arm, lowering her head with a shy smile. “Don’t tease me, Mr Jacob. Peter just has a soft heart. He can’t stand to hear me go on about things…”

“A soft heart?” Mr Aaron shot a meaningful glance at the diamond necklace resting against Amanda’s throat. “If you ask me, our Mr Peter isn’t just soft-hearted. He’d probably charter a private jet to fetch her diamonds straight from the mines!”

Carolyn’s gaze dropped to the simple, unadorned silver chain around her own neck. A bitter smile touched her lips as she turned to leave.

“Well, if it isn’t Mr Peter’s little pet?” A balding man stepped into her path. “Heard your old man ran off with a billion and left the family company in shambles. Why not come with me? Old Jacob here has talents that go beyond the boardroom. I specialize in… taking care of women with deep needs.”

Amid the raucous laughter, another voice chimed in, “Anyone trained by Mr Peter must be a real firecracker. Why doesn’t Miss Carolyn show us how to handle a ‘Deep Sea Bomb’?”

A glass was shoved into her hands. Three layers of different-colored spirits shimmered with a dangerous gleam.

Across the room, Peter was bending to offer Amanda a small pastry, his expression detached but not impatient.

He hadn’t even noticed she was here.

“I’ll drink it.” Carolyn grabbed the glass and threw her head back, swallowing the contents in one go. A line of fire burned from her throat straight to her gut.

Wasn’t this exactly why Peter had summoned her?

To play her part.

Some people clapped and cheered. More glasses were pushed toward her.

By the fifth shot of tequila, Carolyn was staggering, bracing herself against the liquor cabinet. Through the ringing in her ears, she caught fragments of conversation.

“…in ten days… Mr Jacob has a taste for that sort… Can’t believe Mr Peter is actually willing to part with her.”

“Once you’ve kept something long enough, you have to extract the remaining value…”

“And she’s a top student, too. Mr Peter is truly generous…”

So *that* was why she’d been given ten days. Carolyn looked down at her own slender, well-proportioned figure.

To Peter, she wasn’t just a plaything. She was merchandise.

As a financial titan, once he grew bored, he naturally had to extract her remaining value. Couldn’t let the investment go to waste.

“Not feeling well? You look pale.”

Carolyn jolted back to the present. Peter had appeared beside her. Seeing her dazed expression, he frowned.

“If you’re unwell, don’t drink. Even if it’s something you usually like.”

His tone was stern.

Carolyn almost laughed.

How difficult it must be for him—having to bother soothing a trinket he was about to discard.

All these years, accompanying Peter to various events, she’d always tried to shield him from some of the drinking.

But today… Carolyn glanced at Amanda, who stood nearby, holding a wine glass with elegant detachment, its contents untouched.

The hollow feeling in her chest grew wider, deeper.

She was Peter’s tired-out mistress. A gift about to be regifted.

Last night, he’d made her sign the termination agreement. Today—and probably not just today—he wanted her here to drink on his and Amanda’s behalf.

Efficiency personified. New York’s most ruthless dealmaker, indeed.

"Are you listening to me?" The low voice murmured in her ear. Peter pressed his palm to her forehead, slick with cold sweat.

A furrow deepened between his brows. "You look terrible. I’ll have the driver take you home."

Amanda hurried over on stiletto heels, using her skirt as cover to grind her heel viciously into Carolyn’s foot. "Peter, hurry! Jacob wants to show you samples from the new mine!"

Carolyn tried to step back, but a searing pain twisted suddenly in her stomach.

She bit down hard on her lip, yet a low groan escaped.

Peter shook off Amanda’s hand at once and wrapped an arm around Carolyn’s swaying waist. "To the lounge. I’ll call a doctor."

He scooped her into his arms. She caught only a glimpse of the jealousy and venom in Amanda’s eyes before he carried her away.

In the lounge, the leather couch still held the faint scent of cologne from its last occupant. Peter used a damp towel to wipe the cold sweat from her neck.

*Bang!* The door flew open. Amanda stormed in, holding up the wine-stained hem of her dress, a trembling waiter trailing behind.

"Peter, look! This clumsy fool just ruined my three-hundred-thousand-dollar gown!"

Voice tearful, she threw herself against his chest. "Take me to change!"

Carolyn watched as the wine soaked into the fabric of Peter’s shirt. Yet the man who was usually so fastidious only sighed in resignation.

He turned and gave Carolyn a brief nod, then led Amanda out without another word.

The moment the door clicked shut, Carolyn grabbed her clutch and bolted.

Amanda’s silvery laughter drifted from the far end of the corridor. Pressing a hand hard against her stomach, Carolyn caught a glimpse of her own deathly pale face in a mirrored wall panel—how pathetic. She’d actually believed that brief tenderness was genuine.

It started pouring on the way home.

By the time the rain had soaked through her qipao, she was finally back.

Staring at the medical report tucked into her suitcase lining, Carolyn couldn’t understand how Peter’s heart had changed faster than her cancer could metastasize.

In just ten more days, it would all be over between them. Whether she lived or died remained unknown.

As she stuffed the last of her everyday clothes into the suitcase, an engine pulled up downstairs. Amanda’s petulant complaint drifted up through the rain. "That painting in the foyer is hideous! Let’s replace it tomorrow!"

"Whatever you want," Peter’s voice sounded tired. "Butler, do as Amanda asks."

Carolyn froze.

That abstract painting was something they’d bought from a street gallery on their first date. Back then, Peter had spun her around on the spiral staircase, promising they’d fill every blank space with their memories.

She walked out of her room.

Amanda’s LV suitcase was rolling right over the painting’s frame. The butler directed workers to hang her Chanel coats throughout the walk-in closet.

"And get rid of the pothos on the balcony. The soil has bugs—it’s disgusting."

Amanda kicked aside the Lego castle in the corner—the wedding chapel they’d spent an entire night building together.

Carolyn moved to pick it up, but before she could take a step, she heard Peter say, "The Manor renovations are finished. The things here… none of it matters anymore."

In just one hour, every trace of her had been erased from this home. A home bought specifically for the two of them, to make her commute to school easier.

"Why did you leave in such a hurry earlier? Are you feeling alright? Do you need to go to the hospital?" Peter asked, frowning at Carolyn where she stood frozen.

She met his gaze directly, seeing only hypocrisy and disgust behind the concern in his eyes.

"I’m fine. Just tired. I’m going to rest."

Locking her bedroom door, she felt her phone buzz with a text from the Research Institute.

**[Pre-op check at 8 AM tomorrow. Do not eat.]**

Her eyes fell on the velvet box she’d found in the closet while packing. It was filled with little handwritten notes Peter had included with every gift over the years.

She used to think it was him—a man of few words—racking his brains to express himself. Now she realized he’d probably just copied them from the internet.

Outside her door, hesitant footsteps paused for a long moment in the silence, then finally faded toward Amanda’s room.

Slowly, Carolyn tore the notes to shreds. She sat there through the night, unmoving.

Until dawn light seeped through the gap in the curtains.

She looked around this cage of illusions and mirages. The suitcase wheels rolled over the torn paper, as if grinding her heart to dust along with it.