“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.

The next morning, Carolyn came downstairs, ready for the Research Institute.

Amanda was lounging in plain sight on the leather sofa, her fingers idly stroking Peter’s forearm, her voice a sickly-sweet chill. “Peter, that chandelier is giving me a headache. Have it replaced with a crystal one tomorrow, will you?”

Peter glanced up from his file and offered only a noncommittal hum.

Unsatisfied, Amanda hooked an arm around his neck, her crimson lips brushing his ear. “That movie we watched together—the one that made us both cry? They’re making a sequel! You have to come with me this time.”

They chatted about shared memories as if no one else existed, exchanging knowing smiles.

On the staircase landing, Carolyn froze. The only sound she could hear was the faint rustle of the medical report crumpling in her tightening grip.

She watched as Peter set the file aside, his long fingers gently pinching Amanda’s cheek, a trace of indulgence flickering in his eyes. “Whatever you want.”

Amanda smiled triumphantly, pressing herself against his thigh and winding her arms around his waist.

Peter didn’t push her away. Instead, he reached up and tenderly tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

Amanda’s giggle slithered into Carolyn’s ears like a venomous snake. She turned to flee—and stumbled in her haste.

Her shoulder slammed into the banister. Pain shot through her; her grip loosened. The medical report slipped from her fingers and fluttered silently to the floor.

The conversation below stopped. After a whisper from Amanda, Peter released her.

The sharp click of heels ascended the stairs. The pointed toe of Amanda’s shoe came down, grinding into the words “terminal brain cancer” printed on the fallen page.

Bending to pick it up, Amanda laughed—a sound like breaking glass. “Miss Carolyn, so desperate for sympathy you’d fake a terminal illness?” She flung the paper back into Carolyn’s face. “If you’re going to die, don’t do it here. It’s bad luck!”

Carolyn trembled from head to toe, her throat feeling shredded. “Give that back…”

“Back?” Amanda sneered. “Peter is still cleaning up the mess your father left—a billion-dollar hole! Maybe he taught his daughter how to seduce men to ‘pay back’ the debt!”

She leaned in, her fingers digging into Carolyn’s chin. “Let me help you. I’ll send this to the press. Let the whole city see how pitiful the great Peter’s former mistress really is—”

*Crack!*

A sharp slap echoed through the hall. Carolyn’s eyes were bloodshot, her voice a raw, ragged scrape. “You can insult me. But you do *not* speak about my father!”

Amanda stumbled back, clutching her cheek, venom flashing in her eyes. She seized Carolyn’s wrist, nails biting deep. “You dare lay a hand on me?”

Before Carolyn could react, Amanda let out a sharp cry—yanking Carolyn’s hand, shoving it against her own shoulder, then throwing herself backwards.

“Amanda!” Peter’s footsteps pounded up the stairs.

Amanda lay crumpled on the floor and was immediately gathered into his arms. She pointed a trembling, tear-streaked finger at Carolyn. “Peter, I just didn’t want her fooling you with a fake illness… and she just snapped and pushed me!”

Cradling Amanda, Peter scanned the medical report she handed him before lifting his eyes to Carolyn. His gaze was ice. “How could you be so reckless? Faking something like this?”

Carolyn opened her mouth, but he was already looking down, checking Amanda over, his voice tight with a concern Carolyn had never heard directed at her. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

She took a few hurried steps after them, any explanation dying on her lips. Peter was in a rush—too much of a rush, striding out with Amanda in his arms without so much as a glance in her direction.

Alone, Carolyn found the first-aid kit, bandaged her scraped wrist, and rushed out to the Research Institute.

Late that night, returning from the institute, she finally called her mother.

“Mom… I regret it. I don’t want to love him anymore…”

Just then, the door to her room creaked open.