On the fifth year of our hidden marriage, I died on the operating table of a hospital belonging to Allen Jones.

Before I died, I called him ninety-nine times, begging for help.

The last time, he finally answered. His voice was heavy with impatience.

"Enough already. First, it's pregnancy, now it's liver cancer. Can you stop making a scene? I'm exhausted from work.

"Mia, when did you learn to lie? Do you know how disgusting you are right now?

"I'm warning you—if you keep this up, I'll divorce you. Don't even think about coming back home until you admit you're wrong."

But this time, I could never go back.

Just before the call ended, I heard him comforting Sadie with a gentleness he had never shown me.

"Don't be afraid. The surgery will be over soon, and you'll be fine. Once you're out, I'll take you to see your favorite movie and eat at your favorite restaurant. I promised you, and I'll make it all come true."

After he hung up, I called him for the hundredth time. He didn't answer.

Later, when Allen saw my body on the operating table, he broke down completely.

Allen Jones's phone rang again.

He stood at the door of the operating room, signing the consent form as Sadie Darby's family member.

His ringtone kept echoing through the corridor. One of the Jones family's doctors, noticing it, spoke up with quiet concern.

"Mr. Jones, your wife has called so many times. It must be urgent. Maybe you should check in on her?"

Irritation flickered across Allen's face. His mind was occupied by the surgery Sadie was about to undergo.

"Ignore her. If she has the time to call me this much, she must be bored at home," he said, his voice cold.

"She was the one who left after starting a cold war. Does she expect me to beg her to come back? If she wants to leave, let her. For all I care, she never has to return.

"Five years of marriage, and the only thing she's learned is how to lie. If I believe her now, who knows what tricks she'll pull next? Let her do whatever she wants—I don't care."

On the hospital bed, Sadie's pale face held a faint, fragile smile.

"She must be upset again," she said softly. "You know, you should've deleted those photos. If I were her, I wouldn't want to talk to you either."

Allen didn't mention my name. He only tucked a loose strand of her hair behind her ear.

"Don't worry about her. She'll be fine in a few days. Right now, your surgery is the most important thing. I've arranged everything, and I've got the best doctors handling your surgery."

Sadie smiled again and closed her eyes.

At the same time, in another room. I was strapped to the bed, my limbs bound to the cold metal frame.

A needle pierced my skin, delivering a slow stream of anesthetic into my veins.

The unanswered call still flickered on my phone's screen.

Tears slipped silently from the corners of my eyes, but my fingers had lost the strength to dial again.

'Allen, the thing I regret most in this life is marrying you.'

My hands fell limply to my sides.

As the anesthesia took hold, a white sheet was pulled over my face, and I was wheeled into the operating room.

Three days ago, I found out I was pregnant.

I never had the chance to share the news with Allen.

Instead, I stumbled upon tens of thousands of photos of Sadie hidden on his computer.

At that moment, I finally understood why he insisted on keeping our marriage a secret and why he always kept his distance.

To him, I was nothing more than a tool to appease his family.

Only those closest to him even knew he was married.

And all these years, the woman he loved had always been Sadie.

When she left for overseas, he expanded his business abroad. Every work trip, every meeting, was just an excuse to catch a glimpse of her.

My messages, my worried phone calls—everything I did was nothing but an unbearable burden to him.

That night, I asked him for a divorce.

He refused.

The next day, he packed his bags and moved into his office.

Our first cold war began.

I drafted the divorce papers and waited for him to come home and sign them.

But what arrived first was a diagnosis—late-stage cancer.

I took a taxi to his company to tell him everything.

Before I could reach him, Sadie's people dragged me to the hospital.

She forced my hand onto a donation agreement, pressing my fingerprint onto the paper.

When she left, she forgot to take my phone.

I pinned all my hopes on Allen.

I called him ninety-nine times, begging for his help.

But in the end, this was the answer I got.

'I'm tired. I won't struggle anymore. Allen, this time, I'll set you free.'

The surgery lasted ten hours.

Today marked the second day of my disappearance.

My mother, unable to reach me, finally called Allen's phone. He didn't even glance at the screen before pressing decline.

Unwilling to give up, she sent him a message, pleading for any news of my whereabouts. He didn't reply. His gaze remained fixed on the operating room doors, unblinking.

His assistant arrived at the hospital, carrying a stack of contracts and agreements that needed his signature. In the midst of handing over the documents, his peripheral vision caught something on a medical report.

He hesitated.

"Mr. Jones, is Madam sick? I noticed her name on the hospital records. You two have been separated for three days—maybe you should give her a call?"

Allen signed the papers without looking up. He was still angry.

"Don't mention her to me. She values her life too much. Just had a full-body checkup a few days ago—what could possibly be wrong with her? She called earlier just to stir up trouble. If I don't teach her a lesson, she'll never learn.

"She knows better than anyone that I hate being lied to, yet she still jokes about her health. Does she think cancer is something to play around with? One day, if something really happens to her, how would I even know if she's telling the truth?"

The assistant wiped his forehead, troubled. He hesitated, then spoke carefully.

"But Miss Darby's illness isn't Madam's fault. She didn't even know about your relationship. It's only natural she misunderstood. As husband and wife, if misunderstandings aren't cleared up, they'll only cause more problems later."

He hesitated again, lowering his voice.

"Madam isn't someone who speaks recklessly. Since her name is on the hospital records, wouldn't it be best to check, just in case?"

Allen's expression darkened. His gaze drifted back to the glowing light above the operating room.

"I told you not to meddle. Bring this up again, and you can hand in your resignation."

The assistant lowered his head and quickly left, arms full of documents.

Allen canceled all his meetings and sat in the corridor, waiting. Another ten hours passed in silence.

Then, the light above the operating room flickered off.

At the same time, I took my last breath in the operating room next to Sadie’s.

My soul drifted aimlessly through the hospital corridors, weightless, unanchored. I watched as Allen sat there, his face pale, his expression drawn tight with worry. My broken heart sank even deeper.

The doors swung open, and Sadie was wheeled out, still weak from surgery.

Allen rushed forward, gripping the side of her bed.

"How are you feeling?" His voice was laced with concern. "Does it hurt?"

Sadie smiled faintly. The anesthesia was wearing off. She shook her head.

Allen exhaled, relieved. He turned to the doctor.

"The patient who donated her heart—where is she? I want to see her. She's a benefactor to my family. I'll handle her funeral arrangements and prepare five million for her family."

Before the doctor could speak, Sadie grasped his wrist.

"Allen, it hurts…"

Her voice was soft and fragile.

"Can you stay with me?"

Allen forgot everything else. He helped the nurses push her to her room. As he walked alongside the bed, he kept pressing the staff for pain relief options.

"No matter the cost, give her whatever will ease the pain."

A nurse, clearly exasperated, finally spoke up. "Mr. Jones, the doctor did an excellent job. Extra medication isn't necessary. Side effects could slow her recovery."

Only then did he relent.

He stepped into Sadie's room. Before the door even closed behind him, my mother arrived at the hospital, tears streaking her face.

Spotting him, she broke down completely.

"Allen, where is my daughter? She never ignores my messages. Something must have happened. She's your wife. How can you be so heartless?"

Her fingers clutched her phone, the screen filled with unread messages, desperate pleas left unanswered for two days.

Allen frowned, glancing toward Sadie's room. His patience was fraying.

"Who told you to come here? If your daughter is missing, find her yourself. Why are you asking me?"

His tone was cold, indifferent.

"She left on her own. Do you think she'd tell me where she went? She even lied to me about her health. Do you think someone like that would ever tell the truth?

"I should be asking you—how did you raise her to be like this? And now you dare come here, making a scene? Did Mia send you to put on this little performance? Tell her this—there's nothing to discuss. If she refuses to apologize, she can forget about ever stepping foot in the Jones family home again."

My mother stood frozen in place, her tears falling harder and faster.

"Mia has been married to you for five years, and now she's gone without a trace. If I don't ask you, who else should I ask?" Her voice trembled with rage. "Mia never lies! She must have found out about your affair. The woman lying in that ward—that's your mistress, isn't it? Mia didn't run away. You drove her away, time after time, until she couldn't take it anymore."

Her accusations echoed through the hospital corridor. "Love whoever you want, but at least let my daughter go. What did she do wrong? Why should she bear the blame for you and that woman?" Her voice broke, and the anger melted into helpless sorrow.

I stood beside her, my vision blurred with tears. I wanted to reach out and wipe the tears from her face, but no matter how much I tried, my hands passed through her like air.

Her cries grew louder, each word heavy with grief. When her strength failed, she collapsed to her knees, pleading with everything she had left.

Allen lost his patience. He called security and had her thrown out of the hospital.

Back in the hospital room, he smashed the cup on the table. The veins on his neck stood out as he pulled out his phone and sent me a voice message.

"Mia, is it not enough for you to stir up trouble alone? Now you have to drag your mother into this too?" His voice was cold. "I told you already, Sadie is like a sister to me. She's had a heart condition since birth, and it just so happens that my hospital specializes in cardiology. That's all there is to it. What exactly are you trying to prove?

"When will you admit you're wrong? When will you stop lying? What happened to you? You used to be better than this. I'm beyond disappointed."

Without waiting for a reply, he blocked my number.

His words cut through me like shards of glass, each one lodging deeper in my heart. My chest ached with a pain so heavy, I could hardly breathe. I was right there, in his hospital, lying on a surgical bed.

If he had only checked, the truth would have been obvious. But he didn't bother. He didn't care enough to find out.

A helplessness spread through me, cold and unyielding. I slid down against the wall, curling my arms around my head as if that could shield me from the pain.

Outside, a nurse rushed past, preparing to handle my body. Sadie gasped softly from her bed, and Allen pulled her into his arms, fear flashing through his eyes.

"What is it? Are you in pain?" His voice shook as he turned to glare at the nurse.

The nurse hesitated. "I'm here to take care of a patient's remains," she explained quickly.

His face darkened. "Leave it. Find someone else to do it. You focus on her."

And so, my body lay forgotten on the surgical table, abandoned by the one person who should have cared the most.

Sadie's condition wasn't serious, but Allen still insisted on a full-body examination. When it was over, an express delivery arrived at his company. His assistant brought it to the hospital.

It had my name on it.

He just glanced at the documents before his face fell. Inside were my medical records and a pregnancy report—a package I had sent before I was taken. Without a second thought, he threw the documents at his assistant, his anger hardly contained.

"Did Mia send you? Where did she fake these?" His voice was sharp with fury. "So, she realized lying won't work and decided to forge medical records instead? Does she think I'll believe her now?

"Tell her it's useless. It's just a few old photos—hardly worth this ridiculous scene. If she wants to talk, she can come to me herself. Until Sadie is out of danger, I'm not leaving this hospital."

The assistant held the papers, his forehead damp with cold sweat. The hospital stamp was real. Every document was authentic. But Allen, too angry to see the truth, refused to believe it. With no other choice, the assistant slipped away to search the hospital system for any trace of me.

That night, while Allen was feeding Sadie soup, his phone buzzed with a message from his assistant.

It was my hospital room number.

I held my breath. If he went to check, everything would be clear. He would know I wasn't lying.

But he didn't. Without a second glance, he deleted the message.

"Drama queen," he muttered under his breath.