I locked the bedroom door, walked over to the nightstand, opened the drawer, and pulled out the thick leather journal. I flipped to the next blank page.

Picking up the pen felt like trying to lift a boulder. The chaos in my mind had finally settled into a cold, terrifying clarity, but my body was failing.

My abdomen, my head, my heart—everything felt as though it was being slowly, methodically sliced open by a rusty blade.

I was freezing. It was a biting, unnatural cold that no amount of blankets could fix.

My hands shook violently, but I forced the pen to the paper, meticulously and painfully writing out every letter.

August 25th.

Today is our fourth wedding anniversary.

Silas cooked for me. He bought flowers and decorated the penthouse.

He bought tickets to take me to the islands.

But before we could even sit down, Serena called.

Silas went to Serena and left me behind.

I guess I won't ever get to see those islands after all.

Goodbye, Silas.

A teardrop slid down my cheek and splashed onto the paper, bleeding the black ink into a smear of grey.

I wasn't crying over a broken heart; I was crying because the physical pain was unbearable.

I had survived my whole life on scraps of affection.

Because no one had ever truly loved me, I poured my entire soul into Silas, living purely on the hope that he would love me back.

I had loved him so deeply. But that pure, fiery devotion had long since burned to ash. Now, only a hollow, rotting shell remained.

I was like a candle that had burned off its final wisp of flame, leaving nothing but the metal base.

The moment Silas Vance walked out that door, my last shred of love for him vanished with him.

I dragged the pen across the page to finish the final stroke, leaned back in the chair, and laughed. I laughed until my chest heaved, the harsh sound cutting through the quiet room.

My role in this pathetic farce was officially over.

Why did I hide my cancer? Why did I play dumb and turn a blind eye to their emotional affair? Why did I make that bet with Serena?

Because what I handed Serena wasn't the keys to the kingdom; it was a live grenade.

The living can never compete with the dead.

Whether Silas loved me or not didn't matter anymore. He would never forget me.

He owed me. He owed me for his life, his stability, his guilt.

I was going to let him drown in remorse.

I wanted him to read this diary.

I wanted him to sit alone in this empty apartment and think long and hard about exactly how he had pushed his dying wife into the abyss while rushing to his ex-girlfriend's side.

This absurd tragedy would culminate in my death. And the cruel, agonizing fallout would be borne entirely by Silas and Serena.

I reached into my pocket and pulled out the bottle of sleeping pills I had been hoarding.

I tipped my head back, dry-swallowing the pills by the handful. The chalky tablets scraped the back of my throat, making me gag, but I forced them down until the bottle was empty.

On the desk, right next to my diary, sat a leather-bound binder. Inside were the recipes I had spent four years perfecting for his ulcer-prone stomach. It was my final parting gift to my husband.

I lay down in the center of the bed, crossed my hands over my chest, stared at the ceiling, and waited for death to arrive.

The apartment was dead silent.

Then, a frantic scratching erupted at my bedroom door.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nova slammed his body against the wooden door, barking wildly.

I closed my eyes, tuning out the noise. The drugs hit me like a heavy blanket, dragging my consciousness down into the dark.

Nova kept screaming.

And then, there was nothing.

Sitting in the ER at Mount Sinai Hospital, Silas Vance suddenly felt a visceral surge of panic.

For a man whose resting heart rate rarely spiked even during multimillion-dollar corporate acquisitions, this was an entirely alien sensation. It hit his chest like a physical blow.

A sudden, icy certainty washed over him: something vital, something irreplaceable, was slipping through his fingers.

It felt exactly like that moment at the Pierre Hotel gala, when he had scanned the crowded ballroom and seen Nina standing in the shadows. She had been so pale, her frame so fragile, looking as though a strong gust of wind could scatter her into powder across the Manhattan skyline.

A voice in his head had screamed at him then: Catch her. Don't let her walk away.

But she had walked away.

Now, sitting beside the hospital bed, watching the IV drip saline into Serena's arm, that suffocating dread returned, gripping him by the throat.

He had completely forgotten about the romantic anniversary dinner he had spent hours meticulously preparing.

He checked his Patek Philippe watch. An hour and a half had passed. He had to go home.

He stood up from the uncomfortable plastic chair and smoothed his trousers.

She'll be angry, he thought. She'll be jealous. She'll yell at me.

For the first time in his life, he actually wanted her to scream. He wanted her to smash things, to force him to explain.

But then he remembered the look on her face as she left. She hadn't screamed; instead, she had offered that gentle, submissive smile, telling him to drive safely.

The unease in his chest intensified.

"I have to go, Serena," Silas said stiffly. "The doctor said it's just a severe gastritis flare-up from the stress of moving. You're stable. I'll have my driver take you back to your hotel when you're discharged."

Serena shifted weakly against the stiff hospital pillows. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her makeup smudged, making her look like a tragic, pitiful woman.

She reached out, her fingers weakly catching his pristine cuff.

"Si..." she whispered, a tear slipping down her cheek. "Could you stay just a little longer? Just until the bag is empty? I'm so cold, and I don't know anyone in this city anymore. Please, don't leave me here alone."

Silas looked down at her hand. He wanted to pull away. He had promised Nina. On their anniversary, he had looked his wife in the eye and promised he would return.

But Serena looked so small, shivering under the thin hospital blanket.

It was late, the sky outside completely dark.

And Nina... Nina was strong. She was understanding. Nina's love for him was quiet and unwavering, something he had come to rely on as surely as gravity.

Nina would understand. She always forgave him.

The CEO of Vance Capital, known for his unshakeable decisiveness, hesitated.

And then, he sat back down.