The next morning, after sending Silas off to work, the calendar notification on my phone vibrated. I glanced at the flashing screen and let out a soft sigh.

Today was the day I visited my mother in Queens.

My parents divorced when I was very young.

My father was a charismatic Wall Street broker who had never loved my mother. He’d been having an affair with a wealthy socialite for years and already had a daughter with her—a daughter older than me.

My mother raised me entirely on her own, working herself to the bone just to make ends meet. Seeing her so exhausted, I swore I would study hard, get scholarships, and make her proud.

However, my luck always seemed to work against me. At the elite private school I attended on scholarship, I became the target of a vicious group of rich kids.

I hadn't done anything wrong. Maybe my clothes were last season; maybe I didn't have a chauffeur to drop me off. The more I tried to ignore them, the more I was tormented.

One afternoon, behind the bleachers, they cornered me. I had a jagged brick hidden in my backpack, fully prepared to take their ringleader down with me. The lead girl sneered and stepped forward, ready to carry out whatever cruel act she had planned.

And then, Silas Vance appeared.

He was an upperclassman, already a legend at the school and the heir to a financial empire. He just stood between us, his gaze commanding, and my bullies scattered like cockroaches.

He was smart; he knew they would come back. For the next three years, he would casually acknowledge me in the hallways, acting as a silent barrier against my tormentors.

I survived middle and high school safely solely because of him.

That was why I had chased him so desperately. I fought to get into Columbia University just to be near him, trying to become someone worthy of his world.

But I was still a step too late.

Just as Silas had been a ray of light in my darkness, he had found a light of his own.

Serena Thorne.

My biological father's daughter. My half-sister.

I carried a bag of expensive health supplements and took the subway to Queens.

My mother had remarried years ago and was living a comfortable, happy life with a kind man. I sat in her sunlit living room for fifteen minutes, exchanged a few polite pleasantries, and then excused myself.

I took a cab back to Manhattan. The taxi dropped me off a block away from our luxury high-rise. Walking down the tree-lined avenue, I saw them.

Serena and Silas were strolling side-by-side under the autumn leaves.

Serena was talking, gesturing with her hands as she told a story. I saw my famously unapproachable husband let out a soft laugh, warm lines crinkling the corners of his eyes.

I froze on the sidewalk, my feet glued to the concrete.

As they walked, a scruffy stray dog suddenly darted out from the bushes lining the sidewalk and barked wildly at Serena. Startled, Serena let out a scream and practically threw herself into Silas's arms.

Silas caught her, his hands wrapping around her waist to steady her.

He held that pose for a moment before quickly letting go.

He turned his head, and his eyes met mine. I was standing less than twenty feet away.

Serena recovered faster than he did. "Nina!" she called out, stepping back.

I walked forward, my face entirely blank. Before Serena could spin whatever lame excuse she had prepared, I simply bypassed them, crouched down, and scooped the dirty dog into my arms.

The little terrier mix flinched at first, then buried his wet nose into my cashmere sweater, trembling, but he didn't fight me.

"Silas," I said, looking up at him with a devastatingly calm smile. "I'm keeping him."

The atmosphere between the three of us instantly plummeted to a biting freeze.

Smiling, I smoothed down the dog's matted fur and repeated: "I'm keeping him."

Silas didn't argue.

He walked with me to the upscale veterinary clinic on the corner. The vet ran a full diagnostic, and the results were heartbreaking. The dog had broken ribs, deep lacerations across his abdomen that exposed bone, and was severely malnourished.

Yet he was incredibly docile, lying quietly on the stainless-steel exam table, barely letting out a whimper as the doctor examined his wounds.

Silas stood in the corner of the sterile room, his jaw clenched tight, looking as though he wanted to speak but couldn't find the words.

We left the dog at the clinic overnight for observation. When the receptionist asked for the dog's name, I said without hesitation: "Nova."

His name, Nova.

My name, Nina.

After I die, he will become the echo of Nina.

When we walked into the apartment, the silence between us was so heavy it was nearly suffocating. Silas said nothing, and I had no desire to break the quiet.

The tension lingered until we both retreated to the master bedroom.

I sat on the edge of the bed, watching Silas emerge from the master bathroom in dark silk pajamas.

The warm lighting cast a glow across his face, softening the sharp, authoritative lines of his jaw.

He rarely showed emotion; his smiles were fleeting, dissipating like dying stars. For four years, I firmly believed I had captured a piece of his heart.

But seeing him with Serena today made all my previous hopes feel incredibly foolish and pathetic.

"Silas," I called out softly.

He stopped and looked at me, his deep eyes guarded and unreadable.

"Does what you said still count?" I asked.

"What thing?"

"You said—" I paused, letting the silence stretch. "You said I was your wife. You said you would treat me well for the rest of your life."

I gazed at him, the corners of my lips curling into a sad, meaningful smile.

Silas dropped his gaze to the floor, murmuring cautiously, "Why are you suddenly asking this?"

"Nothing," I lied casually. "Just reminiscing."

Deep in my abdomen, a sharp cramp struck. The cancer had woken up for the night. My nerves felt like they were being wound around a spool, pulled tighter and tighter.

"They count," he said softly.

The moment the words left his mouth, he reached out and turned off the light. I was instantly plunged into darkness, feeling the mattress dip slightly.

His tall frame moved close to me, and I felt his warm breath brush against my cheek before his lips gently pressed against my forehead.

"Goodnight, Nina."

I lay perfectly still. As his breathing leveled out into a deep sleep, I carefully untangled myself from his embrace and rolled over to face him.

Through the bright moonlight spilling through the glass, my eyes traced the contours of his face—the high arch of his brow, the slight slope of his nose, the sharp cut of his jawline.

Silas wouldn't cheat.

He was too proud, too disciplined to stoop to an extramarital affair. But deep in his heart, Serena Thorne would always hold the dominant position.

I suddenly found myself consumed by a dark, morbid curiosity.

After I die, when he lies in this bed alone and remembers this moment... what will he think?