Caleb hasn't been home for three days, and as his fianc��e, I'm a little worried. He must be too busy at work; there's a merger deal going on recently.

This morning, I specially cooked his favorite tomato sandwiches to pick up for him at the office, because he doesn't like to eat breakfast when he's busy.

Just as I got to the parking lot, I saw his car, but it looked like someone was inside.. Caleb's car was parked at the far end of the lot, its windows fogged up, the car swaying slightly.

I froze. The world seemed to shrink to a pinhole. Through the fogged glass, I saw Caleb��my Caleb��passionately kissing Vanessa. Her hands were tangled in his hair, his shirt was half-undone, and her legs were draped over his. Their bodies were pressed tightly together, frantic and greedy.

My heart pounded. Numbness was replaced by a burning sense of betrayal. Without thinking, I rushed out, the sound of my high heels echoing on the concrete. I slammed my hand against the window. The sound pierced through the fog between them.

Caleb shoved me away, his eyes glazed. Vanessa's lipstick was smudged, her shirt open. She glared at me with undisguised triumph.

��What are you doing?�� My voice was torn between screaming and crying, hoarse and trembling.

Caleb��s face twitched. He abruptly pulled up his shirt, pushed open the door, and walked out, his coldness sending chills down my spine. ��Are you stalking me, Aria?��

The accusation stung me like a needle. ��I��I was so worried! You didn��t come home! You didn��t answer the phone����

He interrupted me, his voice as cold as ice: "Stalking me? You're insane. What I do is none of your business."

I stared at him, trying to find any trace of the man I loved. His eyes were empty��without warmth, without remorse. Only weariness, and something darker.

Vanessa slid out of the car, her arm possessively linked with Caleb��s. The scent of her perfume��sweet and overpowering��was a warning. She looked me up and down, a cold smile playing on her lips.

��You should leave, Aria,�� she whispered, her nails digging deep into Caleb��s arm. ��Three years ago, I saved his life from the car accident. You are nothing.��

Those words were more painful than any slap. My mind went blank. Three years ago, I dragged Caleb from the wreckage of his burning car, my face covered in blood, my hands trembling as I dialed 911. He��d never know who saved him��I refused to give my name. Vanessa had no right to call herself his ��savior.��

I looked at Caleb with despair. ��You know it��s not true. Caleb, I����

He took a step back, his gaze sharp. ��We��re finished, Aria. I don��t need a liar.You lied to me and said you saved me. The evidence was right in front of me, yet you still lie. How could I have fallen in love with you in the first place?��

My throat tightened. ��A liar? Caleb, please��why would you think that��?��

I reached for his arm, trying to grasp something real. He jerked me away, and I lost my balance. The world spun; I fell heavily to the ground, gravel scraping my knees. A sharp pain shot through my entire body. Blood welled up in my eyes, staining my tattered jeans.

For a moment, I thought he would turn around��help me up, and tell me it was all just a nightmare. But Caleb simply walked away, his back impossibly straight. Vanessa followed, pausing only briefly before turning back with a look of pity.

I pressed my hand to my knee, blood clinging to my skin, trying to calm myself. Tears blurred my vision. My heart felt like it was shattering into pieces.

A security guard approached, his face uneasy. "Miss, you can't sit here. Please leave."

I didn't argue. I let them lead me out, past the bright lobby where coffee and freshly baked pastries used to be, where I had waited for Caleb, past the receptionist who had given me an awkward, apologetic smile. The automatic doors hissed shut behind me, completely shutting me out of that life that no longer belonged to me.

I slumped onto the concrete steps, knees drawn up to my chest, ignoring the burning pain in my legs. Around me, the city was indifferent: laughter drifted from a nearby caf��, traffic lights flashed, and the piercing sirens of police cars echoed in the distance. My world had collapsed, yet no one noticed.

I pulled out my phone, my hands trembling so badly they almost dropped it. No word from Caleb. No explanation. The screen blurred, and new tears welled in my eyes.

The phone vibrated, as if piercing my pain. For a fleeting moment, a spark of hope ignited��maybe Caleb. Maybe an apology, maybe an explanation, even just a little.

But the caller ID was unfamiliar. ��St. Mary��s Hospital.��

I answered.

A nurse��s voice, crisp and gentle, said, ��Hello, is this Ms. Aria Lane? Your test results are in. We need your cooperation����

The nurse whispered in my ear that I had a chronic illness, not life-threatening but requiring long-term treatment and quite expensive. I could no longer hear her; my mind was replaying the accident from three years ago.

Three years ago, the rain was pouring down, the road was like a river.

I remember the wipers couldn't keep up, and the headlights illuminated the thick smoke before they could even react. I almost drove right through it. Really, just a hair's breadth away.

But then I saw a car crashed into the guardrail, flames roaring from its hood, and my mind went blank.

I don't remember how I made that decision. I frantically flung open the car door, grabbed the man inside by the collar, and pulled him out with all my might. He was much heavier than he looked. My knees slammed twice on the wet asphalt to pull him away from the wreckage.

He was almost unconscious. There was blood on his temple, his breathing was rapid and weak. His hand touched my wrist in the darkness��a weak, desperate grip.

"Who are you?"

His voice was hoarse, almost inaudible. Before I could answer, the ambulance lights stained the rain red and white, paramedics shouted, and before I could reply, he released my hand. I gave them time to process it. I didn't tell them my name.

I just stood in the rain, my heart pounding, watching them lift him into the ambulance. Then I got back in my car and drove home, trembling all the way.

I never thought of him again.

Until fourteen months ago, I met Caleb Sterling at a mutual friend's dinner party. The line of his jaw made my heart skip a beat. It wasn't until he smiled at me across the table that I realized: I've seen you somewhere before.

It wasn't until our third date that it dawned on me. But by then, I couldn't resist his love.

---

Three days ago, I found this photo while searching for my gray scarf deep in our shared closet.

The photo showed a woman, smiling and turning, frozen in mid-air. She had dark hair, bright eyes, and wore a black leather jacket��exactly the same style, even the worn patch at the elbow was exactly the same as the one I wore that night.

My heart sank.

��Caleb.�� I took the photo and went outside. ��Who is this?��

He looked up from his laptop, his expression changing. Gentle, almost pious. ��She saved my life,�� he said. ��Three years ago. I never knew who she was, but I��I somehow found this photo. I��ve kept it ever since.��

The room seemed to tilt.

��Caleb.�� My voice sounded strange. ��That coat. I have the exact same coat. I was there that night. It was me����

��Stop.�� His voice turned abruptly cold, and I was interrupted before I could catch my breath.

��I��m not lying. I pulled you out of the car. You grabbed my wrist and asked who I was, then the ambulance����

��Aria.�� He stood up, the gentleness in his voice vanishing instantly. ��I don��t know what this is, but don��t do this.��

��What for? I��m telling the truth����

"You're jealous." He sneered, as if announcing a diagnosis. "Unfortunately, your story is too convincing."

These words struck me like a hammer blow. I shook my head, tears welling in my eyes. ��Caleb, please listen to me����

��I don��t want to hear it.��

��It was raining heavily that day, and you were driving a silver-gray sedan. I was wearing a black overcoat, and the sleeves were ripped at the elbows. You grabbed my wrist and asked me��who are you? Then you passed out.�� I finished speaking in one breath, my voice trembling, but I stared intently into his eyes.

��Enough.�� He grabbed the keys from the counter. The door didn��t slam shut, it just opened a crack, but the sound felt like a tear in my chest.

I stood in the apartment, holding a photograph. The woman in the photograph looked like my ghost. I didn��t know how to breathe.

---

Now I sit on the hospital steps, the blood on my knees dried, a diagnosis report I haven��t fully processed tucked into my coat pocket. The city around me seems nonexistent, constantly turning.

Chronic illness. The doctor said it��s manageable. But the word "chronic disease" was like a boulder, sunk into my bones, impossible to shake off.

In the elevator going downstairs, I kept crying. When the elevator doors opened, I stopped crying, because I couldn't do anything anymore. A hollow silence, as if echoing faintly.

I remembered Caleb's back as he left me in the parking lot. His straight back. He didn't look back.

My phone vibrated.

An unknown number. Then another vibration��a text message from Vanessa.

"I heard you've been hanging out with him. You really don't know when to stop, do you? You don't deserve him. In his eyes,you are a thief."

Thief.

The word appeared starkly on the screen, ugly and deliberate.

Then, the image loaded.

Caleb and Vanessa. I recognized the bar��the dim amber lights, the exposed brick walls. He held her, her lips pressed against his, both of them bare-shouldered. The timestamp in the corner indicated tonight.

Hours later, he made me fall to the ground in the parking lot and walked away without looking back.

I stared at the photo until my vision blurred. Not because of tears��I think I had already cried. Something else. My eyes felt like they were weighed down by a stone, and a sharp buzzing filled my ears.

Somewhere in this city, Caleb was with a woman who had not only stolen my story but also what I meant to him. And I, sitting here, with my chronic illness diagnosis in my pocket, blood on my knees, had nothing left.

I picked up my phone again, checked the timestamp again, and looked at her message again.

Thief.

A cold, clear feeling washed over me. Not anger��at least not yet. But a calmer feeling. The kind of tranquility that comes before a decision is made.

I knew the truth. I always had.

The question is, am I finally ready to get him to listen?

The walk home took forty minutes. Crying had made my face look strange��skin taut, eyes swollen, as if the whole world had been submerged underwater. I didn't bother with mascara. Nobody needed me to dress up anyway.

I heard a sound first, then saw something. The key wasn't right. The lock wouldn't open.

I stood in front of the apartment door��my apartment door��and turned the key three times in the lock before accepting reality. The bolt had been changed. The lock was jammed. The door wouldn't budge.

��Ms. Lane.��

A man in a gray suit stood at the end of the hallway, back ramrod straight, expression deliberately aloof. I recognized him��Marcus, one of Caleb's junior assistants. He held a cardboard box, as if someone had warned you not to drop it.

��Mr. Sterling asked me to return your personal belongings.�� He handed me the box. ��He also wanted me to inform you that the joint account was closed this morning.��

I didn't take the box immediately; I just looked at it. The box contained a corner of a picture frame, the spine of a sketchbook, and a tangled phone charger. Three years of life's memories, packed away by someone else.

"He sent you to deliver it?" I stared at the cardboard box, my voice trembling. "He doesn't dare to come himself?"

Marcus, with a modicum of politeness, looked embarrassed. ��I��m sorry, Ms. Lane.��

I took the box. It wasn��t heavy, but that was precisely what made it the worst part.

My phone vibrated in my pocket. I tucked the box under my arm and glanced at the screen��a notification from my bank app: Account Balance: Unavailable. Then, I received a text message from my main client contact at Meridian Group, a number I recognized: We regret to inform you that our contract with Lane Design Studio will not be renewed. Effective immediately.

I stood frozen in the hallway.

It rang again. Hartwell Creative. Same wording, different letterhead.

Another one. Prism Co.

In the time it took Marcus to disappear around the corner, I received three text messages. Two more appeared by the time I reached the elevator. Every single one of my clients��every single one��was somehow connected to Sterling's network. I'd vaguely known this before. But I'd never considered what it would mean if that network turned against me.

Now I understand.

I sat on the hallway floor, the suitcase on my lap, because my legs suddenly felt weak. The fluorescent lights overhead buzzed, a high-pitched, shrill sound. My knee throbbed, from where I'd scraped myself with gravel that morning. I shifted, the medical report rustling in my pocket.

Chronic illness. I could manage.

No apartment. No money. No clients. No Caleb.

I pressed my forehead against the suitcase and cried until my ribs ached.

---

That evening, I returned to a room I'd almost forgotten I could even enter��an old, run-down studio apartment I'd sublet years ago, never fully vacated, continuing to renew the lease monthly out of some inexplicable instinct. The radiators clattered. The overhead light bulb was too yellow. But it had floors, it had walls, and that was enough for now.

I spread my design files on the small table��some on my external hard drive, some paper drafts I'd grabbed before Caleb's assistant took inventory. Three ongoing projects. Months' worth of work. I sat cross-legged on the floor, pulled a bag of cookies from my bag, and ate them, trying to figure out my next move.

The doorknob turned.

I looked up.

It turned again, this time with more force, and then the door opened��not by force, but unlocked, as if someone had used a key��Vanessa walked in.

She wasn't alone. Two men stood on either side of her, broad-shouldered, silent, expressionless��the kind of people hired to keep a straight face. She wore a beige coat, her high heels clicking on the bare floor, a smile on her face that betrayed her never expecting to be rejected.

��That��s amazing,�� she said, glancing around the room with exaggerated disgust. ��I can��t believe you��ve stooped this low.��

��Get out.�� I stood up. ��How did you get the key?��

She ignored my question. One of the men walked to the table. Before I could even cross the room, he swept my drafts to the floor with one arm��a casual, effortless motion, like brushing crumbs off a table. The second man picked up my portable drawing tablet and slammed it to the ground. The screen hit the concrete with a sharp crack.

��Stop���� I lunged forward, falling to my knees, grabbing the drafts to avoid being trampled. My fingers gripped the edge of a layout I��d spent six weeks drawing.

��You��re so stubborn,�� Vanessa said, almost with admiration. �� As Caleb said.��

��You can��t do this!�� My voice trembled. ��You broke into my apartment����

��His name can open many doors for you.�� She tilted her head.��You��d better leave this city, Aria.�� She tossed her hair back as if it were a trivial matter. ��I��m not threatening you��I��m informing you. After all, you know he can make anyone disappear in this city.��

��You��re mad.�� I clutched the draft to my chest and stood up to face her. ��Do you think he��d want this? That is����

��He doesn��t need to.�� Her voice lowered, flat and gentle. ��He trusts me. He believes me. You��ve completely left��I��m just wrapping things up.��

��You lied to him. You stole my story, and����

The slap came quickly. The sound was more jarring than the pain, a sharp crack echoing against the bare wall. My head snapped to one side. I tasted copper.

For a moment, everyone froze.

Then, Vanessa smoothed her coat, straightened her sleeves, and walked towards the door. ��Leave this town,�� she said again, without turning back. ��This is the only time I��m asking you politely.��

The door clicked shut behind them.

I stood amidst the scattered drafts, one hand covering my cheek, the other still clutching a crumpled ball of paper. The tablet was strewn about. Scattered papers drifted under the table, along the baseboard, and piled up in a corner.

I slowly sat down, until I was seated on the floor.

The room was quiet. The radiator tapped softly. A car alarm wailed outside, then stopped abruptly.

My hand instinctively reached for my father��s Swiss Army knife, which I��d kept in the side pocket of the bag I��d carried since his funeral. I didn��t know why I always carried it. I��d never used it. It was just always with me.

I opened it, and in the reflection of the blade, that mere inch of polished steel, I vaguely saw my own face. One eye was swollen from crying. The mascara was long gone. A bright red mark remained on my cheek.

��Thief,�� Vanessa called to me. ��Jealousy,�� Caleb said. ��Liar.��

They took my apartment, my income, my clients, and the life I had built up over three years. Tonight, they came into this house and destroyed everything they could reach.

But they couldn��t take the truth. The truth remained within me, solid and unchanging, just like that rainy night three years ago when I didn��t flee the burning car, but rushed towards it.

I sheathed the knife.

I wouldn��t wait for him to believe me anymore.

I would strike first.