When Albert—Betty’s assistant—used some absurd wager as an excuse for the seventh time to make her cancel our wedding, I told myself it was just her peculiar way of holding on to top talent.

Three years. Seven times.

Then came the eighth.

The emcee was launching his third enthusiastic warm-up from the stage, and the guests’ murmurs had already swelled into open chatter.

My phone glowed. A message from Albert. A photo.

Below it, a voice note—also from him, his tone soaked in undisguised amusement and spite:

“Roger, sorry. Betty and I made another bet. She says if you can find us within the hour, she’ll marry you. Pity… you won’t.”

I didn’t reply. I didn’t go looking.

Instead, I slowly scrolled through my contacts, found the number I’d kept pinned at the top for three years but never called.

“Kimberly. What you said to me three years ago… does it still stand?”

......

A pause on the other end, then a soft laugh, edged with something like pity. “Roger, when I give my word, it’s for life. Where are you? I’ll come get you.”

“Starlight Hotel. The wedding venue.” I hung up.

I looked out at the sea of guests, their eyes a mix of sympathy and mockery. For the first time, I didn’t cover for Betty.

“Roger! Have you lost your mind? Do you want to make our family the city’s laughingstock?”

Rebecca, my future mother-in-law, stood backstage jabbing a finger at me, her face flushed with fury. There wasn’t a trace of concern for her missing daughter—only panic over a crumbling alliance of fortunes.

“Mom,” I said, meeting her gaze calmly. “Do I need to remind you? Right now, standing here alone, facing all this—the one being humiliated is me.”

“You!” My uncharacteristic coldness choked her. Her voice sharpened. “Betty’s just being childish! Can’t you be more mature? She’s doing this for the company! To keep a genius like Albert! You’re a grown man—can’t you understand? It’s only the eighth time! What’s one more after seven?”

*What’s one more after seven?*

The words twisted like a poisoned blade.

Right. Seven times already.

The first time, she said Albert threatened to quit—betting she wouldn’t dare sign a contract in another city on our wedding day. She went. The wedding was postponed. I told myself it was for the company’s future.

The third time, she said Albert was in a foul mood—betting she wouldn’t cut off her long hair because his dog was “depressed” and needed cheering up. She cut it. She came back with uneven short hair and cried in my arms. I held her, heart aching, and told myself she cared about her people.

The sixth time, she said Albert’s first love was getting married and he was heartbroken—betting she wouldn’t dare go with him as his pretend girlfriend. She went. Wearing the dress I gave her, on another man’s arm, smiling brightly in a photo on someone else’s social media. I told myself she was just too kind to say no.

...

Every time, there was a “bet” and the “company.”

Every time, I chose to believe. To yield.

Because I loved Betty.

After my mother died—after my father and the whole family cast me out, left me scrabbling in the dirt in some dark corner—she was the light that pierced my gray world.

She said, “Roger, don’t be afraid. From now on, I’ll protect you.”

For that light, I would have given anything.

Even when she had that “accident” three years ago, urgently needing a kidney, I didn’t hesitate to give her one of mine.

And what did I get? The slow, draining weakness that follows, and wedding after wedding turned into someone else’s wager.

“Understanding?” I repeated the word softly, then laughed—a bleak, hollow sound. “The understanding I bought with half my life… is it really worth so little to you?”

“You—” Rebecca’s face paled. Her eyes darted away, as if remembering. “Why bring that up now? It was just a kidney! We’ll compensate you later! Right now, we have to fix this mess! Go out there and tell everyone the wedding is postponed—say you’re not feeling well!”

She’d even prepared my excuse.

Right. Me, the “sickly one.” Not feeling well. How perfectly convenient.

Just then, the lounge door opened.

Betty was back. On Albert’s arm.

The hem of her white wedding gown was smudged with dirt and grass stains. Her hair was disheveled, cheeks flushed an unnatural pink, as if she’d just been running.

Seeing her mother and me, she paused, slipped from Albert’s hold, and hurried over. That familiar, apologetic look settled onto her face. “Roger, I’m sorry. I lost again. We… let’s postpone the wedding again, okay?”

Behind her, Albert stood with a faint, lingering smile, watching me. His eyes held a victor’s smugness.

He even reached up and tucked a loose strand behind Betty’s ear—a gesture so intimate, so natural, it was as if we weren’t even there.

Rebecca jumped in to smooth things over. “She’s back, she’s back! See, Roger? Betty came back! She cares about you!”

I looked at the three of them as if watching some clumsily staged farce.

Betty, seeing my silence, reached for my arm. I stepped aside.

Her hand hung in the air. Shock and embarrassment flashed across her face.

“Roger, what’s your problem?”

I didn’t answer. My gaze dropped to the delicate corsage pinned to her bodice—the one I’d searched the whole city to find, the perfect match for her gown.

And there, in Albert’s suit pocket, nestled its twin.

In that moment, the last illusion in my heart shattered.

Slowly, deliberately, I spoke. My voice was quiet, but it carried through the room.

“Betty. Let’s make a bet between us, too.”

Everyone froze.

Meeting her bewildered stare, I offered a cold smile. “Let’s bet… on how long it takes for Sterling Holdings to go bankrupt.”

The moment my words fell, the air in the entire lounge froze.

“Roger, have you completely lost your mind?” Albert was the first to react. He stepped in front of Betty, his handsome face twisted with rage. “What gives you the right to say that? You’re nothing but a worthless piece of trash kicked out of Roger's Group. You’re only here today because of Betty—and you dare insult Betty’s Family Group?”

Betty’s face went deathly pale. She stared at me, eyes wide with disbelief, already rimmed with red. “Roger, how could you say that? Have you forgotten everything I’ve done for you? For you, I endured the pressure to cancel the marriage alliance with Stellar Group. I chose you—a man with nothing!”

“With nothing?” I laughed, the sound tearing from my chest. “Betty, search your conscience. Ask yourself: back then, did you really choose me because I had ‘nothing’—or because I bear the surname ‘Roger,’ the rightful second son of Roger’s Group?”

Her lips trembled. No words came.

Yes. Even cast out, my father Brian is a man who values face above all. As long as I remained his son, Betty’s Family Group could leverage my name to secure countless advantages in Riverbend’s business circles. That calculation—the shrewd members of the Betty family understood it better than anyone.

“Enough!” Rebecca shrieked. “Roger, don’t be ungrateful! Betty choosing you was your good fortune! Apologize to Albert right now, then go up on stage and smooth things over! Otherwise, Betty’s Family Group will make you pay!”

Apologize?

I looked at Albert’s hypocritical face, at the glaring boutonniere pinned to his lapel. A fury suppressed for over three years, mixed with endless humiliation, surged straight to the crown of my head.

I didn’t speak. I simply turned, pulled a pair of eyebrow scissors from the tool jar on the nearby vanity.

The sharp metal tip gleamed coldly under the lights.

“What are you doing?” Albert’s face changed. He took an instinctive step back.

I walked toward him, step by step, my eyes cold enough to devour a man.

“You like to make bets, don’t you?” I stared into his eyes, my voice hoarse. “I’ll make one more with you. I bet I have the guts to cripple you today.”

Fear finally crept onto his perpetually calm face.

“Madman! You’re a madman!” he blustered, turning to flee.

He was fast—but I was faster.

The moment he turned, I lunged, pinning him hard against the vanity. Without hesitation, I drove the scissors toward his arm.

“Ah!”

Albert’s piercing scream ripped through the room. Blood instantly bloomed across his expensive white shirt.

Betty and Rebecca shrieked, their cries nearly lifting the roof.

I seemed oblivious to everything. My mind held only one thought: destroy him. Destroy this pair of snakes.

In the end, security guards rushed in and subdued me.

The scissors clattered to the floor. With that sound, my sanity returned.

Looking at the wreckage, at Albert’s mangled, bloody arm, I felt a wave of dizziness.

The police arrived quickly.

I was taken away in a patrol car, charged with intentional assault.

In the interrogation room, I sat alone for a long time.

The cold metal chair gradually cooled my anger-heated mind. I thought of my mother.

She had jumped from the rooftop of the Roger family villa on a rainy night.

Everyone said it was depression. Only I knew it was despair.

Despair at my father’s indifference. Despair at that woman’s relentless pressure.

After my mother’s death, I became an extra person in the Roger household.

My father soon married that woman. My older brother Michael saw me as a thorn in his side.

Then Betty entered my world like a beam of light.

She said she would stay with me forever.

I believed her. I made her the sole pillar keeping me alive.

For her, I gave up my inheritance rights to Roger’s Group, left with nothing but the clothes on my back, and started from scratch.

I thought I had found a harbor where I could finally dock. I never imagined it was a deeper abyss.

The interrogation room door opened.

It wasn’t a police officer. It was Betty.

Her eyes were red, tear tracks still visible on her cheeks—a picture of pitiful fragility.

“Roger,” she walked up to me, her voice choked. “You severed tendons in Albert’s arm. The doctor says it might affect his ability to do delicate work in the future. He… he’s a world-class chip designer.”

I looked at her. Silent.

“I know you were wronged today,” she softened, reaching for my hand, cuffed to the table. “But you were too impulsive. Only you can save him now. Only you can save yourself.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Albert said if you’re willing to go to the hospital, kneel and apologize to him publicly, and swear—swear on your mother’s soul in heaven—that you’ll never trouble us again, then he’ll sign a letter of understanding. He won’t press charges.”

Swear on my mother’s soul in heaven.

*Boom.* The last thread in my mind named reason snapped completely.

I stood up violently. The handcuffs slammed against the table with a deafening crash.

Betty took an involuntary step back, startled by my stare.

“Betty,” I said, word by word, my voice squeezed from between clenched teeth. “Say that again.”

My expression frightened her. Her lips trembled, but she forced herself to continue. “This… this is Albert’s demand! You hurt someone, you have to pay the price! What’s wrong with an apology? Your mother’s been dead for years. What does mentioning her matter?”

What does mentioning her matter?

Looking at this face that once enchanted me—that I was once willing to die for—I felt a bone-deep nausea for the first time.

I laughed. I laughed until tears streamed down my face.

“Fine. ‘What does mentioning her matter?’ What a line.” I nodded, stripping away all expression, leaving only numb calm. “Tell Albert I accept his terms.”

I was released on bail.

Stumbling out of the police station, I found the world had already gone dark. Betty hadn’t waited. She was already at the hospital, “caring for” her beloved Albert.

Alone, I walked the empty street—a ghost haunting his own life.

From my pocket, my phone buzzed. A message from my older brother, Michael. Short and to the point: *Dad wants you home tomorrow.*

Home? I hadn’t set foot in that place for nearly three years.

I didn’t reply. Instead, I turned into a pitch-black alley.

I’d taken only a few steps when rapid footsteps closed in from behind. Before I could turn, something heavy cracked against the back of my skull—and consciousness vanished.

***

I woke in a private hospital room. The sharp sting of antiseptic hit me first, making me grimace.

A doctor in a white coat entered. Seeing me awake, a flicker of surprise crossed his face. “Mr. Roger, you’re awake. How do you feel?”

“Did you save me?” I tried to sit up, but a wave of pain shot through my body.

“Miss Kimberly brought you here,” the doctor said, helping me adjust. “You were attacked. Mild concussion, multiple soft-tissue contusions. Nothing vital, thankfully. Miss Kimberly has handled everything, including the police report.”

*Kimberly.*

The name flowed through me like a warm current, seeping into a heart long frozen.

After finishing his checks, the doctor left. I was alone again, lying there, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Time lost all meaning. Eventually, the door cracked open. Two nurses peeked in. Seeing my eyes closed, they assumed I was asleep and began whispering as they changed an IV bag.

“Poor guy, right? He’s the fiancé of that Betty in the private suite next door?”

“Tell me about it! I heard the bride ran off with her assistant at the wedding today. He snapped, stabbed the guy, got out of jail, and then got jumped. What a mess.”

“Serves him right, if you ask me. How stupid can you be? I overheard Dr. Rowan from Cardiology yesterday—he let it slip. That ‘car accident’ Betty had three years ago? Total scam. Her kidneys were fine. It was all a setup to trick him into donating one. Apparently, he was too healthy. She wanted to weaken him first, make him easier to control.”

“Oh my god, seriously? That’s evil.”

“Who knows? The things that go on in these rich families… it’s all dirty. And that’s not even the worst of it.”

“What?”

“His mother’s suicide… the jump from the balcony? Word is Betty had a hand in that, too. Tampered with her meds, made her depression worse, deliberately provoked her. All to get her out of the way faster. So she could become his sole emotional anchor, have him completely in her grip.”

“No way… that’s murder. That’s terrifying.”

Their voices faded into murmurs I could no longer make out.

But those few sentences were enough. They were branding irons, white-hot, searing themselves permanently onto my heart.

*My kidney… stolen by her.*

*My mother… killed by her.*

The light I’d clung to for life, the one I thought was my salvation… was a meticulously crafted lie from the very beginning.

She hadn’t come to save me. She’d come to drag me into a deeper hell.

I lay perfectly still on the bed. Inside, the dam broke. Tears flooded out—a silent, violent torrent. I didn’t make a sound. I just bit down on my lip until I tasted blood.

That metallic tang, sharp and coppery, was the only thing keeping me tethered, holding the last shred of my sanity together.

Hate.

A tidal wave of it, like fast-growing vines, wrapped around my heart, squeezing, choking the air from my lungs.

With shaking hands, I pulled out my phone and dialed Kimberly’s number.

She answered on the first ring.

“Roger? You’re awake? How are you feeling?” Concern laced her voice.

I took a deep, shuddering breath, forcing every tremor, every sob, down into the pit of my stomach. When I spoke, my voice was the sound of ice cracking over a frozen lake. Ancient. Implacable.

“Kimberly.”

“Yes?”

“I want Betty’s family wiped from the map of Riverbend.”

Silence stretched on the other end of the line—long enough for me to think she’d refuse this insane demand.

Then her voice returned. Clear. Unwavering. A promise forged in steel.

“Alright. You decide how they disappear. That’s exactly how it will happen.”