Only the Begonia Remains the Same

Before the kidnapping—before she and that girl from Patrick’s college days were taken together—Margaret never imagined she could lose to something so trivial.

The kidnapper grinned, shoving the dice into Patrick’s hand.

“Simple rules. Roll even, your fiancée walks. Roll odd, the little sweetheart here walks.”

The dice tumbled to a stop. Four dots faced up.

The tension in Margaret’s shoulders eased—until she looked up and saw Patrick’s ashen face. He was staring at the dice as if it were a monster. Beside him, Sharon had gone just as pale, tears welling in her eyes.

“Patrick…”

Not *Mr Patrick*. His name.

Margaret froze, watching helplessly as Patrick stopped the thug moving to untie her.

“Wait! My hand was shaking. That throw doesn’t count.”

The kidnapper laughed wildly. “Sure. Kneel and knock your head on the floor three times, and I’ll let you choose again.”

Patrick didn’t hesitate.

Margaret’s breath caught.

The man she knew—proud to his bones—now pressed his forehead to the ground. Once. Twice. Three times. Each dull thud hammered against her heart.

A memory surfaced. So many at the company had hinted, had warned her to be careful of this college girl Patrick brought in. Margaret had always laughed it off. She’d been so sure no one could come between them. They had ten whole years, after all. A decade.

And now he was kneeling for another woman.

Worse—he was turning the knife on her.

When he used a sleight-of-hand trick to roll an odd number, Patrick sighed in relief. Margaret’s heart plummeted.

He looked up. He smiled at Sharon first, then seemed to remember Margaret, turning a look of apology her way.

“Margaret, I’m sorry. Sharon’s dream is to be a jewelry designer. If her hands are ruined, she’ll never recover.”

Margaret fought to keep her composure, her voice trembling. “And you think I will?”

She suddenly remembered not long ago—Patrick holding her hand, saying, “On our wedding day, you have to play ‘Wedding Dreams’.”

Now he was sacrificing her hands for Sharon.

Patrick paused, his voice dropping. “You’re always so tough. You never make a fuss about pain. I know you’ll get through this…”

“I’m pregnant,” Margaret cut him off.

The air froze.

Sharon spoke up timidly. “Margaret… I saw you taking pills this morning. You shouldn’t take random medicine if you’re pregnant.”

Patrick’s face turned cold. “Margaret! You’d really lie about something like that?”

“I didn’t—”

She wanted to explain they were just lutein supplements. She wanted to tell him about the morning sickness these past two weeks. She wanted him to feel their unborn child.

But Patrick had already turned, shielding Sharon, refusing to even glance her way.

The kidnapper whistled, shoving the two women into the next room.

“Cold-blooded, Mr Patrick. Just tossing aside the woman who’s been with you ten years.” He smirked. “You stay here and listen. Let’s see if you can really shut her out.”

He had sorely underestimated Patrick’s cruelty.

When the first finger was snapped by the iron pliers, Margaret’s scream was almost inhuman.

The kidnapper grabbed her hair, forcing her to face the closed iron door.

“Look! The man you’ve helped all these years doesn’t give a damn about you!”

Margaret’s eyes were bloodshot, fixed on that silent door.

The kidnapper waved the pliers. “Let’s continue the game, Secretary Margaret.”

The second. The third…

Even after he’d shattered all ten of her fingers, even when her screams had turned hoarse and ragged—unbearable to hear—the door never moved.

When the police finally stormed in and freed Patrick, he scrambled out, carrying Sharon in his arms.

“Where’s the ambulance? The doctor! Someone check Sharon—she’s fainted!”

From start to finish, he never once looked at the bloody, unconscious figure in the corner.

…

Margaret dreamed.

She dreamed of her childhood, when she was the big sister of the foster home, with five little ducklings following her everywhere. Patrick was one of them. Even as a gap-toothed kid, he’d call her “my Maggie.”

Later, Margaret spread her wings, shielding Patrick until he became a rising star in the business world. By day, she was his sharp, capable executive assistant. By night, he took from her greedily, without restraint. He said he’d always be hers to command.

But in the blink of an eye, he became a monster, shoving Margaret into the abyss—

“Ah!”

She woke with a start in a hospital room.

Patrick wasn’t there. Only her assistant waited by the bed.

Her voice was hoarse. “Where’s Mr Patrick?”

Her assistant stammered. “Mr Patrick… Mr Patrick is with Secretary Sharon…”

Margaret was stunned. “Secretary?”

“Yes. Mr Patrick said since you’re injured, Sharon will be taking over as his executive assistant.”

It was a final, brutal blow.

Margaret closed her eyes, letting the tears fall. A long time later, she opened them again. The storm of emotions was gone, replaced by a dead calm.

She gestured for her assistant to bring her phone, then opened the group chat named “The Little Ducklings”—her old nickname for them.

“Kick Patrick out for me.”

The assistant did as she was told.

Margaret then had her hold the phone to her lips and sent a short voice message.

“Come take me home.”