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.”

Lulled by the anesthetic, Margaret soon sank back into a heavy sleep.

When she woke, the Little Tails group chat already showed over 99 unread messages.

[Why did Sister Margaret suddenly go quiet?]

[@Margaret Did something happen? Did Patrick hurt you?]

[I just checked flights. I can be back tomorrow.]

…

The last message, sent half an hour ago, was from Jacob:

[I can’t reach Sister Margaret, and Patrick isn’t answering either. I’m heading to the airport now.]

A tightness gripped Margaret’s throat.

Besides Patrick, the other four boys who had followed her all those years ago were now thriving. To avoid competing with him for resources, each had chosen to build a career in a different city—Jacob had even made a life overseas.

When they left, they told her: if Patrick ever treated her poorly, they would come and take her away.

So many years had passed. She never imagined that escape route they’d offered was still being held open.

Margaret took a deep breath. “I’ve decided not to marry Patrick. I’ll go anywhere, really. I just don’t want to stay in Seabrook anymore.”

“None of you need to rush back. I still have some loose ends to tie up.”

She and Patrick had built their business together for years. Untangling their shared assets would take at least two weeks.

“I’ll let you know when I’m ready—in about two weeks.”

“Don’t worry about me for now. Just go about your lives.”

The Little Tails had always listened to Margaret. Even with obvious reluctance, they agreed.

She let out a quiet sigh of relief.

Though she had decided to leave Patrick, part of her still hoped the other four wouldn’t come to hate him for it. After all, they had all grown up together. Better to part cleanly, with no lingering bitterness.

Drowsiness washed over her again. Margaret was just about to close her eyes when the hospital room door swung open.

Patrick walked in, carrying two takeout bags.

“Margaret, how are you feeling?”

She said nothing.

She watched as he placed the bags on the bedside table, pulled out a cheaply wrapped sandwich from one, and held it to her lips.

“I went all the way to the university district for this. You used to line up for these all the time, remember?”

Margaret pressed her lips together, her gaze drifting into the middle distance.

She had never told him the truth: she didn’t actually like those sandwiches, overloaded with vegetables and stingy on meat. Back then, she was just so poor—saving every penny for Patrick’s university fees. For herself, a three-dollar sandwich was enough to get by.

She had sacrificed so much for him. Could he really be that oblivious?

A wave of sorrow washed over her. Silently, she turned her face away.

Patrick’s voice turned cold. “Margaret, don’t make this harder than it has to be. You know I had no choice.”

“Sharon’s family is struggling. Both her parents are sick. If anything happened to her, how could I face her family?”

Margaret let out a bitter, choked laugh and raised her bandaged hands. “So I’m the one who deserved this? And to be kicked out of the company on top of it?”

Patrick faltered. His eyes flicked to her gauze-wrapped hands before darting away.

“The company can’t function without a secretary. You’re injured. I had no choice but to let Sharon fill in temporarily.”

“And when I’m healed and ready to come back, are you sure you’ll give me my position back?”

His gaze grew evasive, a flash of irritation crossing his face.

“Margaret, you have plenty of savings. Do you really need to fight Sharon over a salary? Most people dream of an early retirement. I’m giving you that chance. Isn’t that a good thing?”

Margaret almost laughed out loud.

She closed her eyes, utterly exhausted. “Fine. Consider it done. If that’s all, you can go.”

In two weeks, she’d be gone anyway. Whether Patrick wanted Sharon as his executive secretary or his vice president, it would no longer be her concern.

Patrick’s mood visibly brightened. “I knew you’d be reasonable about this.”

Like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat, he produced a document. “Actually, there’s another reason I came today.”

"The Financial Weekly ran photos of me and Sharon."

Patrick opened the folder to reveal a series of high-definition paparazzi shots:

Him with Sharon in a bubble tea shop, the girl tilting her head back, guiding a straw toward his mouth.

The straw bore the unmistakable smudge of lipstick—Sharon’s, clearly.

And Patrick, who’d never had a sweet tooth, had nothing but pure sweetness swimming in his eyes.

The photos were dated two days ago.

The same day Margaret lay unconscious on an operating table.

"Now the public is accusing her of coming between us. Some are even calling her out directly in their social circles."

Margaret’s gaze shifted from the photos to Patrick’s face. "So?"

His voice was gentle, yet left no room for argument. "I’ve already issued a statement. You are not my fiancée."

Margaret suppressed the sneer tugging at her lips. "But we’re getting married at the end of the month. The wedding planner has everything ready. The invitations were about to go out. How do you plan to explain *that*?"

Patrick replied coolly, "The wedding will proceed as scheduled. Just with a different bride. I’ll marry Sharon first."

"It’s only temporary. Once this scandal dies down, Sharon and I will divorce. Then I’ll marry you."

"Margaret, you just need to focus on recovering. Wait for me quietly. That’s all."

A wave of tinnitus washed over Margaret.

She remembered the abandoned warehouse three days earlier. When the kidnapper forced Patrick to choose between them, he’d used that exact same tone. "Margaret, wait for me."

Margaret couldn’t help but laugh.

All the grievance and disappointment welled up inside her. She laughed until tears streamed down her face.

Patrick was stunned. He reached out to touch her cheek, but Margaret jerked away violently, knocking over the water glass on the bedside table.

"Calm down," Patrick frowned. "I know this isn’t fair to you. But Sharon is so vulnerable. She has no one else. I can’t let her face this public shaming alone."

Margaret finally stopped laughing. She closed her mouth and said nothing.

Patrick sighed and sank into the chair beside the bed.

"Get some rest. I’ll stay with you."

But the very next second, his phone rang.

Patrick glanced at the screen and scrambled to his feet.

"Sharon’s surrounded by paparazzi. I have to go get her."

"You rest. I’ll visit another time."

Margaret watched him dash out of the hospital room, her heart a desolate wasteland. Once again, she had lost to Sharon.

Fifteen years of mutual support and companionship—all of it—couldn’t measure up to a college classmate he’d met only in his senior year.

Margaret forced herself not to grieve, not to overthink.

Just consider all those years of genuine feeling fed to a dog.

But the hurt wouldn’t stop.

To keep from obsessing over Patrick’s news, Margaret threw herself completely into her finger rehabilitation.

Even though every session left her drenched in sweat from the pain.

One day, as Margaret was slowly shuffling out of the rehab room, leaning heavily on the wall, a cloud of perfume hit her at the corridor’s corner.

"Ah!"

Sharon tumbled to the floor, her eyes instantly welling up. "Margaret…"

The impact sent a sharp pain through Margaret’s chest, and the ensuing sobs made her head throb.

"Could you please shut up?"

Sharon paused, then suddenly knelt upright. She seized Margaret’s heavily bandaged hand and pressed it against her own face.

"I’m sorry! It’s all my fault! If Patrick had chosen you that day, you wouldn’t have been hurt like this."

Her voice choked with sobs, she bowed her head so low her forehead nearly touched the floor tiles.

Her open collar revealed a suggestive red mark on her collarbone.

Margaret tried to pull her hand back, but the damaged joints in her fingers had no strength left.

"What’s going on here?"