When I stepped outside, the New York sky had opened up. Snow was falling fast, thick flakes sticking to my hair and lashes. I gritted my teeth, climbed into the car, and drive.

My driving had never been strong, and with the streets slick and the snow coming down harder every block, I almost crashed more than once.

I finally bought the cherry cake after slipping on the icy sidewalks more times than I could count. My fingers were numb from the cold, and I could barely feel the box in my hands. When I handed it over, Madonna took one bite, scrunched her face, and spat it into a napkin.

“It’s cold. It tastes so bad!” she whined.

Wilmer didn’t say a word. He just brushed the whole box into the trash then bent down to scoop her up in his arms. “Come on, I’ll take you to the restaurant to eat.”

I stood there quietly, holding myself together, when he glanced back at me, impatience written all over his face. “Why are you just standing there? Get in the car.”

I didn’t even have the strength to argue anymore. I slid into the back seat, pressed my head against the cold glass, and tried to shut everything out.

The whole ride, Madonna giggled and leaned against him, whispering things in his ear, and he let her. My head was heavy, the noise of their laughter dull in my ears. I thought if I closed my eyes long enough, maybe I could pretend none of this was real.

Then suddenly, headlights blinded us. A car from the opposite lane spun out on the ice and came skidding straight toward us.

Wilmer didn’t hesitate. He turned the wheel, swerving hard, and the world seemed to tilt sideways. The moment before impact, he threw himself over Madonna, holding her close beneath him.

The crash rang in my ears like thunder. My body slammed against the seat, pain shooting through me. I saw blood dripping down his forehead, but all I could really see was him. Him holding her. Him protecting her.

My lips trembled, and the world went dark.

.....

When I woke up, I was in a hospital bed. A stranger told me they had found me unconscious and brought me here. I stayed there for a week. Not once did Wilmer show up.

But every day, I saw Madonna’s posts. Photos of him at her bedside, holding her hand, feeding her soup. Her words cut sharper than the pain in my body.

“I didn’t expect that between life and death, he would choose me.”

“He wanted to see you, but I said I had a headache, so he stayed.”

“Lucille, I will make sure I’m the only one in his heart.”

I blocked her. I blocked him too.

Before, I thought maybe we could part peacefully, still carry some piece of the love we once had. But after this, I knew. I never wanted to see him again. Not even once in this lifetime.

The day after I was discharged, it was his mother’s birthday. I wanted to stay away, to cut every tie with the Prestons, but his mother kept calling. She begged me to come, even said if I didn’t, she wouldn’t celebrate at all.

She has always been good to me. After my parents died, she treated me like her own daughter. I couldn’t ignore her, not when she was the only warmth I had left in that house. And besides, if I was going to end this engagement, I had to say it in front of her and his father. They deserved to hear it from me.

So I agreed.

His mother loved big, lively occasions. By the time I arrived, her birthday party was already grand and noisy, lights glittering, laughter spilling through the house like nothing had ever broken in it.

The second I stepped into the Preston manor, the sight hit me like a slap. Madonna was holding Wilmer’s arm, steadying him as if he could not walk on his own. His voice was sharp, cutting through the hum of the party.

Then Madonna strode her way to me.

“Look at yourself. You nearly got yourself killed just to protect me.”

My stomach tightened. Before I could even move away, Madonna turned her gaze on me, her lips twisting into a smile I had seen too many times.

“Wilmer’s mum is so on your side, you must feel very proud,” she said, her voice dripping with mockery.

I frowned and tried to pull my arm free, but she clung tighter, her nails biting into my skin.

“She is only on your side because of your mother. If we’re being honest, your parents were short-lived, weren’t they? They’re gone. How long do you think that friendship can last? Once I secure Wilmer, do you really think she would go against her own son just for you?”

Something in me snapped. My parents were the one place no one was allowed to touch. Before I even thought about it, my hand came down hard across her face. The sound cracked through the air.

Her eyes widened, then narrowed, and she staggered back. She covered her cheek and ran straight into Wilmer’s arms, sobbing.

“I only told her not to stay angry at you,” she wailed, “but she said I should not care at all. That you are nothing in her eyes.”

Wilmer’s face darkened instantly. He looked at me like I was a stranger.

“LUCILLE. APOLOGIZE.”

I let out a bitter laugh. The man who used to protect me at all costs now stood shielded around someone else. I stared at them both, then turned to leave. I wanted no part in their twisted little play.

But Wilmer’s hand clamped onto my wrist so tightly it felt like my bones might break. His grip hurt, but what hurt more was his silence, the way he stood there believing her.

I raised my eyes to him and forced each word out. “I hit her because she called my parents short-lived. And as for you, she is right. Someone who sides with her without even asking the truth is nothing to me.”

I pried his fingers off one by one, refusing to let him cage me in, and walked away.

By the time I reached the stairs, a single tear slipped down before I could stop it. I remembered his friend, years ago, who had tried the same trick, painting me as cruel. Wilmer had not hesitated then. He had defended me, even pulled out the security footage just so his family would never misunderstand me. Back then, I thought he would always stand by me. Now he did not even ask. He just believed her.

I dug my nails into my palm, anything to stop the tears. I wanted to leave right then, to walk out and never look back. But Wilmer’s mother kept asking me to stay, her soft voice pleading. She had been good to me since I was a child. After my parents died, she treated me like her own. How could I turn my back on her now?

So I slipped away from the crowd, searching for a quiet place to sit, to hide. Somewhere I could breathe before I broke completely.

After the broken engagement came out, I could tell Mrs. Preston was terrified that Wilmer would just go running back to Madonna. She didn’t want that door to close forever between me and him, so she kept pulling Wilmer to stay by my side during every part of the banquet. Which left Madonna stranded, sulking in the corner.

I watched out of the corner of my eye as some drunk rich boy stumbled up to her, insisting on making friends. He wouldn’t leave her alone, and the crowd around them just pretended not to see. They had all witnessed what happened earlier, and not one person was willing to step in. Madonna’s eyes got red, her lip trembling like she might cry.

Then suddenly, Wilmer appeared out of nowhere and landed a hard punch straight into the boy’s face. The guy staggered back, clutching his jaw.

“Wilmer! You wouldn’t let me touch Lucille, and now you won’t let me touch her either?” he shouted. “Lucille is your fiancée, but who the hell is this one to you?”

Wilmer just stared at him for two long seconds, then let his gaze slide, quick, in my direction. His jaw clenched.

“SHE’S MINE.”

The room went still. My chest tightened.

And then like some cruel twist I watched him pull Madonna into his arms and crush his mouth against hers in front of everyone. The kiss was rough, loud, and when he pulled back, she clung to him like she would collapse without him.

“If anyone dares to bully Madonna again,” Wilmer declared, “I will never let them go.”

I felt the room shift. People who just hours ago had defended me now rushed to stand at his side, surrounding Madonna like she was a queen. My stomach twisted so painfully I thought I might be sick. I couldn’t breathe anymore.

I ran to the bathroom, shut myself inside, and covered my mouth to hold back the sobs, but the tears still fell heavy and fast. I cried until my chest ached.

Finally, I sent Mrs. Preston a text, apologizing. I told her I wasn’t feeling well and would come back another day to chat. Then I wiped my face, took a deep breath, and pushed the door open.

I barely made it two steps before someone yanked my wrist.

It was Felix, the same drunk Wilmer had punched earlier. His lips curled into a wicked grin as his eyes raked over me.

“Actually,” his voice low and taunting, “compared to that Madonna, I’ve always liked you more. I only stayed away because Wilmer guarded you like his precious treasure. But now he’s protecting someone else. If you’re willing, I’ll take you in.”

My skin crawled. I pulled my wrist back hard. “I don’t want to. And this is the Preston manor. I’d advise you not to be reckless here.”

His eyes darkened. The punch Wilmer had given him earlier must have been burning in his head. He lunged, shoving me back toward the bathroom wall, and then his mouth crashed against mine.

I struggled desperately, my hands shaking as I reached for the emergency button on the wall. Somehow, I hit it.

The phone connected almost instantly.

“Wilmer! Felix won’t leave me alone, come quickly—”

But all I heard was a sneer on the other end.

“Maddy was harassed by him, and now you too? Lucy, since when did you start playing tricks like this?”

My breath caught. “I didn’t! He really is—”

The line cut off.

I froze, ice sinking into my veins. Wilmer hung up on me.

Felix’s hands tightened, dragging me toward the bathroom. Panic roared in my ears. I grabbed the nearest decoration hanging on the wall and smashed it against him with all my strength.

He shouted in pain and loosened his grip. I bolted, stumbling into the bathroom, slamming the door, and locking it with trembling hands. My whole body shook as I called Mrs. Preston and begged her to send someone.

She arrived fast. She ordered servants to drag Felix out while he cursed and kicked. The sound of his rage faded, and I collapsed against the door, drained.

Mrs. Preston didn’t scold me. She didn’t even ask. She just told the servants to take me upstairs to change. And When the banquet ended, she insisted on sending me home herself.

At the car, she reached out, fixing my hair the way my mother used to. “Before you go to Europe , come visit me more often,” she whispered. Her eyes were wet, but all she let out was a soft sigh. “I’ll send your token later.”

I nodded, thanked her with all the strength I had left, and slid into the car.

We were still a ways from my apartment when the driver’s phone rang. I didn’t mean to listen, but Wilmer’s voice carried through the speaker, sharp and urgent.

“Turn back immediately! Madonna has a stomachache. She needs to go to the hospital now.”

I turned my face toward the window, silent. It was always her. Always.

The driver glanced at me in the mirror and spoke softly, almost like he was afraid to say the wrong thing. “But Madam said that Miss Lucille was frightened today. She told me to take her home first.”

“You’re the Preston family’s driver. Since when do you care about outsiders? Huh!”

Outsider.

My hands gripped the strap of my bag so tight my knuckles turned white. That was what I was now. Just an outsider.

I didn’t want to make things harder for the driver, so I told him to just let me out.

He hesitated for only a second then pulled to the side. The cold air slapped me when I stepped onto the pavement. A second later, the taillights disappeared into the night.

I walked slowly down the road, my scarf pulled tight around me. I’d had some wine at the banquet, and my mind drifted where it shouldn’t. I remembered Mrs. Preston’s last birthday, how everyone had teased us about what I’d look like in a wedding dress, what kind of baby Wilmer and I would have. I’d been so happy that day, I drank too much and ended up doubled over with stomach pains.

It was storming that night, no taxis, the driver was off duty, and Wilmer wasn’t allowed to use the family car. He didn’t care. He carried me on his back through the icy streets all the way to the hospital. He wouldn’t even let me cry.

Now, a year later, the same Wilmer could leave me standing on the roadside for Madonna.

My nose stung. I pulled my scarf tighter and kept walking. By the time I reached my apartment, my body was stiff from the cold.

I was just about to unlock the door when a hand suddenly covered my eyes from behind. “Guess who?”

My heart leapt, but I forced myself not to scream. I pried his hand off calmly, my face blank.

It was Wilmer.

He frowned when he saw I wasn’t going to play along. Slowly, he lowered his hand, almost awkward, and pulled a small box from his pocket. “My mom said you left something behind,” he said, turning it over in his hand. “She made me bring it. What is it?”

He flipped the box in his fingers, curiosity all over his face, and I saw he was about to open it.

My breath caught. That box… it was the token of trust my mother had exchanged with the Prestons before she died.

I lunged forward and snatched it from his hands.

His frown deepened. “Lucille, are you hiding something from me?”

The sharp corners of the box dug into my palm as I clutched it. Wilmer and I once promised never to keep secrets from each other. Until Madonna. She came, and suddenly he lied. And then he lied again.

I held the box tighter, the ache spreading from my hand into my chest. I looked up at him. “It’s not a secret. But there’s no reason for me to tell you.”

We weren’t anything anymore.

I turned away, reaching for my door, wanting this night to end.

But he was faster. Wilmer grabbed my bag, yanked it open, and pulled the box out again. “Is this necessary?” His tone was mocking now. “What is this, huh? Some gift from a man outside? Is that why you don’t want me to see it?”

Something in me snapped. I didn’t even think. I reached up on my toes, desperate, trying to grab it back before he could open it.

Wilmer liked it when I did this, I could tell. It reminded him of the way he used to tease me back then, when we weren’t fighting all the time. I would throw myself into his arms, laugh, and beg for whatever he had taken from me. He used to love that.

This time, he caught my hand and steadied me so I wouldn’t fall. But when I looked up, his eyes caught mine, and I knew mine were red. His smile froze.

“You cried just because I wanted to see it?” he asked quietly.

I pressed my lips together. I only wanted him to look and give it back. That was all. Before I could even explain, his phone started ringing.

It rang once, then stopped. Rang again, then stopped. Again and again, like it wouldn’t let him breathe. I glanced down and saw the name flashing across the screen. Madonna.

Wilmer shifted, growing restless. The more it rang, the more anxious he looked. Finally, he turned to leave. Without thinking, I reached for the corner of his jacket, holding on as if for once I could keep him here. His body stilled, and for a second he looked surprised.

Then the phone rang again, and he sighed.

“Madonna keeps calling. I don’t know what’s wrong, maybe something happened. She’s all alone, I should go—”

“Give me back my things and leave,” I cut in.

His face darkened, and I saw the words he wanted to say die in his throat. The phone wouldn’t stop, and finally he shoved the box into my hands. Roughly. Carelessly. The lid popped open, and a yellowed piece of paper slipped out, floating to the floor.

He glanced at it, then walked out without another word.

I bent down, picked it up, and saw what it was. Our marriage certificate that needed his signature. I tore it into pieces before I could think twice. The scraps fell into the trash can, along with whatever was left of us.