Don't let the CEO title fool you. Back in college, Damien was broke, living on cheap meals. Someone like Enya? She wouldn't have glanced his way.

He chased her for three years, no pride left. Only when he gave up did he notice the one who'd stayed—me.

The night Enya left the country, he got wasted just to keep himself from chasing her.

My chest ached. I kept wiping my tears, over and over.

What did he say back then?

"Sadie, Enya's a thorn in my heart. Pulling it out hurts, but once it's gone, it's gone. You're my future."

For the next five years, he kept that promise.

His world was just work and me.

Everyone said Damien was a workaholic, but no deal—no matter how big—came before Sadie Somerset.

But now?

One call. One soft, flirty plea.

No hesitation—he shoved that thorn right back into his own heart.

***

The next day, Damien didn't wake up until almost noon. Yeah—he clearly hadn't held back with Enya.

When he saw me slumped on the couch, out of it, guilt flickered in his eyes. He rushed over and pulled me in.

"Honey, I'm really sorry. Enya came back to recover. Her heart's not in great shape. We were classmates. She asked for help—I couldn't just ignore her, right?"

His chin rested on my head, his voice careful.

And just like that, the hickey on his collarbone was right there.

At the same time, the comments in front of me went wild again—

[Guys! I checked this time—the cadaver donor looks exactly like Enya!]

[Too bad the school keeps donor identities locked down. We can't get a name!]

[And what Damien just said is terrifying—the donor died after a failed heart transplant!]

The rest was all guesses. Reading it felt like stumbling through cold fog. I couldn't even focus on Damien.

That set him off. He grabbed my face and made me look at him.

"Honey, you're not mad, right? The ceremony didn't finish, but I still married you. Don't worry, I only love you."

For a second, the man I'd loved for years felt... disgusting.

Rotten. Inside and out.

Just then, his phone rang in his pocket.

Damien—still waiting for my forgiveness—lost focus instantly.

He checked the time. Whatever patience he had left? Gone.

He let me go and headed back to the bedroom. A while later, he came out in the shirt he used to wear when he chased Enya—the one he'd shoved to the back of the closet after she left. Now it was freshly ironed.

Didn't even match his current style. And yet, he looked way too pleased wearing it.

I didn't ask for a hug like I used to. He didn't even notice.

He got dressed, said something came up at the company, and left like he couldn't wait.

I stared at the empty space and let out a quiet, bitter laugh.

Didn't matter if that woman was really Enya or not.

I was done.

They could have each other.

I told my parents my decision. They backed me up, no hesitation.

Luckily, we'd planned to register on Valentine's Day. So yeah—we had the ceremony, but nothing legal yet. Maybe that was fate.

I was done with him.

But I was curious.

When the timing felt right, I took a cab to Enya's studio.

Fourteenth floor. Left turn. Third door. Same place she used to share with classmates before going abroad.

The door was locked. Floor-to-ceiling windows, curtains drawn tight.

Faint candlelight leaked through the gap. In the middle of the day, the room stayed dim.

I shifted slightly, trying to get a clearer view.

Enya lay stretched across the couch, bare skin traced by flickering candlelight.

Her gaze hooked Damien, and just like that, he was gone. The whole room felt thick—sweet, suffocating.

At the same time, the med student from earlier started freaking out in the comments—

[Waaah... guys, this pose—it looks even more like her!]

Soon, faint, broken breaths slipped out of the studio.

Maybe it was the flickering candles, or the way her body moved, but something about the way Enya looked at Damien felt... off.

He didn't notice.

His voice came out rough, uneven, soaked in pleasure. "Babe... never thought I'd get to call you that. Even if I can't give you a title right now, I can give you more than before."

Enya looked completely gone, cheeks flushed, voice soft and syrupy. "...Damien, I didn't know how to cherish someone before. Now I do."

Her arms tightened around his neck. "But... ah... I might not be able to stay with you long, because of my illness—"

Damien cut her off, catching her lips. His voice slipped out between uneven breaths. "Don't say that. I've got money. I'll make sure you're okay."

I pressed back against the hallway wall, trying to outrun the dull ache in my chest with a flood of thoughts.

She didn't smell like a body. She had a shadow. A solid presence. She breathed.

She wanted to get better, to live... or maybe she was after Damien's money?

Nothing made sense.

My temples throbbed. A chill crept over my skin.

I didn't even notice when the studio went dead quiet.

The live comments blew up with warnings:

[Sadie! Enya noticed you!]

[Run, run! Doesn't matter what she is—just get out!]

[Oh shit! Too late! Enya's opening the door! Sadie, turn around!]

My mind went blank.

I spun toward the door. Enya's face slid into view.

A smile lingered as she tucked a loose strand behind her ear. She looked like she knew me—and like I was nobody.

"Sadie?"

I didn't answer. Mockery flickered in her eyes. "Relax. Damien can't hear anything."

The live comments backed it up. People said he was slumped on the couch, out cold.

The hallway was empty. Every other door shut tight.

I steadied myself. Normally, I'd be the one catching him cheating—why should I feel guilty?

My face went still. I was about to speak when Enya pulled Damien's phone from the trench coat pocket draped over her.

She tapped a few times, like she was talking to herself. "Wow. Damien's really devoted. After all these years, his lock screen's still my birthday."

He'd never told me his password. Said privacy kept things fresh.

Yeah. There was another reason.

I didn't know what she opened, but her smile stretched. She turned the screen toward me.

It was Damien's social feed—hidden all these years.

He used to say he didn't like posting, that he kept it private from everyone.

Now I got it.

"Everyone" meant everyone but Enya.

The posts went all the way back to when he met her in college. He never stopped.

Each one had a snapshot of his life, captions like one-sided confessions—raw and painfully sincere:

[Loving you is my business, Enya. Even if you reject me, I won't stop.]

[Enya, you left today. I didn't stop you. I'm not worthy—but I'll work harder.]

[Enya, my new company, Huxworth Tech, carries part of your name. Too bad you can't see it yet...]

[Enya, Huxworth Tech made it into an overseas business paper. I checked—it circulates in Francia. Will you see it this time?]

...

Before, I would've been furious—jealous, demanding answers from Damien.

Maybe even breaking down, begging him to come back.

But now, I felt nothing.

Love and indifference really were just a wall apart.

Enya must've thought she landed a hit. She pulled the phone back, shot me a sideways look.

"Don't get me wrong. I'm not showing off. Just helping you see reality." A mocking laugh slipped out. "Men are all the same."

Then she suddenly handed me a few sheets.

Divorce papers—already signed by Damien.

As she lifted her hand, her loose collar slipped.

My pupils shrank.

A vertical surgical scar ran down from her collarbone, exposed.

The live comments, which had just quieted, blew up again:

[Holy shit! Anyone in med school—check that scar!]

[No need. That's a standard Y-shaped autopsy cut. Nothing special—just someone back from the dead.]

[Sadie, don't be fooled! Only the top page is the divorce agreement—the ones underneath are organ donor consent forms!]

Every pore on my body snapped open.

I dropped my gaze, looked closer.

Sure enough, under the shifted top page, the documents read:

[Party A voluntarily agrees that after death...]

...and lines like:

[The donated organs shall be received as soon as possible in accordance with relevant regulations and procedures.]

That cadaver donor died from a failed heart transplant.

And now she was trying to trick me into donating organs.

Did she want my heart?

But the signature on the divorce papers was Damien's.

No question.

Did he know what Enya really was... and still help her pull me in?

The thought hit, and cold flooded my chest.

My mind spun—

Then her voice slid in, low and eerie.

"You figured it out?"

Her head tilted, confused. Her tone turned stiff. Off.

Something wild flickered in her eyes. Her teeth scraped together.

"You figured it out, didn't you?"