“Only one week left, Dad, until the three-year mark. I’ll have Larkin sign the papers soon. Once we’re divorced, I’ll be gone.”

Dionne had known since the moment she married Larkin Jablonski three years ago that this day would come. She just didn’t expect it to come so soon.

Then again, he had never loved her, even just once. The woman he truly loved was Farrah Willoughby—her sister.

Foster, her father, glanced at the divorce agreement. The corners of his mouth curled in satisfaction as he sneered.

“Larkin was always meant to be with Farrah. She just left for Melbourne a few years ago, and we let you take her place to avoid unnecessary trouble. Now, she’s back, and it’s time you step aside.”

Hearing those cruel words from her father’s mouth made her heart cold.

Apparently, that was what real family meant. Just because Farrah was the biological daughter, they used Dionne until they no longer needed her.

That gap between the two had never been clearer than it was a month ago—when Larkin’s fiercest rival kidnapped the two Willoughbys daughters.

Up in the sky, thirty-three thousand feet above the ground, there was only one parachute.

Without hesitation, Larkin gave it to Farrah.

And Dionne? She was thrown straight into the sea.

She would’ve died if not for Brixton Hemsley, the wealthiest man in Vermont, who happened to rescue her at the last moment.

It was from that moment on that she truly woke up.

A man who didn’t even care whether she lived or died—what was the point in holding onto him?

Seeing her not reacting, Foster frowned. “Despite everything, I’ve raised you like my own, Dionne. To compensate you, once you leave, I’ll give you a modest flat in the suburbs and ten grand.”

He said it as though bestowing great charity, as if those meager offerings were some grand reward.

Dionne’s reply came out flat. “Keep it. I won’t take a single thing from the Willoughbys.”

“I know you’ve always been proud, but you’re not my real daughter, Dionne. The fact that I’m even offering you this much is already generous. You shouldn’t be greedy.”

Her father narrowed his eyes. Not a hint of fatherly love could be seen in his gaze, only unwavering calculation.

“Don’t worry, Dad,” she said calmly. “The day I leave Larkin will also be the day I cut all ties with all of you.”

She had always been just the adopted daughter, anyway.

Back when Farrah disappeared, her mother fell into depression. The family only adopted Dionne to give Foster’s wife something to cling to.

At first, the foster parents treated Dionne kindly, pouring all their guilt for losing their biological daughter into her.

But that changed a year after she was adopted; the real daughter came back.

For the sake of their reputation, the family didn’t send Dionne away.

The first few years passed in relative peace. But starting in the third year, Farrah began to bully her in every way possible, even going so far as to frame her for theft.

In the grandest villa, Dionne lived yet did the lowest of chores.

More than an adopted daughter, she was treated like an unpaid maid.

Seeing her stand so firm, Foster scoffed. “Fine. Let’s see if you survive once you’re out of my villa!”

Hearing those words, Dionne let out a cold, mocking laugh.

Six months ago, her birth parents had found her. They were from the most powerful family in Montpelier—and she was their only heir.

Back then, she’d turned them down.

It wasn’t until half a month ago that she finally contacted them, agreeing to come home and inherit the family legacy.

Compared to what they owned, the Willoughbys’ so-called wealth wasn’t even worth mentioning.

Finally, Dionne stood and walked toward the door, leaving just one line before heading downstairs.

“Don’t worry, Dad. I’ll live a life far better than yours.”

But just as she reached the staircase, she heard faint sounds coming from the guest bedroom next door. The door was slightly ajar, and from within came the muffled gasps of a woman and the low grunts of a man.

Dionne had already guessed the truth, but seeing it with her own eyes still made her chest tighten with pain.

“Larkin, for you, who makes you happier—me or my sister?” came a coy, flirtatious voice.

His voice was rough and breathless. “Of course, it’s you. This kind of thing only feels right with the one I truly love.”

“You know I’ve only ever loved you, Farrah,” he reassured the woman on top of him. “Your sister’s always been just your stand-in.”

Each word from him was like a blade stabbing into her heart.

They didn’t kill her, but they cut deep.

Her blood seemed to freeze. She nearly stumbled where she stood until Farrah’s voice came out.

“Oh no… My sister’s outside. I’ll never be able to face her again!”

Larkin yanked the sheets around Farrah and snarled toward the doorway, “Get lost!”

Eyes red, Dionne turned and ran into the back garden.

She had loved Larkin for ten years.

Even knowing he didn’t love her back, she had still been willing to marry him.

Even when he proposed a secret marriage, she had agreed.

For three years, she was his secretary by day and his hidden wife by night, living entirely in the shadows.

‘As long as I give enough of my love…’ she convinced herself for three years, ‘he’ll love me back one day.’

But after three years of silent devotion, all she got from him… was the label “stand-in.”

She sat down on the ground, crying and laughing at the same time, completely drained.

She laughed at her younger self—for being so painfully naive.

She laughed at Larkin—for being an even bigger fool. Farrah had only come back to him because she’d had her fun and needed someone to pick up the pieces. Yet he thought she was a treasure.

Dionne didn’t know how long she slumped there. At some point, she just pulled out her phone and dialed the number of the man who had once saved her life.

“Mr. Hemsley,” she said calmly, “didn’t you say back then that you liked me? Well, I’m getting divorced in seven days. Do you have the guts to marry me then?”

There was a pause on the other end—long enough to tell Dionne Brixton was caught off guard.

Thinking she’d crossed a line, she offered a polite apology. “That was presumptuous of me. If you’re not interested, Mr. Hemsley, forget I said anything.”

His voice came through after a few seconds, low and hoarse. “What made you suddenly change your mind, Dionne? You turned me down just two weeks ago.”

She drew in a deep breath, her eyes drifting toward the bedroom on the second floor.

“I couldn’t tell the difference between a man and an asshole back then. Well, now I can.”

The sound of a lighter flicking was clearly audible from the phone, followed by a soft chuckle from Brixton.

“All right. I’ll pick you up in a week. Once you get the divorce certificate, we’ll get married.”

Dionne hummed in agreement, then added calmly, “I heard you own fifty percent of the Jablonski Holdings. I want that fifty percent stake.”

She had just opened her mouth to say she could offer something in return when the man agreed without hesitation.

“Deal. In fact, you can have not just fifty percent of that. I’ll give you full control over half of everything else I own.”

She hadn’t expected him to be so generous. Before she could even recover from the surprise, he had already hung up.

Around midnight, just as she had fallen asleep, Larkin came home.

The overpowering scent of perfume hit her before he did, making her stomach churn with nausea.

Frowning, she tried to push him away, but he only tightened his grip and softened his tone.

“Come on, don’t be mad anymore. I lost control earlier, that’s all.”

He paused then reasoned, “You know how it is. I’ve loved Farrah for years. We almost got married, remember? There’s just always something inexplicable between a man and his first love.”

“Yeah, I slept with her,” he admitted. Then, he coaxed her, “But you’re still my wife.”

Still, she wouldn’t look at him. When he spoke again, his voice was tightened with a hint of impatience.

“Come on, Dionne. You love me. You’ll understand. Won’t you?”

Dionne felt her heart freeze, inch by inch.

Her husband had slept with her own sister. And now he expected her to understand. Understand his affair?

She swallowed her disgust and pushed him away, her face devoid of emotion.

“I don’t mind.”

After all, she didn’t love him anymore. Nothing he did could hurt her now.

Those two words stunned Larkin.

He knew how absurd his excuse was and had already prepared several justifications.

But all of them were rendered useless by that one line—“I don’t mind.”

Facing Dionne’s indifferent gaze, Larkin quickly gave himself an answer.

‘She’s head over heels for me. No matter what I do, she will always forgive me.’

Relief softened his features. He smiled at her, and then he said, “I knew you were the most understanding one.”

As if remembering an errand, he added, “Oh, and tomorrow’s Farrah’s birthday. Make sure to come. Can’t have people talking.”

At that, Dionne gave a cold laugh, only on the inside.

She had been an orphan, her birthdate unknown, so the family had assigned her the same birthday as Farrah.

But in all these years, not once had she truly celebrated it.

She was ready to refuse, but seeing her open her lips, Larkin added, “It’s your dad’s request.”

The next day, at the birthday party, the entire villa was lit up like daylight. The guests in attendance were all elite figures in the business world.

With Jablonski Holdings now at its prime in Manchester, everyone raised their wine glass and greeted Larkin.

Having been his secretary for three years, Dionne had no choice but to stand by his side.

A wealthy oil magnate passed by toasting his glass with Larkin. “Congratulations, Mr. Jablonski. I heard about the good news—you’re marrying the Willoughbys’ daughter. But they have two daughters, so which one’s the lucky bride?”

Suddenly, Dionne’s heart leapt into her throat. ‘In all our years of marriage, he’s never once acknowledged me in public. Would he now?’

Everyone turned to look at Larkin, waiting.

Before Larkin could speak, Farrah stepped forward, linking her arm through his and smiling sweetly.

“Larkin and I grew up together. Some things don’t need to be spelled out, right?”

Larkin smiled and agreed, “Of course. Whatever Farrah says is right.”

He didn’t deny it.

A ripple of laughter spread through the crowd, with a few voices laced with mockery.

“Dang, the real daughter and the adopted one really are worlds apart. Look at Dionne—she worked for free as his secretary for three years, and she still doesn’t get to be his wife.”

“What do you expect? She’s just an adopted girl. If the Willoughbys hadn’t taken her in, who knows where she’d be—probably begging on the street!”

Every word cut into Dionne like ice, chilling her to the bone.

But maybe she’d heard it all too many times—she didn’t even feel sad anymore.

The guests surrounded Farrah, showering her with birthday gifts and attention, making her the star of the night.

Meanwhile, Dionne slipped away to the rooftop to get some air.

‘Just hang in there a little longer,’ she told herself. ‘Once everything is settled, I can leave for good.’

She was so lost in thought she didn’t hear the clunk of heels approaching from behind her.

“Dionne,” Farrah called sweetly, holding a gift box. “You haven’t gotten anything tonight, have you? Here. Let me give you something special.”

Dionne opened her mouth to refuse, but Farrah had already lifted the lid.

What lay inside made Dionne’s face go pale instantly.

It was a pair of lacy lingerie and a used box of condoms Farrah and Larkin had used from the night before.

“Try wearing my lingerie, girl. Maybe then Larkin will love you a little more.”

Farrah taunted Dionne with a smirk.

“Honestly, I do feel sorry for you. In this family, you’re just my stand-in. And to Larkin?”

She gave a cruel laugh. “You don’t really even count as that. If I were you, I would’ve left a long time ago.”

“Did you know?” She leaned in, as if to share a secret. “Larkin never runs out of energy when he’s with me. But—”

Dionne couldn’t take it anymore. Her hand shot out, knocking the gift box clean from Farrah’s hands.

“That’s enough. Know your place, Farrah. I’m still Larkin’s wife. And if you provoke me again,” she warned, “I’ll take that trash downstairs and show all those guests exactly what kind of woman you are—flirting with your sister’s husband!”

The words had barely left her lips when Farrah suddenly stumbled back, falling to the stairs and dramatically sobbing.

“I’m sorry, Dionne!” she wailed. “I won’t go near Larkin again! If you really hate me that much, I’ll buy a plane ticket right now and leave the states. I’ll never come back and bother you again!”

Footsteps pounded toward them. Larkin arrived first, barely sparing Dionne a glance before dropping to his knees and gathering Farrah into his arms.

Seconds later, Foster burst in. He didn’t ask a single question. The slap came fast and hard.

“Dionne!” he roared. “Farrah is my real daughter! You better remember your place! Touch her again, and I’ll pretend I never adopted you!”

Her ears were ringing from the blow. She turned to look at her father, and with trembling lips, she said, word by word, “She started it. She was the one who—”

“That’s enough,” Larkin interrupted with a frown. “We all know what kind of person Farrah is. She’d never pick a fight with you without a reason. You must’ve done something!”

“I know you’re upset because I didn’t acknowledge you publicly tonight,” he added. “But we agreed to a secret marriage from the start, so why are you making a scene now?”

He shook his head. “You’ve really disappointed me, Dionne.”

“You’re not going home tonight,” he said with finality. “Stay here. Reflect on your actions.”

With that, Larkin left the rooftop, still carrying Farrah in his arms.

Dionne clutched her chest tightly, fighting back tears. She rushed after them, desperate to explain. But just as she reached the door, it was slammed shut with a loud bang.

The edge caught her hand.

A white-hot flash of pain exploded through her body. The force dropped her to her knees.

Blood streamed freely from a deep gash across the back of her hand, pooling fast on the tiled floor. Her entire body trembled, her muscles seizing from the pain.

It was at that moment she realized—when pain reached its peak, a person couldn’t even scream.

She slumped against the wall, tears streaming down her face as she whispered over and over, “Larkin… This time, we’re really… done.”

Seeing the pool of blood, the housekeeper took Dionne to the hospital.

The doctor offered anesthesia before stitching her hand up, but she refused.

She needed to remember this pain—only then would she truly learn her lesson.

It took more than a dozen stitches to close the wound. The doctor warned her to rest or risk permanent scarring.

Since there was already a sign of infection, they advised her to stay overnight for observation.

At 11:55 that night, her phone rang.

It was Brixton.

“Hey, happy birthday.”

At once, her nose stung and her voice went hoarse.

“Thanks. You’re the only one who remembered to greet me.”

“You sound off. Were you crying?” Brixton asked, the concern evident in his tone. “Did someone hurt you? Tell me who.”

Hearing his words warmed Dionne’s heart. He was the only one who cared about her that night.

Forcing her emotions down, she replied, “No, I was just… watching a sad movie. Got emotional.”

There was a short silence on the line, like he didn’t quite believe her, but he didn’t press further.

“Alright. Try not to stay up watching stuff like that. It’s bad for your eyes.”

“I got you a birthday gift,” he added. “I’ll bring it when I come to pick you up.”

“And hey, remember, if someone’s hurting you, you don’t have to endure it. Tell me. I’ll get revenge for you,” he promised.

For a brief moment, she recalled how Larkin used to say the same thing to her.

But that was long forgotten now.

She forced a smile. “Alright. It’s getting late. You should get some rest.”

After the call ended, for reasons she couldn’t explain, she fell into a deep, peaceful sleep.

It was as if… the pain wasn’t so unbearable anymore.

The next morning, the first thing she did after waking up… was to find a lawyer to draft the divorce papers.