Emma spaced out and got on the elevator. The next thing she knew, she was already on the basement level.

An eager intern came right up to her. "You're here for Ms. Payne's exhibition, right? Right this way."

It finally hit Emma that she had forgotten to press the button for her floor. Without even thinking, she wandered into the exhibition hall.

The intern trailed behind her, enthusiastically saying, "Mr. Coleman sponsored the exhibition, and it'll soon kick off a nationwide tour."

Emma found herself staring at a painting of a shirtless man from behind. His toned physique might be captivating, but what really grabbed her attention was the distinctive scar right above his waist.

She had traced the outline of the scar countless times in the dark. Of course, she knew exactly who the man in the painting was.

Sandra had made portrait after portrait of Wesley. The dates in the corner were clear as day and hard to look at.

In the painting dated June 20th, Wesley was in the kitchen, his back outlined by a warm glow. That was Emma's third day locked up. She had been in so much pain from hunger that she had blacked out, while he had been in the kitchen making oatmeal for Sandra.

The bottom of another painting read July 1st. A pair of hands with prominent knuckles folded a silk nightgown embroidered with irises. A wedding ring glinted coldly on the ring finger.

That marked the 13th day Emma had been locked away in her room. She had slit her wrists in protest, her blood soaking half the sheets. Meanwhile, he was meticulously putting away Sandra's clothes.

The painting dated July 15th showed him walking under the trees with an umbrella. At the very edge of the painting, his fingers were vaguely intertwined with someone else's.

Emma was locked up for 28 days. Adam had resorted to chaining her to the bed, desperate to make her give in. Burning up with fever, she had curled into a ball on sweat-soaked sheets.

On the other hand, Wesley had been out for a morning walk with Sandra, swinging Sandra's hand in his.

Each painting was like a knife to Emma's chest.

For the whole time Emma was in hell, Wesley wasn't even fighting for her. He was just with Sandra.

Wesley had smashed the cup in front of Adam to declare his love for Emma. He had even canceled the contract with Payne Group. But everything was merely a lie to hide the truth.

Emma clenched her fists so tightly that her nails dug into her palms, but she felt nothing. She couldn't take it anymore and walked right out of the exhibition.

…

Emma scheduled her abortion for the following week. After that, she headed over to the Payne residence to pick up the things left behind by Helena Meyer, her mom.

But as soon as she got home, Adam tossed a plane ticket to her. "I talked to Jamie. We want Sandra to stay with Wesley until her final moment. I've got you a flight leaving in ten days. Why don't you go for a trip and clear your head?"

Emma pursed her lips as she clutched the ticket. She knew exactly that Adam wanted to kick her out, so Wesley and Sandra could have the place to themselves.

After all, she was the only one who had to disappear, so they could be alone without holding back.

Jamie's eyes were red as she repeated the same old excuse Emma was already tired of hearing. "Please don't get the wrong idea, Em. We just want Sandra to finish her last journey in peace."

Emma calmly cut in. "Got it. I'll leave."

She had given up on Wesley and her family entirely.

Adam was surprised that Emma agreed so readily. He took it as a sign that her spirit had been crushed at last.

He softened his tone. "Sandra's farewell gathering is in three days. We expect you to be there."

"Got it," Emma replied.

Back at her place, she pulled out a cardboard box and started packing up everything that reminded her of Wesley.

She added the pair of mugs he had given her on her birthday, the ticket stubs from their first movie date, and those silly photo booth pictures she made him take.

Emma was almost done packing when she heard the front door open.

Wesley was back. His heart sank when he saw the box stuffed with all their things. He quickly moved closer and asked, "What are you doing, Em?"

Emma kept her head down, refusing to make eye contact. "Isn't Sandra moving in? I'm just cleaning up my things, so she doesn't get upset when she sees them."

Wesley grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his arms. "Are you still mad at me?"

She muttered, "No."

He remarked, "You're a terrible liar, Emma."

He tilted her chin up, making her look him in the eyes. "How many times do I have to say it? It was all an act. If I really wanted to marry her, I would have made it happen years ago."

Emma looked into his eyes and suddenly laughed. Her voice was soft, but her words were crystal clear. "You know exactly who you want to marry."

The sudden ring of a phone drowned out her words.

Wesley took one look at who was calling and picked it up right away. He quickly wrapped up the call and mentioned that something had come up at work before rushing off.

Watching him leave like that, she suddenly realized that confronting him didn't even matter anymore.

After all, some relationships were like expired candy. It looked fine on the surface, but it was rotten underneath. Trying to eat it would only leave a nasty aftertaste.

Wesley had just walked out when Emma's phone buzzed. She received a message from Sandra.

In the photo, Wesley was down on one knee, holding Sandra's ankle carefully in his hands as he focused on tying an anklet.

Emma suddenly remembered dragging Wesley to the metaphysical store in the past. She had crouched inside the store forever, trying to pick an anklet. When she turned around, she saw him standing a few steps back, checking his watch with an annoyed look.

He had said, "I can't believe you buy into these silly superstitions."

Just as Emma was lost in thought, Sandra's message came through. "All I did was mention I wasn't feeling well, and Wesley immediately went to the metaphysical store to get me the lucky anklet. Did he ever go out of his way like that for you? Wake up, Emma. He never loved you."

Emma clenched her phone. The screen's harsh glow lit up her face, illuminating her icy expression.

That was true. He never loved her, and she was done hoping he ever would.

…

Wesley didn't come home for the next two days. Emma didn't run into him again until Sandra's farewell gathering on the third day.

Dressed in a sharp black suit, he slowly pushed the wheelchair through the crowd. Sandra sat in it with a blanket over her legs, looking so fragile and delicate.

All Sandra did was tilt her chin up slightly, and Wesley immediately bent down to ask her what was wrong. Seeing this, Emma smirked in disdain.

He kept saying he was just putting on a show with Sandra. But the look in his eyes when he glanced her way was full of love, like he did four years ago.

Soon, the farewell gathering began. With tears in his eyes, Adam told everyone about Sandra's illness and said, "Sandra is unlucky, but she is also blessed. She doesn't have much time left, but she has a family who loves her deeply and a devoted partner who stays by her side."

The big screen lit up, showing a slideshow of photos of Sandra growing up.

On her first birthday, Adam and Jamie threw a grand birthday party for her.

When she was ten, Adam taught her how to play the piano, guiding her hands himself. At 18, her family was there at her graduation, beaming and holding each other.

In all the photos, Emma faded into the background, witnessing the happiness that was never hers.

The scene changed, and now the photos showed Wesley with Sandra. One captured him congratulating her with a bouquet after she took first place.

Another showed him sitting quietly as her model while she painted. In their wedding photos, they held each other tight.

They grew from kids in school uniforms to adults in formal attire, but the devotion in his eyes never faded.

Just as everyone was lost in the heartfelt moment, the photos on the screen suddenly vanished, switching to crimson text on a black background.

"Go to hell, Sandra! You took my man. Just like your mother, you're nothing but a husband-stealing whore. I hope you never rest. Even in death, you'll suffer forever in the darkest pits of hell."

The air in the room went dead. Then, the place erupted.

All eyes instinctively turned to Emma.

Emma stood there in a daze. Before she could figure out what was going on, Jamie called out in a panic, "Sandra!"

Sandra had fainted after seeing the red text. Wesley's face went pale. He picked her up and carried her out of the room to the hospital.

Emma's mind went completely blank. It wasn't until a sharp slap landed across her face that she suddenly snapped back to reality.

Adam was furious, glaring at her with a vein throbbing at his temple. "Where did I go wrong? How did you turn out like this? How could you curse her like that when she's already so ill?"

Emma stumbled back a few steps, knocking over the champagne tower by accident. Alcohol was spilled everywhere.

She fell into the pile of broken glass, wincing in pain as she explained, "It wasn't me."

Adam snapped, "Shut up! You've always been jealous of the attention Sandra gets, but she isn't going to be around much longer. How can you be so heartless? Take this ungrateful wretch out of my sight and lock her up."

…

Emma was shoved into a dark room. She had been afraid of the dark since she was a kid, and her claustrophobia made it worse.

The moment the door slammed shut, she felt like she couldn't breathe. Darkness closed in on her from every direction like a rising tide.

She pounded on the door with her bloodied hands, leaving vivid streaks behind. "Open up. I'm begging you. Let me out."

But there was only silence from the other side. She slowly slid down onto the floor, completely drained. Her chest tightened with each rapid breath.

She had no idea how long had passed. Just as she was about to black out, the door opened, and she crawled out in a rush.

The next moment, a bucket of foul salt water poured down on her. A second bucket followed, and then the third.

Emma choked as she gasped for air. Her vision went fuzzy, but she still managed to make out a familiar figure by the door—Wesley.

He stood on the line between light and shadow, watching coldly as his men threw bucket after bucket of salt water at her. He never once told them to stop until the last bucket was empty.

He slowly walked over to her, bent down, and wiped her cheek with a silk handkerchief. But his words were sharp and cruel. "Sandra is awake. She doesn't blame you for cursing her and forgives you. She even said it wasn't really you who did it, but you were possessed."

He paused. "I had my men prepare the salt water for you. It's supposed to ward off evil spirits, but it won't do anything unless you're soaked in it for 72 hours."

A hint of horror flickered in Emma's eyes. She desperately grabbed Wesley's hand. "I had nothing to do with the crimson words. You have to believe me."

He slowly pried her fingers off his hand, cruel to the last. "Actions have consequences, Emma. Even a child gets that."

Feeling the last bit of warmth leaving her hand, she tried one last time to say something, but it just sounded pitiful and pleading. "Please don't leave me here. I'm afraid of the dark."

His gaze was icy. "What about Sandra? When you wrote the message, did it ever cross your mind that she might be scared too?"

Emma momentarily zoned out, lost in the memory of a thunderstorm years ago. The power went out, and she curled up in the corner, shaking in fear.

Wesley filled the house with candlelight, wrapped her in his arms, and gently rubbed her back. "Don't be scared, Em. I'm right here."

But that same man was the one shoving her into a living nightmare now.

A brutal, wrenching pain seized her belly without warning. She doubled over, her hand flying to her stomach. Then, she felt a warm liquid trickling down her thighs.

It dawned on her that this could be a miscarriage. Trembling, she grabbed his pants, her voice cracking with panic. "I'm bleeding, Wesley. I think I'm losing the baby. I'm begging you. You have to take me to the hospital."

Wesley stopped in his tracks and frowned. "You're not even pregnant. How could you be having a miscarriage?"

Emma was in so much pain that she could barely see. "It's true. I have your baby inside me."

He didn't buy it and snapped before leaving, "Enough! I'll come back for you in three days."

A broken whimper tore from her lips. She scraped her nails against the ground, but her desperate effort wasn't enough to stop him from walking away. Her trembling hand grabbed the empty air before giving up and falling.

She collapsed into the pool of blood. Before fainting, she laughed bitterly.

In that moment, Emma finally saw Wesley for who he truly was.