When Emma came to, she was in a hospital bed.

The doctor sighed and looked at her with pity in her eyes. "You're finally awake. You lost a dangerous amount of blood from the miscarriage. If you had gotten here any later, we wouldn't have been able to bring you back."

Emma learned from the doctor that she had survived because the housekeeper had found her unconscious the next day while delivering food.

"Your family is unbelievable. How could they treat you like this? Your husband, of all people, won't even pick up his phone. When he shows up here, I'm giving him a piece of my mind."

Emma interrupted the doctor, her fingers clutching the sheets, "You can't tell him I was pregnant."

Wesley wouldn't believe her anyway. His heart wasn't with her anymore, and she wanted nothing to do with him.

The doctor looked like she wanted to say something, but in the end, she just shook her head and left.

Wesley couldn't be bothered to visit Emma in the hospital, but he was all over Sandra's social media.

The first day was a close-up of a bowl of chicken soup. The caption read, "Ten years, and it's still my favorite."

The next day, Sandra posted a photo of a man asleep by her bedside. She wrote, "Woke up from a nightmare. There's nothing better than opening my eyes to this."

Emma suddenly remembered that whenever she got sick, Wesley would always make her chicken soup. When she was burning with fever, he would stay by the bed like that too, holding her hand and refusing to let go.

The realization dawned on her. All that care and attention was never for her. He was only loving her because she reminded him of Sandra.

On the day she was discharged, he finally called, "Something urgent with the company came up. I'm sending a chauffeur to pick you up."

She didn't argue or demand an explanation. She just replied flatly, "Alright."

When the call ended, she gently touched her belly.

At this point, Wesley was just a name in Emma's contacts that she was about to delete. She wasn't going to waste any more hope on him.

…

Emma came home to find Sandra in the living room, holding a palette and freely painting all over the wall. All her photos with Wesley were thrown on the floor, splattered with paint.

Seeing Emma, Sandra smirked. "You're back, Em. The wall was begging for a new look. I figured it needed a major upgrade. I hope you don't mind."

Emma glanced at the mess and replied indifferently, "Whatever."

This place hadn't felt like home for ages. It was clear she wasn't going to be the lady of the house much longer.

Just then, Wesley walked out of the kitchen with a plate of cut fruit. He noticed Emma going up the stairs and blocked her path. "Sandra is trying to be the bigger person here. Watch your attitude."

Emma's pale face showed nothing but weariness. "What do you want? Am I supposed to grovel at her feet and thank her for ruining the photos?"

Sandra quickly smoothed things over. "Don't be too hard on her, Wesley. Em doesn't mean it."

Wesley remarked, "If she didn't mean to, then why would she say something so horrible to you?"

He looked at Emma like she was a stranger. "You really let me down, Emma."

She was too drained to argue with him. She shouldered past him and went upstairs. She was still physically wrecked from the abortion.

She had only been lying down for a minute when the door was pushed open.

Sandra appeared in the doorway, her gentle look completely wiped away by outright scorn.

She snickered. "Does it bother you to see Wesley sticking up for me? I warned you that he was just playing games with you. I can't believe you were dumb enough to fall for it."

Emma rolled over. She didn't want to waste her breath and pulled the covers over her head.

But Sandra closed in on Emma, refusing to drop it. "Do you know what everyone is saying about you? Word is you spent four years in bed with your brother-in-law and ended up empty-handed. Even the escorts working in the night scene get paid.

"Stop fooling yourself, Emma. The Payne family doesn't need you. Wesley doesn't want you anymore. You and your mom are both nothing but baggage."

The mention of Helena was the last straw. Emma's head jerked up, and she glared daggers at Sandra. "Why are you so mad? Are you afraid that he actually fell for me over these four years?"

Sandra was momentarily taken aback, then snorted. Her eyes were filled with contempt. "Would he seriously fall for you? If he were truly in love with you, would I have the chance to put you down like this?"

Moments later, a loud bang echoed as the door shut. Emma clutched her sheets, feeling a deep chill settle in.

Luckily, she was getting out of here soon. She wouldn't have to deal with these awful people anymore.

The day before she left the country, Emma went to the church surrounded by giant trees.

Ever since the miscarriage, she had nightmares every night about a baby covered in blood crying out to her. She reached out to a priest to lay the baby's spirit to rest.

But when she got to the church, she saw a tall man kneeling right in the front. She recognized his silhouette immediately.

Someone started, "Didn't you hear? Mr. Coleman's soulmate is terminally ill. He walked all the way up from the base of the mountain to get a blessing for her."

The next person added, "The final stretch is so dangerous that he almost fell right off the cliff. He almost didn't make it."

The murmurs of other people in the church reached Emma.

Emma froze in her tracks. She could see the bandage on Wesley's arm, and blood was already soaking through.

She remembered he didn't believe in God. He never set foot in churches and refused to have any religious icons at home.

He won a rosary from a church at Plefvine at the company party, but he just quickly handed it to his assistant, Skyler Wright.

Even when she wanted to visit Helena's grave, he just stubbed out his cigarette and muttered dismissively, "She's gone. Putting flowers on a grave is just for the living to feel better."

But right now, he was on the cold floor before the altar, groveling like a true believer.

Emma sneered. A wave of bitter irony washed over her.

It turned out that Wesley wasn't an atheist. He just never cared enough to beg for a miracle before.

…

By the time Emma left the church, it was almost sunset. A cool wind blew through the valley, so she wrapped her coat closer.

She was heading down the stone steps when a dark figure darted out from the trees right in front of her.

Everything happened in a flash. Before she could even cry for help, the person covered her face, and she was knocked out cold.

When she opened her eyes, she found herself sitting against a large tree. A few paramedics were frantically rushing a stretcher toward the cliff's edge. "Hurry. The victim is down there."

Emma staggered to her feet. Before she could make sense of anything, a tall figure walked up to her, his presence cold and abrupt.

Wesley snapped, "When you threatened Sandra, I thought it was just anger talking, Emma. I didn't think you would actually push her off a cliff."

He had her by the throat, slamming her back against the tree behind her. "It's a miracle Sandra survived that fall because of the rocks. Otherwise, I would have made you pay with your life."

Her breath caught in her throat. When she met his furious glare, everything suddenly clicked in her mind.

She choked out her words. "I didn't do it."

Wesley's tone was sharp enough to draw blood. "Don't even try to deny it. You and Sandra were both here, and now she's at the bottom of the cliff. How in the world is this just a coincidence, Emma?"

Emma clawed at Wesley's hand, struggling to breathe. Just as she was about to suffocate, Skyler rushed over, panting heavily. "We got her, Mr. Coleman. She's safe."

Hearing that, Wesley immediately let go of Emma and took off running toward Sandra. Emma doubled over, coughing hard.

With blurry vision, she saw Sandra on the stretcher, grabbing Wesley's sleeve. Her face was pale as she murmured, "I'm so scared, Wesley."

Wesley squeezed Sandra's hand and said firmly, "I'm here now. No one is going to hurt you."

He carefully helped her into the ambulance, then turned and said something to Skyler.

The next moment, Skyler came back to Emma, clamping a hand on her arm. "Forgive my offense, Ms. Emma."

Without missing a beat, he dragged her to the edge of the cliff and shoved her over. The feeling of freefall ended abruptly when she landed hard on a rock. The impact sent a brutal pain through her bones.

Looking over the edge, he said coldly, "Mr. Coleman said you went too far this time. This is your punishment. Now you get to feel what Ms. Sandra felt."

The sound of footsteps faded, and she was left by herself.

Her whole body was in agony. She tried climbing up a few times, gritting her teeth through the pain. But she just couldn't make it.

Emma curled up on the cold rocks, feeling completely overwhelmed by despair. She wanted to confront Wesley. Why would she try to kill Sandra when she was already dying?

Deep down, she knew the truth, and it was even colder than the freezing mountain wind.

In Wesley's eyes, she would never measure up to Sandra, and he would never believe a word she said.

…

With no cell service up in the mountains, Emma knew she couldn't just wait around to be rescued. She forced herself to get up.

Her nails dug into the cracks in the rock, her palms scraping raw. She fell over and over, but she kept pulling herself back up.

She pushed through failure after failure, leaving her battered and bloodied. In the end, she finally climbed back up.

With the gondola closed for the night, Emma had to drag her beaten-up body all the way down the mountain. By the time she got home, the sun was starting to come up.

She barely managed to clean her wounds before collapsing into bed and passing out.

She was still groggy when the door flew open. The next thing she knew, she was yanked out of bed and thrown onto the cold floor.

"You almost killed Sandra, Emma. How can you just sleep right now?"

Emma lifted her head and saw Adam's eyes blazing with anger. Next to him, Jamie looked down, crying her eyes out.

Jamie's voice was choked up, and tears streamed down her face. "Sandra doesn't have much time left, Em. Why won't you just leave her alone? We moved past what happened at the farewell gathering, but you were literally trying to take her life."

Emma clenched her fist, nails digging deep into the flesh of her palm. She was sick of Jamie's phony act.

Struggling to stand up, she spat out the words, "I didn't write those words at the farewell gathering, and I didn't push her off the cliff. You let Sandra set me up again and again. How do you think this is going to end for you?"

A stinging slap landed on her cheek. She staggered backward, tasting blood in her mouth.

Adam trembled with rage. "You little brat! That is exactly what Helena used to do. She always blames everyone else, and now you're doing it too."

Jamie patted Adam on the back. "Take it easy, Adam. This is on me. I didn't raise her right—"

Adam cut Jamie off sharply, his eyes locked on Emma, "It's not your fault."

He continued, "Since you're so full of yourself, you're no longer my daughter."

After saying his piece, Adam stormed out with Jamie, slamming the door behind him.

Right then, lightning tore across the sky, and the rain started pouring down.

Emma fell to the floor in a heap. She wrapped her arms around her legs, buried her face in her arms, and wept without making a sound.

In her daze, she could almost hear Helena's final words again.

She felt a weak but firm grip on her hand. The words came out in a faint whisper, yet they were unmistakable. "Take care of yourself out there, Em. I'll be watching you from the stars."

All these years, she had pushed herself to eat properly and get to bed on time. She just wanted to prove to Helena that she could thrive without Adam's love. But where did that get her?

Emma murmured under her breath, her tears soaking through the fabric of her pants at the knees, "I must be such a disappointment to you now, Mom."

Outside, the storm kept raging. She curled up in her own arms and cried herself to sleep.

…

When Emma woke up, she found herself on the couch in the living room. She had no idea how she got here.

The fire crackled in the fireplace. Wesley sat beside it, holding a cigarette between his fingers. A haze of smoke drifted up from it.

Her voice was faint and raspy, her throat raw with pain. "Wesley."

At the sound of her voice, he turned his head. The gentle look he used to have was replaced by a cold one. "You're awake."

She tried to sit up, but she didn't have any strength left. "How did I get here?"

Wesley didn't respond to her question. Instead, he said calmly, "I was on my way to pick you up yesterday, but Sandra's exhibit went up in flames. Every single one of her paintings is gone."

Emma's heart sank. She realized what he was implying and quickly explained, "I didn't set the fire. I had nothing to do with any of it. Just look into it—"

He cut her off softly, but his gaze was so cold and distant that it scared her. "Sandra's biggest dream was to be a painter, Emma. Those paintings meant everything to her. There's no way she would destroy her own work."

Her hands started shaking. "What are you trying to say?"

Wesley stood up, looming over Emma with a disapproving look. "I haven't told Adam or Sandra that it was you. But you're not getting away from this. It's time you learned how it feels to have something you care about destroyed."

Only then did she realize that he was holding the doll Helena had made for her before she died.

He clenched his fist slowly, crushing the doll in his palm. "I know how much this means to you. How much would it tear you apart if I just destroyed it?"

She scrambled off the couch, lunging toward him. "No!"

Helena had made this doll for Emma when she was ten, stitching it together by hand while she was sick.

Even though Helena was too sick to hold the needle properly, she insisted on finishing it. In her final moments, she pressed it into Emma's hands and murmured, "I won't be around to watch you grow up, Em. Look at this doll whenever you want to feel close to me."

Later on, Emma secretly stitched Helena's cremation jewelry into the doll. She slept holding it every night, clinging to it through one difficult night after another.

But now, Wesley actually wanted to destroy it.

He snapped, "I promised you everything would return to normal after Sandra left. You're the one misbehaving."

With that, he raised his hand and threw the doll into the fireplace. A heartbroken scream tore from her throat as she scrambled toward the flames. "No!"

She plunged her arms into the fire, ignoring the searing pain as she desperately reached for the burning doll. She trembled as she clutched the ruined doll to her chest, her tears soaking into the burned cloth.

Footsteps echoed behind her. Wesley passed by and left the room without looking back.

She spent the whole night sobbing over the doll.

…

Early the next morning, Emma walked out of the villa, clutching the charred doll and pulling her suitcase behind her. She was almost at the gate when Sandra wheeled into her path, blocking her way.

She rasped out, "Get out of my way."

Sandra sneered. "Why are you so upset, Em? After you leave, I doubt we'll get another chance to meet. Adam and Wesley are convinced that you're heartless. They'll never let you come back home."

Emma looked up coldly. "Good. That's exactly what I want. Besides, you'll be dead soon. We won't be seeing each other again."

Hearing that, Sandra burst out laughing. "You actually bought the story that I was dying, Emma?"

Without warning, she rose from her wheelchair and started walking toward Emma. "That was all just a trick to fool Wesley. When I revealed that it was a misdiagnosis, he'll be overjoyed."

She leaned closer to Emma's ear. "Do you want to hear a secret? Your marriage certificate with Wesley is fake. I'm his legal spouse."

She dropped that bombshell and waited for Emma to crack, but things didn't play out the way she wanted.

Emma's knuckles turned white as she clutched the handle of her suitcase, but her face remained calm. "Then I wish you both all the happiness in the world."

After saying that, she turned and walked out of the gate without looking back.

Standing at the curb, Emma was waiting for a taxi when Wesley's black sedan pulled up slowly beside her. He rolled down the window and asked, "Are you leaving?"

She hummed in acknowledgment.

His tone was solemn. "Maybe we should just take a break to cool off. When you come back, we can finally sit down and work this out."

She didn't respond and got in the taxi without saying anything.

Seeing his car pull away, she thought to herself, "You're going to regret treating me like this once you find out the truth, Wesley."

When the taxi took off, Emma took one last look at the villa that had witnessed all her joy and pain. Her expression was now utterly lifeless.

She looked away and muttered, "Take me to the airport."

The two cars headed in opposite directions, mirroring how their lives would never cross paths again.