Before Coleen could collect her thoughts, a friend request popped up—from Emily, the woman who had ruined her clinic's opening day.

After a moment of hesitation, she accepted.

The woman didn't say a word, but curiosity got the better of Coleen. Almost without thinking, she tapped into Emily's social feed.

The most recent post showed two interlaced hands, fingers tightly entwined.

The caption read. [Just another ordinary day. After overtime, someone took me out for a candlelight dinner.]

That "ordinary day" was Coleen's birthday.

Bruce had texted her that he was too busy to come home. Instead, he sent a towering two-tier cake and an expensive piece of jewelry.

Coleen had sat alone in the huge apartment that night, staring at the untouched cake, remembering a different time—when they'd had nothing.

Back then, they lived in a cramped, mold-stained apartment with peeling paint.

He spent 9.9 dollars on a tiny sponge cake, topped with a fake cherry dyed bright red. They split it in half, sharing each bite like it was a treasure.

When she blew out the single candle, she whispered, "I wish you'll be with me every birthday."

Bruce laughed and told her to change her wish. "You don't have to wish for that. Being with you isn't a dream—it's a promise. Birthdays, anniversaries, even the most ordinary days—I'll always be there."

Did the man in his thirties still remember saying that?

Coleen's hand trembled as she scrolled. She couldn't bring herself to look any further.

She stood abruptly and went to find her father's doctor.

The man looked surprised to see her.

"Mrs. Sandoval—it's been a long time since you've visited the hospital."

This hospital had once belonged to the Vega family—until her father fell gravely ill, and Bruce took over its management.

"Mr. Vega's condition isn't very good," the doctor said cautiously. "The new medication still has some side effects—"

"What new medication?" Coleen cut him off.

He hesitated, clearly uncomfortable. "A few months ago, after Mr. Vega's third surgery, Mr. Sandoval's secretary came and instructed us to change the treatment plan. We started him on a new drug."

Coleen's pupils constricted and her lips trembled. "You changed his medication without telling me?"

"We thought you had already discussed it with Mr. Sandoval," the doctor explained quickly. "He told us that anything his secretary said represented his own wishes. We wanted to confirm with you, but... the secretary didn't seem very patient."

Coleen didn't remember how she walked out of the hospital.

Her mind kept circling the same unbearable thought.

Was Bruce punishing her father for opposing their marriage all those years ago? Had he taken revenge now, when the old man was powerless, when she herself was trapped in a gilded cage called marriage?

As those thoughts clouded her mind, she couldn't bring herself to go back to that suffocating penthouse.

She wandered aimlessly through the streets until, somehow, she stopped in front of their old apartment—the one they had rented after getting married.

She could still remember those nights. The damp walls. The faint smell of mildew. The two of them clung to each other under a thin blanket in winter, promising each other a better life.

"One day," he'd said, "you'll never have to live like this again."

Coleen reached for the rusty doorknob, unsure why she even wanted to go inside. But as her hand brushed the metal, she froze.

From within came the sound of heavy breathing, mingled with soft, muffled moans.

She just lightly touched it, but the old door creaked.

The sounds abruptly stopped.

A woman's voice spoke, confused. "Did you hear that? Someone's outside."

After a pause, a man's low voice answered, indifferent. "Probably just a rat. Ignore it."

Something inside her shattered completely.

Coleen stood motionless in the cold hallway, every nerve frozen solid. For a moment, she wanted to storm in—scream, curse, destroy. But she was no longer young.

Years of restraint and obligation bound her like invisible chains—demanding she stay composed, elegant, dignified—the perfect Mrs. Sandoval.

When the couple finally finished and the door opened, Coleen fled before they could see her.

She ran—faster and faster—tears trailing behind her like rain.

Someone passing by muttered, "Huh? Is it raining?"

By the time she reached a nearby law firm, it was nearly dawn. Only a few offices were still open.

She threw down a thick envelope of cash, and said, "I need a divorce agreement. Now."

They moved quickly, driven by her money.

She hadn't slept a minute by the time the draft was done. She told them to demand half of everything—assets, property, shares. Her voice shook as she recounted her husband's betrayal, but when the lawyer asked her to describe the state of their marriage, her throat closed up.

After all, Bruce had never failed her in public. To everyone else in Chicago, they were a perfect couple, his gentle first love that he'd married against all odds.

The irony made her sick.

In the end, she whispered, "Forget it. I don't want anything as long as I can divorce him."

The next day, clutching the freshly printed agreement, Coleen walked into Sandoval Corporation for the first time in years.

The receptionist had changed several times over the years.

The young woman behind the counter didn't recognize her and asked politely, "Do you have an appointment, ma'am?"

Coleen answered evenly, "I'm Bruce's wife."

The receptionist froze, her eyes widening in surprise before she quickly called out, "Secretary Olivar!"

Emily appeared soon after, her makeup light and polished, her expression tinged with mild surprise.

"Miss Coleen?" she greeted her with feigned warmth. "Mr. Sandoval hasn't arrived yet. Why don't you come up with me first?"

Coleen followed as Emily walked ahead confidently, weaving through the halls of the company.

Every step felt foreign, like she was visiting someone else's world—even though this was the empire she had helped build, brick by brick, beside Bruce.

Back then, she had been his everything—his receptionist, accountant, and logistics manager. She had worked late nights, taken risks, sacrificed sleep and dreams—all believing she'd work alongside him for a lifetime.

Instead, she'd been turned into the idle, ornamental Mrs. Sandoval.

When they reached his office, Coleen half expected a sneer or a warning. But Emily merely smiled and quietly shut the door behind them.

Coleen stood still, her gaze sweeping across the room.

Everywhere she looked, traces of another woman lingered—sanitary pads tucked discreetly into a drawer, a pink scarf draped over a chair, and a woman's coat hanging by the wall.

Every detail screamed shared life.

Finally, her gaze stopped at the desk—where a framed photograph of a young boy sat proudly in the center.

Her fingers trembled as she reached for the photo album beside it.

Page after page revealed a life of the boy's: his first time turning over, his first crawl, his first steps, his first smile.

Then came photos of Bruce, Emily, and the boy together—smiling like a perfect little family.

Emily approached with a tray of tea, her tone deceptively calm.

"Three years ago, after the auction, Bruce and I slept together for the first time. Do you know how it happened?"

Coleen turned around but stayed silent.

"He'd been drugged that night," Emily said with a soft laugh. "He thought I was you. Afterward, he told me to keep it a secret, then transferred me to work directly under him."

Up close, their faces did share faint similarities. But Coleen only let out a small, bitter laugh.

"Maybe he used me as your substitute," Emily went on, "or maybe he just needed someone to vent his frustrations. Either way... I got pregnant."

Her tone grew almost triumphant. "He was thrilled, you know. He held me all night, told me he loved me over and over. Then he gave me property, a car..."

She looked Coleen in the eyes, her tone laced with pride.

"Even if you don't want to admit it, Coleen, you—the so-called first love everyone in Chicago's elite circles envies—have been defeated by me, a substitute with nothing but a vocational diploma."

Before Emily could blink, Coleen snatched the teacup and flung its contents straight at her.

However, to her surprise, Emily screamed, slapped herself hard, and deliberately fell to the floor just as the office door burst open.

Bruce stepped in, smiling, holding a luxury handbag.

The instant he saw the scene, every trace of tenderness vanished from his face. "Coleen! What are you doing?!"

Emily leaned weakly into his arms and whispered tearfully, "Mr. Sandoval, I'm fine... but Madam seems very angry."

Coleen let out a bitter laugh—mocking him, mocking herself, mocking the thirteen years of blindness she had called love.

She raised the photo album in her hand.

"Bruce, why don't you explain this photo first?" she said coldly. "It's been sitting here in your company all these years. What's wrong? Are you afraid I might harm your son?"

Bruce frowned deeply. "Coleen, you have to understand me. I'm a man—I need children."

His next words struck her like a blade. "You lost your ability to have children. You can't take away my right to be a father—"

"Then how did I lose that ability, Bruce?!" Coleen's voice broke into fury.

His face darkened.

She took a trembling step closer.

"Don't you remember? You don't, do you? When we went to that project meeting together—we both drank until our stomachs bled. I lived like that for three years!"

Her voice broke. "When the doctor said I could never conceive again, you said you'd get a vasectomy—that we'd be child-free, together. I even stopped you, afraid you'd sneak out to do it behind my back."

She laughed bitterly. "Now that I think about it... How ironic."

Bruce tightened his jaw, his expression softening slightly. "I know I've wronged you. Whatever compensation you want, I'll agree. Just... don't take it out on the child."

Coleen's lips curved into a faint, broken smile—she wasn't sure if it was out of pain or numbness.

"Compensation?" she repeated softly.

Then she pulled out a document from her bag—the divorce agreement.

"As compensation, Bruce," she said, voice steady, "sign the divorce papers."

Bruce's face darkened instantly. He flung the divorce agreement onto the floor, his tone cold and dismissive.

"The company's stock is in a critical growth phase right now. I don't have time for your childish tantrums."

So that was all her pain meant to him—her anger, her breakdown—everything she felt—was nothing more than a tantrum, something that could be "compensated for."

A wave of exhaustion washed over Coleen. She watched him cradle Emily protectively, and her voice came out calm, almost detached.

"If you don't want a divorce, then bring that child to me. I'll raise him."

"No way!"

The air froze. Emily's eyes widened in panic before she dropped to her knees.

"Madam, I never meant to destroy your marriage. Please—don't take my child away..."

For once, Bruce's composure cracked. The man who had always been so composed, so untouchable, now looked almost... desperate.

The last time Coleen had seen that expression was years ago—when she was lying in a hospital bed and the doctor said she would never bear children again.

And now, he wore that same expression... for another woman kneeling before her.

"Coleen," he said sharply, "Emily is a mother. You've never known what that feels like—what gives you the right to humiliate her? She has suffered enough!"

He gritted his teeth, eyes filled with blame.

"When I was trapped overseas and fighting for my life, she was the one who risked everything to save me. You were still in Chicago, living comfortably as Mrs. Sandoval! Emily has been through hell with me. She deserves everything she has!"

His words hit her like thunder. Coleen almost thought she had misheard him.

When he was stranded abroad, it was her who begged every connection her family had, she had sold off half the Vega family's fortune to bring him home alive.

And now, in his mouth, she had become the indifferent wife who "stood by and did nothing."

Emily's eyes flickered nervously. "Bruce, please, stop... Madam will only get angrier. Let me apologize. Please don't argue because of me—"

"She's the one who should apologize to you!" Bruce cut her off. He stepped forward, grabbed Coleen's chin, forcing her to look up at him.

His eyes were cold, sharp and unfamiliar—filled with hostility.

"Apologize to Emily. Bow your head, and we'll forget this ever happened. From now on, act like a proper wife. Our relationship can still be salvaged."

"I won't." Her voice was steady, but her eyes were hollow.

Something in that calm defiance seemed to wound him—he turned away sharply, jaw tight.

Just then, Emily shifted slightly, her skirt brushing against her bruised knee. Bruce's expression softened at once, a trace of tenderness flashing across his face.

His grip on Coleen's chin tightened painfully. His voice was like a blade:

"You owe Emily an apology. Since you refused to bow before, then kneel now—and beg her forgiveness!"

Coleen's lips trembled with refusal, but Bruce seemed to anticipate it. He took out his phone and dialed.

"Dr. Waylon, pause the machine that's keeping Mr. Vega alive."

"No—!"

Coleen's face went pale. She stared at him, disbelief clawing through her chest. "Bruce, that's a crime! Why are you involving my father in our quarrel?!"

Bruce's tone remained eerily calm. "You were the one who tried to take Emily's child first. She's injured, yet you forced her to kneel to you. Either we stop the machine... or you kneel and apologize. Choose."

Her breath hitched.

She remembered the day he knelt before her father—to marry her, he had bowed for an entire day in the rain. Now, years later, he made her kneel—not out of love, but as a threat.

Slowly, Coleen closed her eyes. Her body trembled as she sank to her knees.

"Please," she whispered, her voice cracking. "Spare my father. I've never begged you for anything in thirteen years, but I'm begging you now—don't hurt my family."

Bruce's hand tightened around the phone. For a moment, something flickered across his face—then it was gone.

"The apology," he said icily.

"...I'm sorry. Please... let my father go. Are you satisfied now?" Coleen choked out.

Emily stood aside, her eyes glimmering with undisguised pride.

The woman once praised as Chicago's perfect wife was now kneeling at her feet, begging for mercy.

'So this is all that the legendary 'first love' amounts to. Tsk. Not so untouchable after all,' she thought.

Bruce said nothing, so Coleen remained kneeling, staring blankly at the ground, her heart hollowed out.

Thirteen years of love—shattered into dust.

After what felt like forever, Bruce finally spoke into the phone.

"Keep the machine running. Continue the treatment."

But the voice on the other end came back distorted, trembling.

"Mr. Sandoval, it's already too late. The machine was only off for less than a minute... but the patient has already stopped breathing."