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."

All the blood in Coleen's body seemed to rush backward. Her vision blurred as she stumbled to her feet and ran out the door.

Behind her, Bruce's shocked gaze lingered—but she didn't look back.

By the time she reached the lobby downstairs, the entrance was already swarming with reporters.

They descended on her like vultures scenting fresh blood, microphones shoved in her face, flashes exploding like gunfire.

"Dr. Vega! Your psychology clinic has been reported and temporarily shut down! There are also accusations online claiming your master's thesis was plagiarized—do you have any comments?"

"I didn't plagiarize!"

She pushed through the crowd, her grief raw and blinding. Her father was gone—she couldn't think, couldn't breathe—she just needed to see him one last time.

"Move!"

Her shout was sharp, but it was swallowed by the noise around her.

"Ms. Vega, please respond to the allegations!"

The reporters pressed closer, reading comments from their live broadcast like feeding off her misery.

"She could've stayed a rich wife, but no—she had to compete for patients. Guess mental illness is just her way of making money!"

"Plagiarized her thesis, used her family's influence to get her degree—typical spoiled socialite!"

Just then, Bruce arrived. He didn't expect that his father-in-law's health would be that poor. Nonetheless, he looked at Coleen calmly.

"Coleen," he said coolly, taking her arm. "He's gone. You can't bring him back. Right now, you need to compose yourself and maintain a positive image for the media. Otherwise, Sandoval Group's stock will take a hit."

"Don't worry, I'll handle your father's funeral arrangements."

Coleen stared at him, disbelief and heartbreak twisting together.

"He's my father. He just died, and you want me to smile for the cameras instead of saying goodbye?"

"I visited him last night," Her voice trembled, "He told me he regretted how he treated you. He asked me to apologize on his behalf."

"For the sake of our thirteen years, Bruce," she choked out. "I'm begging you—turn on the security system. Let me see my father one last time."

His hand hesitated. For a moment, she saw a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes—a faint hope she clung to. But before he could answer, Emily came rushing through the crowd.

"Bruce, take Madam away first! I'll handle the reporters, don't worry about me—ah!"

Her words ended in a cry as the reporters shoved her to the ground.

"Who are you? We want Coleen! Let her explain herself!"

Bruce's grip shifted direction. In Coleen's disbelieving gaze, he turned from her—and bent down to help Emily up.

"Coleen can handle her own mess," he said curtly. "You're hurt. We're going to the hospital."

And just like that, he led Emily away without looking back.

They left Coleen standing alone—surrounded by cameras, microphones, and sneering questions.

She endured every jab, every cruel laugh, until the crowd finally dispersed, satisfied with their footage.

Only then did she stagger out of the building, hail a cab, and race toward the hospital.

She ran the entire way to her father's ward—one shoe lost somewhere in the chaos, hair tangled, hands shaking. People stared as she passed, but she saw none of it.

At the ward door, she caught a nurse rushing by.

"Where's the patient in this room?" she demanded, her voice trembling.

The nurse frowned.

"Oh, he's been cremated. He passed away this morning, and since the beds are full, we went ahead with the cremation after getting the family's consent."

The nurse hesitated, then added softly, "Strange, though... I've worked here for years, and I've never seen anyone cremated that fast."

Realizing she'd said too much, the nurse stopped abruptly and pointed toward another ward. "The family member who signed the papers is there."

Coleen turned—and through the half-open door, she saw him.

Bruce.

Carefully tending to Emily's scraped knees, his movements gentle, intimate.

The air between them glowed with quiet warmth.

Coleen closed her eyes. Suddenly, she didn't feel anger anymore. Not even sorrow. Just... emptiness.

Leaning against the wall, she pulled out her phone.

A flight reminder flashed—tomorrow morning. Then, a message from her clinic assistant popped up.

[Miss Coleen, we'll have to close the clinic for two weeks. By the way, someone left flowers for you—I think they meant something. There's a note.]

She opened the photo.

It was a bouquet of roses, and tucked inside, a card.

The handwriting was faint but familiar, like a ghost from thirteen years ago. [I, Bruce Sandoval, vows to share joy and sorrow with Emily Olivar for the rest of my life.]

Coleen's lips curved into the faintest, brittle smile. Her fingers moved across the screen.

[Throw it away. No one wants it.]

Suddenly, the ward door swung open.

Emily stood there, smiling sweetly as she clutched a folder in her hands.

"Madam," she said gently, "this should be the last time I call you that."

She handed over the folder—it was the divorce agreement.

"Mr. Sandoval—oh, I mean, Bruce has agreed to the divorce."