As the door to the hospital room opened, they saw Juliette was propped weakly against the headboard, waiting for surgery.

The moment she saw Franco, her dull eyes suddenly lit up with life.

Without the slightest regard for the fact that this man was her brother-in-law, she reached out and clutched his hand.

"Franco, I'm scared… what if I don't wake up?"

Franco sat down at her bedside, his voice steady, reassuring. "You will. Just focus on the surgery."

Tears welled in Juliette's eyes at the perfect moment, shimmering without spilling.

"Then… when I wake up, will you be here? I want the first thing I see to be you."

"Yes," he promised softly. "I'll be right here waiting."

Not far away, Jerissa stood silently, watching the look in his eyes—a tenderness so deep it bordered on devotion.

But she knew too well. That gaze wasn't really meant for Juliette.

Perhaps, long ago, it was Nicole who had once laid in that hospital bed, clutching his hand, whispering not to leave.

Suddenly, Juliette sneezed twice in quick succession, her face turning pale further.

"Sister, did you spray perfume? You know I'm allergic!"

Franco’s expression darkened, his brows knitting as he snapped, “How vicious can you be? Are you trying to sabotage Juliette’s surgery on purpose? Get out—before I lose my temper.”

Jerissa turned without a word, digging her nails into her palm to ground herself.

She hadn't touched perfume at all. But if Juliette said she had, then that was all that mattered.

It had always been like this.

Juliette was the one who broke their father’s antique vase, yet she framed Jerissa for it—leaving Jerissa to be punished and locked in the dark basement all night.

When their father forgot important documents at home, it was Jerissa who braved a storm to deliver them. But when he asked, Juliette calmly claimed the credit.

As Jerissa reached the door, she caught sight of her sister's gaze.

Juliette truly believed that with a few practiced tears and delicate pretenses, she could make Franco fall for her—that soon, this brother-in-law would become her husband.

Jerissa's lips curved into the faintest smile.

'Take him, then.' She spoke silently in her heart.

'Soon, the title of Mrs. Alba, even Franco himself, will be yours. But when the moment comes that you realize you were only ever a substitute—don't cry.'

Just then, Jerald approached, his expression was thunderous.

The sharp scent of disinfectant filled the corridor. Jerissa had barely turned when his cold face loomed over her.

"What are you doing here?"

Before she could answer, his voice cut sharper, laced with warning. "Don't tell me you want to back out. Too late. Juliette's surgery is already arranged."

Jerissa's throat burned as she looked at the man who was her father in name only.

"My mother is just across the street in the nursing home. Have you gone to see her even once?"

A flicker of guilt flashed in his eyes. "Why bring her up?"

"Why not?" Jerissa's gaze hardened.

Her mother had told her once: Dad only married her because of her grandfather's influence. And the day her grandfather's family went bankrupt, he served divorce papers. By the next day, he had married Juliette's mother.

But fate was cruel—Juliette's mother died in childbirth, and ever since, her father had spoiled Juliette without restraint.

"You were married to my mother for years. Even if there was no love, now that she's this ill—"

"Stop trying to guilt-trip me!" Jerald snapped. "You stayed in the Cortez family for money! For your mother's medical bills, for your share of the inheritance. Don't act so high and mighty."

"I’ve already given you everything you wanted. I’ll take care of the divorce as soon as possible. What you want is foreign stock, isn’t it? All so you can take your mother abroad? Fine—go. But don’t ever come back.”

"Divorce?"

The hospital room door opened abruptly.

Franco stepped out, his brows drawn tight, his voice edged with cold suspicion.

"Where exactly are you going?"

Jerissa avoided his gaze, her tone was light and dismissive. "Nothing. We were just talking about the past."

Franco clearly didn't believe her. But before he could press further, a nurse entered the ward and began wheeling Juliette out.

"The patient is ready for surgery. We'll begin shortly."

Juliette clutched Franco's sleeve once more. "Franco… I won't die, right? You'll be waiting for me outside the operating room, won't you?"

Her trembling voice pulled every ounce of his attention away. He bent down, his tone soft and coaxed. "I'll be right here. Don't think nonsense. Just listen to the doctors."

He personally followed as they pushed her bed toward the operating room.

Their hands stayed clasped tightly together until the very last moment, when the doors forced them apart.

Around them, nurses and waiting families whispered in awe.

"My God, the way he looks at her is so full of love!"

"They must be deeply in love. I'm envious."

Every word struck like a needle into Jerissa's chest, leaving a dense ache that spread in waves.

She had thought she no longer cared.

So why was there still that inexplicable sting, spreading quietly through her veins?

After asking the doctor about the surgery duration, Franco suddenly seized Jerissa's wrist.

"Come with me."

He pulled her along without explanation, straight into an elevator.

When the doors slid open, she froze.

The obstetrics and gynecology department.

Her eyes widened. "Why are we here?"

He turned back, his voice calm, almost indifferent. "For a checkup."

"A… gynecology checkup?" She couldn't believe it.

Throughout their marriage, even when his desire had burned out of control and his eyes turned red, if he wasn’t using contraception, he had always forced himself to stop. And now he was bringing her in for a gynecological exam?

"Yes." He cut her off. "It's already arranged. Go in."

A nurse appeared quickly to lead the way, and Jerissa, still reeling, followed helplessly through a series of tests.

When she finally received the report, her eyes drifted down to the results column.

[Good physical condition. All indicators suitable for childbirth.]

The words landed like a hammer against her chest.

Her breath hitched. Her heart thundered. He had brought her here… because he wanted her to bear his child?

But before she could process it, Franco, seemingly oblivious to her turmoil, took the report and walked straight into a consultation room.

"Come in."

Jerissa forced a deep breath, shoving her tangled emotions down, and followed.

The doctor greeted them with practiced ease, already pulling out prepared documents.

"Mr. Alba, Mrs. Alba, based on the test results, Mrs. Alba is in excellent condition. And the frozen eggs Miss Nicole left behind are still well-preserved. We can arrange the procedure soon. If Mr. Alba provides a sample, we can proceed directly with embryo implantation."

The words shattered through her like lightning.

"Nicole's... frozen eggs?"

Jerissa stood rooted to the spot, her blood rushing backward in a dizzying chill.

Her hands and feet went ice-cold.

Franco ignored Jerissa's outburst and turned back to the doctor.

"What's the success rate of a single embryo transfer? I've read the reports—women suffer a lot during the procedure."

The doctor adjusted his glasses. "With the current medical standards and Mrs. Alba's physical condition, there should be no problem. I'll prescribe her ovulation-stimulating hormones. The operation can be scheduled for the day after tomorrow."

Jerissa sat rigidly in the chair, a chill seeping into her bones.

Is he worried about hurting me now?

What was this—compassion? Charity?

It felt absurd, like an executioner raising his blade only to pause and ask gently, “Are you afraid of pain?” Cruelty wrapped in false kindness.

She lurched to her feet and staggered toward the door.

"Jerissa!"

Franco caught up in two strides, gripping her wrist hard. "What are you doing?"

She shook him off with force. "Franco, what makes you think I would ever bear a child for you and another woman?"

Ignoring her anger, he replied indifferently, "Because you're my wife. Bearing children for the Alba family is your duty."

The words struck like a thousand ice-needles piercing her skull.

Glancing at his watch, he added impatiently, "Stop making a scene. I'll provide my sample now. Juliette's surgery should be finished soon—I need to be there when she wakes up. Take your medication and go home. Don't wander around."

Without hesitation, he turned and walked away, his back straight and unyielding, not a trace of reluctance in his stride.

Jerissa stood frozen in place, her vision blurring.

So this was her role. Not only a substitute... but a tool.

No... She was worse than that.

Even a tool for childbirth could at least give life connected to itself. But she? She was nothing more than a vessel, a container for Franco and Nicole’s so-called “love crystallization.”

Her chest tightened. Instead of going home, she flagged down a taxi and headed straight to the sanatorium.

Through the glass window of the ward, she gazed at her sleeping mother. The sterile light cast gentle shadows across the room, and Jerissa’s vision blurred as her eyes turned red.

“Mom,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

"Don't we look alike? You loved a man who never loved you. I married one who only ever saw me as a substitute. And now he wants me to carry a child for him and another woman. Loving someone who doesn't love you... it's the most painful thing in the world."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. She wiped them away, her eyes slowly hardening with resolve.

"But it's alright, Mom. We won't waste our lives here. Once I divorce him, I'll take you away to a place where no one knows us. Somewhere with the best medicine, where they can cure you. We'll live well—better than well."

When she returned home from the sanatorium, the first thing she saw was servants clearing out her belongings from the master bedroom.

She frowned. "What are you doing?"

The housekeeper looked uncomfortable. "Sir said… the master bedroom needs to be emptied for Miss Juliette. Your things will be moved to the guest room."

"Juliette?" Her voice dropped, cold and sharp. "She just had surgery. Why isn't she in the hospital?"

The answer came moments later, in a message from Franco.

[Juliette's operation was a success. The doctor recommended rest. Our home has a better environment and a medical team available. You'll stay in the guest room for now.]

Jerissa suddenly understood.

Nicole had once been ill like this—ill until the end.

And now, with Juliette's surgery behind her, her frailty and her resemblance to Nicole made her the perfect patient for him to guard over, day and night.

Franco's selfishness had never bothered to hide itself.

She laughed suddenly, a low, bitter laugh that carried no joy.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was her father.

[The overseas shares are now in your name. The divorce papers are ready. Tomorrow, someone will present them to Franco under the pretense of a cooperation agreement. Once he signs, you'll be free.]

Her grip tightened around the phone. For the first time in what felt like forever, the fog in her chest began to clear.

This farce—would finally end soon.