"Ms. Hall, these are the details of the feigned death service you booked with us. The date of death is set for the wedding, half a month from now. The cause of death will be suicide by drowning, and the deceased is yourself. Please confirm and sign here."

Wendy Hall nodded. Without hesitation, she signed her name at the bottom of the document.

The bustling street was alive with chatter and movement. As Wendy walked home alone, she glanced up, and there it was—the giant screen on a nearby building, looping a video of Grayson Bryce proposing to her.

In the video, the ever-composed Grayson trembling slightly as he knelt on one knee, holding out the ring. When her voice finally uttered, "I do," the tears he had held back spilled over, glistening trails tracing the joy on his face.

A beautiful moment. So beautiful, in fact, that two girls standing nearby watching clung to each other, moved to tears.

"Oh my god, Grayson loves Wendy so much!"

"Right? He's like the ultimate romantic. Did you hear they're childhood sweethearts? When he was seventeen, he couldn't wait to confess to her. By twenty, he had the world's most expensive pink diamond crafted into a crown for her, saying she'd always be his princess. At twenty-three, when she was in a car accident and the blood bank ran out of her rare type, he gave his own blood, almost draining himself to save her. And at twenty-six, he proposed to her live for the entire world to see. How could anyone be more devoted than him?"

The words blurred together, a clamor of admiration that Wendy didn't need to hear. She lowered her gaze, masking the faint smirk of self-mockery in her eyes.

Everyone envied her love story with Grayson. Everyone believed he was utterly, hopelessly in love with her.

No one would imagine that Grayson had secretly kept a minor internet celebrity hidden away in a luxurious apartment for three whole years.

The truth had struck her like a blade, cruel and unrelenting, when she discovered that his "late nights at the office" were, in fact, spent entwined with another woman. The first time she saw the incriminating photos—intimate and shameless—her chest had felt hollowed out, her heart carved open and left bleeding.

And yet, her mind drifted back to another memory. When she was fifteen, her parents had divorced in a storm of screaming and accusations, each fighting to abandon her. That was the day Grayson had pushed open the door, taken her hand, and said, "It doesn't matter they don't want you, I do."

From that moment on, he gave her his entire heart. He fought for her, breaking three ribs in a street fight. He remembered every detail of her life, even the dates of her monthly cycle. His social media was a shrine to her. Every friend of his knew him as the guy hopelessly in love with Wendy Hall.

When he slid the wedding ring onto her finger, his tears mingled with his kisses, his words trembling with pleas. He begged her to love him for the rest of their lives. He begged her never to leave him. If she did, he said, it would drive him insane.

But in actuality, it was he who had betrayed her first.

If that was how it was meant to end, she would vanish. She'd fake her death, change her name, and disappear completely from his world. She would ensure he never found her again.

Wendy wiped away the dampness forming at the corner of her eyes. Just as she was about to step forward, a sleek Maybach screeched to a halt before her.

The rear door opened, and a tall figure stepped out, striding toward her with urgency.

"Wendy, weren't you supposed to wait at home? I told you I'd pick you up after work to try on wedding dresses. Why did you come out alone?"

Grayson took her hand as he spoke, frowning when he felt the coldness of her fingertips. Without hesitation, he slipped off his coat and draped it over her shoulders.

"Your hands are freezing. You didn't even wear a coat. Are you trying to make me worry myself sick?"

She didn't reply. Instead, she raised her eyes to meet his, searching his gaze. The concern there seemed genuine.

And yet, that only deepened her confusion.

How could someone love two people at once?

Grayson tightened the coat around her shoulders, gently urging her toward the waiting car. As he did, the two girls across the street, drawn by the commotion, turned their heads instinctively. When they recognized the pair, their eyes lit up with unrestrained excitement.

They hurried over, faces flushed and words tumbling out in nervous fragments. "Excuse me, are you… are you Wendy and Grayson? We—we're huge fans of you two as a couple. Could we… take a photo with you?"

Wendy hesitated, unwilling to disappoint their earnest enthusiasm. After a brief pause, she nodded.

With permission granted, the two girls quickly positioned themselves, sandwiching the couple as they faced the camera.

Grayson was never fond of photographs, yet he instinctively placed his arm around Wendy, leaning into the frame with her.

After the photo was taken, the girls blushed even deeper, showering the couple with effusive thanks. Their words brimmed with wishes for the couple's everlasting love and a blissful marriage.

'Grow old together?' Wendy thought bitterly. She turned to glance at Grayson.

He met her gaze, his lips curving into a smile so tender it seemed to drip with affection, a quiet acknowledgment of the girls' blessings.

But only she knew the truth. They wouldn't grow old together.

When they arrived at the bridal boutique, Wendy stepped out of the car, greeted by a staff member who had clearly been waiting for her. The woman approached with practiced enthusiasm, her tone carrying a trace of awe.

"Ms. Hall, the thousand custom wedding gowns Mr. Bryce ordered for you are ready. You're welcome to try them on anytime to see which one you like best."

Wendy said nothing, her gaze drifting toward Grayson. He stood a short distance away, engrossed in something on his phone. His expression, unguarded for a fleeting moment, betrayed a hunger she recognized all too well. It was the same look she had seen in the illicit photos of him and the minor internet celebrity—the same gaze that spoke of raw, unbridled desire.

Sensing her eyes on him, Grayson quickly tucked his phone away and walked over, an apologetic smile softening his face. "Wendy, I'm sorry. Something urgent came up at work, and I have to go handle it. I've arranged for the driver to wait for you here. Once you've tried on the gowns, he'll take you home."

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before rushing into a different car. The door closed with finality, leaving her standing there, alone.

The boutique staff member approached cautiously, her voice tentative. "Ms. Hall, would you like to start trying on the dresses now?"

Wendy withdrew her gaze from the departing car and shook her head. "No. I don't want any of them."

After all, at their wedding, the only bride present would be a "dead" one.

Wendy settled into the car for her ride home, her fingers reflexively unlocking her phone. A message from Rita Olson popped up almost immediately—a screenshot.

In the image, Rita was sprawled on the floor in a provocative black bunny outfit, her legs draped with sheer stockings. Her expression was hazy, her gaze both vulnerable and enticing as she looked into the camera.

The message read: [If Master arrives within twenty minutes, this little bunny is yours to devour.]

Beneath it was a brief reply from Grayson's black-profile avatar: [Wait for me.]

Wendy turned off the screen. She closed her eyes, willing herself to suppress the needle-like pain pricking at her heart.

She had thought that after seeing so many such photos, she'd become numb, that her heart would learn to shield itself. But no amount of practice could dull the ache. It swept through her body, relentless, invading even her bones.

Finally, she forced herself to shut her eyes, shutting out the screen as well.

Late that night, Wendy curled up at the edge of the bed, her eyes swollen and red, exhaustion dragging her into a restless sleep. Yet the phone on her bedside table buzzed relentlessly, vibrating every hour until the early morning.

When she finally woke and checked her messages, she found that Rita had been sending her photos throughout the night.

Each photo showed something unmistakable—used contraceptives, one after another.

The accompanying message was sharp as a dagger: [He had me all night. Tried every position imaginable until I couldn't even get out of bed. Has he ever been like this with you?]

Wendy didn't react outwardly, yet she couldn't stop herself from rereading the words and images over and over, dozens of times, as if the repetition would somehow make them unreal.

When Grayson returned, he found her lying on the bed, her eyes swollen and red, clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles had turned white.

His chest tightened, and he hurried to her side, pulling her into his arms, his voice taut with concern.

"Wendy, why are you crying?"

Crying?

Wendy blinked, as if only now realizing it herself. Her fingers brushed her cheeks, and she found them damp. At some point, without knowing it, tears had carved their way down her face.

After a long moment, she let out a soft laugh, though it failed to mask the sadness lingering in her eyes.

"It's nothing. I just saw some… deeply moving photos."

Grayson stroked her face, his tone indulgent, almost playful. "What kind of photos could make you cry like this, baby? Are you trying to break my heart?"

Before she could answer, the butler knocked lightly on the open door and spoke with measured respect. "Sir, the car is ready."

Grayson nodded, then turned back to Wendy, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Wendy, I was wrong yesterday for leaving you alone at the bridal boutique. To make it up to you, I'm taking you to an auction today. Whatever you like, it's yours. Okay?"

Wendy didn't respond, but Grayson took her silence as consent. He scooped her up effortlessly and carried her out of the room, personally selecting her dress, jewelry, and shoes.

At the auction, Grayson spared no expense, bidding on every item during the first half to please Wendy, even though she seemed indifferent to it all.

During the intermission, a group of his friends approached from behind, their voices loud and familiar.

"Well, well, I wondered who was sweeping up everything in the first half—it's Grayson, of course!"

"And here I thought I'd snag something for my grandma's birthday. Looks like I'm going home empty-handed."

"Grayson, the legendary wife-spoiler! Give us a break and let us have a shot at something in the second half, won't you?"

Their teasing was lighthearted, but Grayson barely spared them a glance. He continued peeling an orange for Wendy. "Don't bother trying. Everything in the second half is for Wendy, too."

The men groaned dramatically, clutching their chests as if wounded, though their grins betrayed their admiration.

Grayson ignored them, carefully offering the peeled orange to Wendy. His voice was soft, coaxing.

"Here, baby. It's sweet. Have a bite."

Wendy shook her head faintly, her expression unreadable.

"I'm not hungry. You eat it."

The second half of the auction began soon after. Just as the first item was unveiled, the grand doors to the hall swung open.

A waiter stepped in, bowing respectfully as he escorted a striking woman in a red dress into the room.

In that moment, Wendy felt the subtle stiffening of Grayson's body beside her.

She lifted her eyes, following his gaze, and met Rita's radiant smile as it pierced through the crowd.

Rita casually retrieved a few crisp dollar bills from her bag and slid them into the waiter's pocket with an effortless grace. Her smile was an intoxicating blend of mischief and allure. Before the startled waiter could react, she walked straight over and settled herself boldly into the seat beside Grayson.

A collective intake of breath rippled through the room. Whispers erupted like the quiet fizz of champagne bubbles, each voice charged with disbelief.

"Who does she think she is? Sitting beside Mr. Bryce like that?"

"Doesn't she know he could ruin her with a snap of his fingers?"

"Shh, you don't understand. Word is, she's backed by someone powerful. Have you seen the designer brands she flaunts during her live streams?"

As Wendy was about to shift her gaze away from the commotion, a gesture caught her eye—casual yet brazen. Rita took Grayson's hand and, without hesitation, guided it beneath the hem of her dress.

His hand froze, rigid as stone. Reflexively, he tried to pull away, but Rita's delicate fingers tightened around his, her smile deepening as she made a subtle movement.

For a moment, his hesitation flickered, then extinguished. He stayed still.

Wendy's breath hitched, her trembling fingers clenching tightly at her side. She turned her head abruptly, trying to anchor herself against the storm surging inside her chest.

The second half of the auction began, though Wendy hardly registered its progress. She floated through the proceedings, adrift in a haze of numbing detachment, until a sharp collective gasp yanked her back to the present.

Her eyes rose to meet the object of everyone's attention—a dazzling necklace displayed on velvet, its brilliance almost surreal.

The auctioneer's voice rose with fervor as he extolled its virtues, weaving an enchanting tale of its provenance. Rumored to be Queen Elizabeth's most cherished piece, the necklace symbolized steadfast, eternal love.

Noticing Wendy's faint flicker of interest, Grayson didn't hesitate. He raised his paddle. "One million."

A feminine voice, playful yet deliberate, immediately followed. "Three million."

Grayson's head snapped toward the source. Rita was raising her own paddle, her lips curved into a teasing smile, her gaze brimming with challenge. She leaned back leisurely, an image of effortless confidence. "Sorry, Mr. Bryce, but my boyfriend wants me to have this necklace too."

A shadow crossed Grayson's face, his jaw tightening. "Five million."

"Ten million."

"Fifteen million."

The auction climaxed in a dizzying crescendo until Grayson, exasperated, signaled to the auctioneer. The gavel fell, the auctioneer's voice reverberating with triumph. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Bryce has lit the lantern! Congratulations on securing the Heart of True Love!"

As the room erupted in applause, Grayson turned back to Wendy, his expression softening. He leaned in, planting a kiss on her. "Wait here, my love. I'll get the necklace for you."

Wendy watched his retreating figure, her eyes tracing every step until he disappeared from view. Rita rose as well, casting Wendy a glance that lingered—a mix of satisfaction and something suggestive.

When everyone had left, Wendy finally loosened the grip of her clenched hand. Her nails had dug deep into her flesh, drawing tiny beads of blood. But it was as though she didn't feel the pain. Without a hint of hesitation, she stood up and walked out.

Her phone screen glowed faintly, the notification still visible: [Underground parking lot.]

Perhaps it was because all the guests had left. The parking lot was empty, save for a lone vehicle stationed in the shadows, a sleek Maybach. From afar, she noticed a young driver standing nearby, his polite demeanor hiding a quiet vigilance. Any passerby who neared the car was quickly and discreetly turned away.

What no one seemed to notice was the faint rocking of the vehicle, the open back door exposing a scene that made Wendy's blood run cold.

The sound hit her first—a mix of feminine gasps and low masculine groans, each note threading into the heavy, humid air. Her legs buckled slightly, forcing her to lean against a pillar for support. Her eyes stayed fixed on the car, unwilling yet unable to look away.

Inside, Rita's figure was unmistakable, her body entwined with Grayson's, their movements raw and uninhibited. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her cries blending into the rhythm of their entanglement.

"Gentler, Master. The little bunny can't take any more…" Her voice was a broken whimper, pleading and delicate.

Grayson's response was a guttural growl, his hands gripping her hips with ferocity. "You wanted this. Now bear it." He thrust forward, his movements harsh, his tone laced with a dangerous edge.