Wendy clasped her trembling hand tightly over her mouth, as if trying to suppress the overwhelming torrent of emotions threatening to break free. She couldn't bear to watch any longer. Turning sharply, she fled the suffocating scene.

She ran—further, faster—until her legs gave out beneath her, leaving her to collapse in a stairwell. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each intake of air sharp and piercing, as though it scraped against her lungs. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked and unrelenting. She pressed her hand to her chest, futilely trying to steady the erratic pounding of her heart.

The auction had been painful enough—every glance, every word a tiny wound. But what she'd just witnessed in the car was a fatal blow. Memories surfaced unbidden, vivid and cruel.

She thought of Grayson's careful tenderness, the purity of his affection when they first started dating.

He had been shy then, almost boyishly so. Holding her hand would make him blush; kissing her brought a tremor to his lips. He had waited patiently for their first night together, steadfast until she agreed to his marriage proposal.

She once teased him for his restraint, only to find herself wrapped in his embrace, his voice low and gravelly against her ear.

"No man can resist the woman he loves," he'd said. "But I love you too much to rush things. I want everything to be perfect. I don't want you to ever regret it."

Those words, spoken with such sincerity, had warmed her heart back then. Now, their echo only deepened her despair. Her fingers dug into her face as she sobbed silently into the stairwell, her grief spilling into the emptiness around her.

After what felt like an eternity, she pulled herself together. Her body felt heavy, as though weighed down by invisible chains, but she willed herself to move. Step by step, she made her way to the bathroom.

Just then, her phone vibrated in her hand.

Another message from Rita.

She hesitated before opening it, her fingers cold and reluctant. The image struck her like a slap: the car's disheveled backseat, and a tangle of ripped stockings in the corner.

"The car's filled with the scent of our passion. Oh, and by the way, Grayson promised me your necklace. The Heart of True Love? It's mine now."

Wendy's chest tightened. She powered off the phone without another glance. She walked out of the bathroom after fixing her makeup.

When Grayson finally appeared, his arms reached out to hold her, carrying a faint trace of perfume that wasn't hers.

"I'm sorry, Wendy," he murmured against her hair, his tone laced with contrition. "That necklace was a little chipped. It wasn't perfect for you. I'll find you something more dazzling next time, alright?"

Her breath caught. She tilted her head up, her voice weighted with emotion. "What if I only want that necklace?"

Her tear-streaked face and quivering words struck him like a blow. He cupped her cheeks, his voice soft, coaxing. "Don't cry, baby. Please, don't cry. I'll get you something even better, right now if you want. Anything for you."

She let out a laugh—bitter, hollow. Once, he had given her anything she desired. Now, even her simplest wish came with conditions, tangled in another woman's lies.

"It's fine. I don't want it anymore," she said, exhaustion seeping into her tone. She stepped out of his arms, the distance between them suddenly insurmountable.

He moved as if to follow, but froze when her gaze shifted past him. He turned and saw Rita saunter by, the Heart of True Love glimmering on her neck like a mockery. His face turned ashen.

"Wendy—" he started, but she didn't look back, walking past Rita without so much as a glance.

When Wendy was gone, Grayson whirled on Rita, his hand gripping her wrist tightly. "Are you insane? I told you to stay away from her! Wendy is off-limits. She's my bottom line."

Rita smiled faintly, unbothered by his outburst. "Relax, she didn't notice anything. And if it bothers you so much, I won't do it again. Promise." She leaned closer, letting the fabric of her dress slip slightly from her shoulders. "How about I make it up to you tonight? I have another surprise."

The tension in his jaw eased as his eyes darkened.

He didn't return the entire night. He fed Wendy some excuse about urgent business at the company. She knew it was a lie but didn't question him.

Instead, she quietly set about her task. If she was going to disappear, she would leave nothing behind—no trace of her existence, no memories to tether him, just a fake corpse.

Three hours later, she stood before a pile of her belongings, a lighter in hand. Everything went up in flames, the smoke curling around her like a shroud.

Then, she opened a storage box from the bottom of a book rack and pulled out a collection of gifts Grayson had given her over the years.

At sixteen, his first love letter, its boyish handwriting brimming with earnest affection.

At eighteen, her first pair of crystal heels, promising to walk life's path together.

At twenty, a pink diamond crown, declaring her his princess.

At twenty-two, a custom-made ring, designed by him. He had vowed to propose every year until she said yes.

Now, all of it was meaningless.

She packed up the gifts without a second thought and listed everything online for 1 dollar, postage included. Those items worth millions were snatched up by eager buyers in mere moments.

After arranging for someone to collect the goods, she was about to retreat to her room when the front door suddenly burst open. Grayson stormed in, drenched from the rain, his face a mix of panic and disbelief.

He seized her hand, his voice trembling. "Wendy, why? Why did you sell everything I gave you for 1 dollar?"

Wendy lifted her gaze toward him. He looked as though he had rushed back at the fastest speed imaginable, his overcoat soaked through from the rain outside. He didn't seem to care; his entire face was a portrait of panic.

"How did you know?" she asked softly.

"It's all over the news," he replied, his tone tinged with desperation. "It's trending now."

Before she could respond, he pulled her into a tight embrace. His voice, trembling with fear, was barely audible in her ear. "Wendy, what are you doing? Why did you sell everything? Are you leaving me? Do you not want me anymore? What did I do wrong? Tell me, and I'll change. I'll fix it. Just… don't leave me."

His words cracked, carrying the weight of a sob, yet she remained still, her gaze distant. A faint, bitter smile curved her lips.

If he was so terrified of her leaving, why had he kept another woman on the side? Was it his arrogance, thinking he had concealed it so perfectly, or his assumption that she was too naïve to notice?

Now, merely sensing her slipping away, he was crumbling like this. She couldn't help but wonder how he would react on their wedding day, standing before her "corpse."

Gently, she pushed him away, her face serene and unreadable. "It's not what you think," she said evenly. "I just didn't like those things anymore, so I sold them. Besides, we're getting married soon. Why would I leave you out of the blue? Unless…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You've done something you shouldn't have?"

Grayson froze for a moment, the calmness in her question cutting deep. Relief flooded his expression at first, but the latter half of her words left him visibly unsettled. He grasped her hands tightly, his voice urgent. "No, baby, I swear. I haven't done anything to betray you. You know that. You know how much I love you."

She chuckled faintly, a smile tugging at her lips. "Then what's there to worry about? It's late. I'm gonna go get some rest."

Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away.

Grayson stood rooted to the spot, his chest tightening with unease. Over and over, he reassured himself, 'We're getting married soon. She's mine. There won't be any surprises.'

But her recent actions had left him deeply shaken. That night, he stayed by her side, unable to sleep. The unease gnawed at him until dawn. When his phone buzzed, the faint light illuminated his face. He checked it and froze. The sleepiness in his eyes vanished instantly.

He glanced at Wendy who was sleeping beside him, kissed her gently on the forehead, and quietly slipped out of bed.

The moment the door clicked shut, Wendy opened her eyes. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, her expression unchanging as she read the message that had just come through.

The agency she had contacted for her fake death had located a suitable corpse in a hospital morgue. They had already performed modifications to ensure an exact likeness to her. They were asking her to make a trip to check if all was in order and if there were any other requests on her part.

In the morgue, she stood over the lifeless body. The resemblance was eerie, down to the contours of the face. If she hadn't been standing there, she might have believed she was staring at her own corpse.

Perfect, she thought. Grayson wouldn't suspect a thing. Everything was ready now. She only needed to wait for the right moment.

After finalizing the details with the agency, she made her way out of the hospital. Passing the obstetrics department, a glance inside made her freeze mid-step.

Not far away, Grayson was carefully supporting Rita, her slightly rounded belly unmistakable. His movements were meticulous, his expression tender. A glow of pure joy radiated from him—the kind of joy only a man anticipating fatherhood could exude.

Rita was pregnant.

The child was Grayson's.

They were having a baby.

Her mind went blank as she stumbled back to the villa. She didn't know how she made it inside. The darkness swallowed the space, the faint glow of her phone the only light.

Just as the screen was about to dim, a new message appeared.

It was from Rita.

Attached was an ultrasound image and a link to a livestream with a caption that said: [I'm pregnant, three months along. The baby's father is overjoyed. Tonight, we're celebrating with a livestream for our fans. If you're happy for us too, feel free to join.]

Wendy's fingers trembled, the chill seeping from her fingertips into her heart. With mechanical precision, she tapped the link and hit the screen recording button.

In the livestream, Rita, dressed in a maternity dress, beamed as she held up the ultrasound photo. Her face glowed with maternal pride, and the chat filled with congratulatory messages from viewers.

Then, a hand appeared beside her. A hand Wendy knew all too well.

That hand had once caressed her, held her, wiped away her tears, and slipped a ring onto her finger. But now, that same hand was tenderly resting on Rita's belly.

"You may not want to rest, but the baby in your stomach needs it. Be a good girl, go to sleep," came Grayson's deep, soothing voice.

Hearing his words, the online audience exploded in excitement, filling the chat with pleas for Rita to let her "husband" reveal himself.

Amid the chaos of requests, a solitary comment popped up like a rogue wave in the sea of praise: [Wait... did I mishear, or does that voice sound just like Grayson Bryce?]

The remark barely registered before being drowned in the torrent of other messages.

Rita, her face flushed with coy delight, let Grayson take her hand in his. "My husband isn't the kind to show his face easily," she said, smiling gently at the screen. "He's an important man; please understand."

The viewers didn't press further, instead shifting their focus to Rita's love story. They bombarded her with questions about how she and her husband had gotten together.

Glancing at Grayson, Rita laughed. "He loves me so much," she said. "In high school, he confessed his love by giving me a love letter. He was so nervous he stumbled over his words despite rehearsing the entire day. In the end, I had to take the letter from him and say, 'I do.'"

Her words triggered a flood of adoring comments from the audience, with viewers exclaiming about the sweetness of their romance.

Meanwhile, Wendy's grip on her phone tightened, the pressure bearing down on her trembling fingers. A bitter, unexplainable ache rose within her. Grayson had loved Rita so much—enough to recount their story with such sincerity. Wasn't that the same story he had once told her?

The quiet sound of a tear hitting her phone screen broke her reverie. She looked down, her vision blurry. On the livestream, Rita suddenly announced they were logging off.

The audience, still caught up in the warmth of her tale, protested loudly.

Feigning helplessness, Rita glanced at Grayson again, spreading her hands as if to say, "What can I do?" She laughed lightly. "It's not me; he says it's time for a little couple privacy."

Understanding her implication, the audience erupted into playful screams, teasing and begging to be included.

Rita chuckled, covering her mouth. "I wouldn't dare ruin the innocence of young minds," she said, teasing.

One persistent viewer suggested a compromise: keep the audio on, just turn off the camera.

Before Rita could respond, Grayson's hand reached out and switched off the visuals.

The screen darkened, but an unmistakable gasp slipped through.

"Oh! Careful! The baby!"

The sound sent ripples through the audience, sparking an even greater uproar. But Wendy, clutching her phone in the cold, silent room, heard nothing more. Tears blurred her vision, her body shaking as the indistinct sounds of intimacy filtered through the speaker, each one cutting into her like the jagged edge of a broken blade.

Their voices—tender, teasing—grew louder.

"It's too big," came Rita's coy voice, soft and petulant.

"But you're managing just fine, aren't you?" Grayson replied, his tone coaxing, indulgent.

Wendy couldn't endure it any longer. Her trembling fingers powered off the phone, severing the connection. She lay there in the darkness, her gaze fixed on the darkness of the ceiling.

Time passed slowly. The silence stretched, deep and suffocating, before she finally stirred, moving her stiff hands.

Soon.

Soon, she would leave it all behind.

In the days that followed, Grayson didn't return to the villa. Rita, however, ensured that Wendy wasn't left in the dark. Through her messages, she painted a vivid picture of Grayson's whereabouts.

One photo stood out: Grayson on one knee before Rita, like a first-time dad, his ear pressed gently against her growing belly, listening for the faint stirrings of life within.

Wendy closed her eyes, but no tears came.