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.

As Wendy's birthday approached, Grayson finally returned in haste, organizing a grand celebration in her honor.

When she descended the staircase in her gown, he was already waiting below. She cast him a glance, her eyes unusually calm—too calm. It was a quietude that bordered on unsettling.

Grayson's heart skipped a beat. The image of Wendy that lived in his memory was one of unrestrained brightness, of spirited vitality. But the woman before him now was a shadow of that, her complexion pale, her gaze hollow and devoid of its usual spark.

Acting on instinct, he stepped forward, arms reaching to pull her into an embrace, but she sidestepped with a slight turn of her body. Her voice was hoarse, a brittle thread barely holding itself together. "I've been feeling unwell lately. Better you don't touch me—wouldn't want you catching anything."

Her words hung in the air, brittle and impenetrable, as she walked past him, not sparing a glance at the hand he'd left suspended in midair.

Through the entire evening, Wendy played her role as an outsider looking in. She stood at the periphery of the celebration, watching Grayson put on his familiar act: his declarations of love, his gestures of devotion.

The climax of the evening arrived with his gift, as it did every year. Each birthday, Grayson spared no expense, presenting her with something rare, singular, and dazzling. This time, it was a necklace—a piece of royal lineage from Europe, priceless and unique.

The moment he revealed it, the room filled with gasps of awe. But Wendy barely glanced at it, lowering her eyes to veil the irony flashing within. She did not lift her hand to accept the necklace when he offered it.

Grayson, undeterred, assumed her reluctance stemmed from illness. Gently, he fastened the necklace around her neck himself, announcing the end of the party earlier than planned to escort her back to rest.

But as soon as they reached the car, his phone buzzed. One glance at the screen, and his expression shifted to a mask of polite regret. "Baby, something's come up. I need to handle it. You head home first, alright? Rest well, and I'll be back soon."

She merely nodded, her face an unreadable calm.

With her tacit approval, he kissed her lightly, then stepped out of the car. But no sooner had he left than her phone buzzed with a message from Rita.

Rita: [Follow him. There's a surprise waiting for you.]

Wendy stared at the message for a long moment. Eventually, she instructed the driver to turn the car around and follow Grayson's.

It didn't take long. His car stopped in front of Rita's villa. The urgency in his movements was palpable; he didn't even bother shutting the car door before rushing inside.

Wendy's clenched grip on her phone tightened as she stepped out. The villa's door had been carelessly left ajar. Slowly, she pushed it open.

What greeted her was another birthday party.

But this one wasn't hers.

Inside the villa, the scene was surreal. Guests filled the room, laughing and toasting. Rita stood at the center, radiant and poised. By her side was Grayson. Among the crowd were Grayson's closest friends, even his parents.

Wendy's rational mind screamed at her to leave, to spare herself the pain of what would come next. But her body betrayed her, her feet rooted to the spot as if bound by invisible chains.

She watched, unblinking, as Grayson draped a necklace identical to hers around Rita's neck.

His friends erupted in playful teasing. "Your wife looks stunning with it, doesn't she?"

Grayson's gaze turned cold, silencing them with a sharp glance.

"Don't call her that. You all know who my wife is."

They laughed it off, making exaggerated zipping motions over their mouths.

"Relax, Grayson. We won't let your precious darling find out."

"Yeah, we've been tight-lipped since the day you introduced Rita to us six months ago."

Even Grayson's mother approached Rita, slipping an heirloom bracelet onto her wrist while saying, "You've stayed in the shadows long enough. Once the child is born, you'll truly be a part of this family."

The rest of Grayson's mother's words became an indistinct hum in Wendy's ears. Her clenched fists fell limply to her side. Without a word, she turned and walked away.

Her pace quickened, as though an unseen demon was chasing her, compelling her to escape. Suddenly, she broke into a run, her footsteps growing frantic against the pavement. She ran faster and faster until she stumbled and fell.

The sky chose that moment to split open. Lightning ripped through the night sky, illuminating her silhouette against the dark. The storm followed in its wake, a torrential downpour that cascaded like a tidal wave, drowning the streets in a veil of chaos. Everything around her dissolved into a hazy blur of rain and despair.