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.

The heavy rain soaked Wendy's clothes as she gazed at the palm of her hand, bruised from the fall. Suddenly, her mind flashed to a memory from long ago—when Grayson first brought her home to meet his family.

His mother, Carrie had placed the family heirloom jade bracelet carefully onto Wendy's wrist, saying, "In my lifetime, I will only acknowledge you as my daughter-in-law."

His bros had smiled at her with respect, their voices warm as they said, "A sister-in-law for life, we'll only recognize you as our sister-in-law."

But now, Carrie had accepted another woman as her daughter-in-law, and his bros called that woman their sister-in-law. They were all just like Grayson, speaking of love and respect, but in their hearts, they had already recognized another.

What was even more tragic was that their conversation had plainly revealed that they had known about Rita's existence long before she did. And they had all helped Grayson hide it from her.

She was the only fool in this entire world.

There she was, crouching on the road, the bustling pedestrians passing by, yet no one bothered to shield her from the rain.

After the storm passed, Wendy fell seriously ill, her fever stubbornly refusing to subside. Her body was weak, and her head spun in a fog.

In the villa, Grayson's voice rang out, low and furious. "She's been burning up for three days! Why hasn't the fever gone down yet?"

The doctors stammered, offering no explanations, their eyes filled with helplessness. The room felt suffocating, the air so thick it almost choked.

Finally, Grayson waved them all away, his face dark, and sat back down. He took her hand, his eyes red.

"Baby, please get better..."

But Wendy remained pale as she lay on the bed, her eyes shut tight, motionless.

Another night passed, and finally, Wendy's fever broke. She woke, her mind foggy, but her body still drained, her throat dry and sore. She tried to make a sound, but just as she did, a loud crash echoed from the door.

Then, Grayson's restrained voice reached her ears through the door.

"I told you not to appear in front of her, didn't I?"

Followed by Rita's soft, almost pleading tone, "But my baby wants to see his father, and I brought you a surprise. Do you want to see it?"

Then, the only sounds left outside were the rustling of clothes and the shallow breaths of two people.

"Why are you wearing clothes like that?"

Rita laughed, the sound soft and sweet, almost enough to make a person weak in the knees.

"Don't you like it?"

Her only answer was Grayson's heavier breathing.

Wendy could no longer bear to listen. Just as she was about to bury herself under the covers, the door suddenly swung open.

"It's cold outside, should we go inside?"

Wendy opened her eyes wide and looked at the reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. There, in the faint light, she saw two tangled figures collapse onto the sofa at the foot of her bed.

The rain outside grew heavier, and through the glass, the sound of the downpour was almost deafening. The cold air from the window that hadn't been properly shut slipped inside, creeping into her bones, and with it, her heart grew colder.

...

After recovering from her illness, Wendy was weaker than before, the light in her eyes gone. Wrapped in a thick blanket, she curled up in the lounge chair, staring blankly at the scenery outside the window.

In stark contrast to her calm, Grayson beside her was filled with worry and panic.

Since Wendy had woken up, she had hardly eaten anything. No matter how he tried to coax her, she remained unmoved. He had tried spoon-feeding her porridge, but she remained in the same position, not even glancing at him.

Grayson was on edge. Tomorrow was the wedding, and she still looked listless.

His heart raced, and he tried to suppress the strange feeling gnawing at him. He kneeled in front of her, his voice laced with desperation.

"Wendy, please eat something. I know you can't eat because you're sick, but your health is more important. I'm so scared, with your fever like that. If anything else happens to you... I'll go crazy..."