I left my boyfriend, Lachlan Shaw, when he had nothing. Later, he became a tech giant and used his newfound power to force me into marriage.

While all of Seattle knew I was his wife, he paraded another woman on his arm, making me the city's laughingstock. I, however, couldn't bring myself to care.

My coldness enraged him. In the privacy of our mansion, he would corner me, his voice harsh, demanding to know why I wasn’t jealous.

What he didn’t know was that my illness was in its final stages.

He could use his capital to buy half the city, my freedom, and my marriage… and he could flaunt his mistress for the world to see, all without ever knowing the truth.

He didn't know I only had seven days left to live.

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1

On my birthday, my doctor informed me I had only a week left.

He recommended an experimental targeted therapy, promising it would ease my suffering at the end.

Less time than I’d hoped for. My life was unraveling faster than I could have ever imagined.

I wasn't afraid of dying, but I was terrified of the pain.

The doctor said it was an expensive drug that could buy me a more dignified end. Each injection cost a hundred thousand dollars; a five-day course came to half a million.

Five hundred thousand dollars…

To a tech mogul like Lachlan, that was less than a rounding error on one of his properties. To me, it was an impossible sum.

To pay for the treatment, I had to find Lachlan. And there, I ran into Sloane Ramsey, his public relations director and his very public mistress.

Sloane shot me a disdainful look. "So, this is the famous Mrs. Shaw? People say I resemble her, but I just don't see it. You look awful."

The glass curtain wall reflected my image. My face was ashen, with dark, bruise-like shadows under my eyes. I wore no makeup, swallowed by a heavy winter coat.

She was right. I did look awful. And I was dying. I’d grown used to the stranger staring back at me.

"That's because Mrs. Shaw has been sick," one of Lachlan's assistants whispered, tugging on Sloane's sleeve. "I'm warning you—just because Mr. Shaw favors you now, don't start trouble with her."

“You have no idea how he used to dote on her. He’d throw you into Puget Sound to feed the orcas if you upset her.”

Sloane rolled her eyes, her skepticism blatant. She clearly didn't believe Lachlan cared that much about me.

She leaned closer, a triumphant smirk on her face. "Cora, what are you still doing here? No matter how busy Lachlan is, he always makes time for me first. He already promised I'd be his companion for the upcoming business trip to Europe."

Sloane’s smile was a deliberate barb. Her brazen arrogance reminded me of myself, years ago.

I couldn't blame her for being smug. After all, Lachlan truly did treat her differently.

He always had a string of women around him, but none ever lasted.

Sloane was the only one who had remained by his side this long.

I gazed at Sloane and offered a faint smile. My words, however, were merciless. "If he cherishes you so much, why are you still just an employee reporting to his wife?"

"Instead of wasting your breath here, you'd be better off convincing him to divorce me sooner."

Sloane was young and hot-tempered. Her expression soured instantly. “The person he doesn’t love is the third wheel. That’s you! What do you have besides that empty title? Lachlan loves me!”

An assistant, worried the scene would escalate, quickly escorted Sloane away. It didn't matter to me.

I'd decided long ago not to fight another woman for a man who didn’t love me. He wasn't worth it.

In the heat of our argument, Sloane “accidentally” spilled her red wine all over me.

When Lachlan saw it, he cut the meeting short in front of all the executives. He strode right past me to take Sloane’s hand, examining it as if terrified a shard of glass had grazed her skin.

He asked coldly, "What happened?"

Lachlan's subordinates turned pale with fear.

I knew how ruthless Lachlan could be, but I also knew he'd never lay a hand on me.

So I stepped forward. “We had a disagreement,” I stated coolly. “She deserved it.”

Sloane, tears welling in her eyes, leaned against Lachlan, looking aggrieved. She whispered, "It's my fault, I just wanted to say hello to Mrs. Shaw and ask after her health…"

Lachlan gently patted her back. "Don't be upset," he soothed. "I know you didn't do it on purpose."

He really was different with her.

I looked away, refusing to watch them. I composed myself and stated my purpose. "Today is my birthday. I need five hundred thousand dollars."

Yes, all I wanted was the fee for one course of treatment, just enough to dull the pain of my final days.

How pathetic. I was his legal wife, yet I had to beg for every dollar.

In the past, he’d give me any amount without a second thought. This time, he sneered. "You want money? Fine. First, you will apologize to Sloane."

This was the first time he had used money to humiliate me for another woman. He was willing to spend half a million dollars just to see Sloane smile at my expense.

My fists clenched. After a long silence, a soft, bitter laugh escaped my lips.

Forcing back the sharp pain lancing through me, I turned and walked away. I didn't want the money anymore.

Would he ever regret this? Would he ever know this money could have bought me a less painful death?

So, I went home alone. The relentless pain from my neurological disease forced me to curl up in bed. With no money for medication, I had to rely on sleeping pills to find some semblance of peace.

As I slept, I dreamed of being eighteen. Back then, Lachlan had nothing, but he loved me with a fierceness that left no room for doubt. We were so poor we could only afford to share a small slice of apple pie from the bakery on our little town's main street.

He drew me toward the window of Seattle's most exclusive restaurant, pointing at the exquisite desserts and lavish decor inside.

Lachlan held me tight, his own eyes glistening. "One day, when I'm rich," he promised, "I'll give you everything. I'll make you my one and only princess."

At that moment, I was the happiest woman in the world.

In a daze, I heard my phone ring. I answered, my head still fuzzy, and a deep, familiar voice called my name. “Cora.”

I smiled and answered gently, "Lachlan… I want a slice of apple pie."

The sleeping pills wore off in the dead of night, and I woke to find my body screaming in pain. Only then did I realize Lachlan had come home.

He hadn't been back in ages. He'd bought Sloane a penthouse downtown, and they lived together like a celebrity couple.

Lachlan leaned against the floor-to-ceiling window, a wine glass in his hand, his gaze holding a tenderness I'd almost forgotten.

As I passed him to find my painkillers, he suddenly grabbed my wrist. "Cora, why are you so thin?"

His tone was full of concern, as if he still loved me.

But I wouldn't believe it, not with the lingering scent of another woman's perfume clinging to him. I shook off his hand. "None of your business," I replied with disgust.

My abrupt rejection made his expression turn to ice.

When I walked into the kitchen, I saw a pie box on the counter, its logo from the bakery in our hometown. I realized then that the phone call had been real.

I'd mentioned wanting apple pie, and he had driven hundreds of miles in the middle of the night to get it. Was this his apology for forgetting my birthday?

But I was dying. I didn't need apple pie, and I certainly didn't need Lachlan.

I didn't even glance at the box.

Lachlan frowned, grabbing my arm again. "Cora, are you messing with me? Or are you angry I forgot your birthday? I didn't forget. I was just—"

He tried to explain, something about being busy with work and planning to see me later.

I cut him off harshly. “That’s right. I am messing with you. So what? You’re pathetic. I mention a pie, and you actually run off to buy it. All this success can’t hide the poor boy you still are at your core.”

I deliberately twisted the knife, bringing up the past he most wanted to erase—the moments of his deepest humiliation.

He grabbed my collar and yanked me close. Then, he lifted me off my feet and threw me onto the bed.

His kisses were punishing, fueled by a burning rage. I felt my lip split against his teeth.

I recoiled. “Lachlan, what the hell is wrong with you? Get off me. You’re disgusting!”

That only enraged him further. His fingers dug into my arm as he roared, "Cora, can't you give me an inch? Just one gentle word? I've waited for years..."

"I've been waiting for you to come around, to show me something. Do you have any idea how happy I was when you said you wanted apple pie?"

"I dropped everything for you! And now you're telling me you were just messing with me?"

He fought back tears, his gaze locked on me. I remained silent in the shadows, refusing to answer.

Our standoff stretched on, neither of us willing to yield.

Finally, Lachlan let out a weary sigh. "Cora, what am I going to do with you?"

He leaned down, his face getting closer and closer. Just as his lips were about to touch mine, the shrill ring of his phone shattered the moment.

Lachlan frowned. It was Sloane. He hesitated, then answered.

Sloane's panicked voice carried through the speaker. "Lachlan, I'm at the bar alone… Someone just harassed me, I'm so scared. Are you really going to abandon me for Cora? Lachlan, please come get me, please?"

He didn't answer right away. He just stared at me.

"Cora, tell me to stay," he pleaded, his voice raw. "Just say the word, and I'll end things with her. I'll never see her again."

There was a hint of desperation in his voice.

But I only said, “You aren’t worth it, Lachlan.”

He let out a bitter, self-mocking laugh and then spoke into the phone. "Sloane, I'm on my way."

Then, he grabbed his coat and slammed the door behind him.

I watched him leave and thought, Six days left.