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.