"I was helping your fiancé try on her wedding gown, and I accidentally knocked off the biggest diamond…"

Tears streamed down her face as she spoke.

"I'm really sorry, Leslie. I'll do anything—be your servant if you want—just please don't kick me out…"

Leslie let out a cold laugh. The same trick, used twice, wasn't going to work again.

"Kiana, when did I ever say I was kicking you out?"

Denver took a deliberate step forward, shielding Kiana completely behind him.

"My love, you're being unreasonable." His tone was calm but firm. "You never used to be like this."

Leslie looked up, stunned. She couldn't believe it—the man who had always shielded her and held her close now stood against her for someone else.

Hurt, disappointment, and anger all welled up inside her, choking her words before they could form.

Meanwhile, Kiana kept up her sob-filled performance. Compared to her, Leslie felt like an emotionless puppet.

After a long silence, Leslie finally spoke. "The wedding gown is yours. You can stay in this villa as long as you want."

After all, in just fifteen days, she would disappear from this place forever.

Without another word, she turned and walked upstairs while Denver escorted the tearful Kiana back to the guest room.

Late into the night, Leslie could still hear the faint sounds of Kiana's crying and Denver's gentle words of comfort.

Unable to resist, Leslie peeked through the door's narrow opening. Inside, Kiana clung to Denver's waist, her voice soft and sweet. "Denver, I really envy Leslie… Actually, I…"

"I know." Denver interrupted her, his voice tender.

"Kiana, as long as I live, I'll never let you feel hurt again. Anything you want, I'll make it happen. The only thing I can't do is marry you. Everything else, you can have. Trust me, okay?"

It felt like an invisible hand gripped Leslie's heart and twisted. The pain, sharp and deep, reminded her that she wasn't as numb as she wanted to believe.

She always acted calm and resolute. But Denver—he was the one person who could shatter her mask with precision.

Under the shower, the water washed away her tears, along with memories she wished would fade.

The man who once saw no one but her was gone.

What remained was this "brother," desperate to put the entire world at Kiana's feet.

The next morning, as soon as Denver left for work, Leslie methodically began packing.

Four years of living together had filled every corner of the villa with her belongings. Each item carried a memory of Denver.

She stuffed everything into large cardboard boxes and tossed them into the neighborhood dumpsters.

When Denver returned in the evening, he was startled to see their bedroom half-empty.

"Why does it feel like half the stuff is gone?"

Leslie answered casually, "Making room for the new occupant."

Denver thought for a moment, then smiled.

"Fair enough. Once we have kids, we'll definitely need more space."

Seeing the faint excitement on his face, Leslie found it laughable—tragically so.

'Denver, Denver… I don't even want you anymore. What makes you think I'd have your child?'

He slipped his arms around her waist from behind, his lips brushing her neck.

Leslie stiffened, ready to pull away, but right on cue, Kiana appeared in the doorway.

"Denver, Leslie, dinner's ready."

Denver immediately let go, grinning as he followed Kiana downstairs.

When Leslie joined them at the table, she noticed a bowl of golden Lobster Newberg placed in front of her seat.

"Leslie, I made this Lobster Newberg today," Kiana said. "I felt bad about ruining your wedding gown yesterday, so think of this as my way of apologizing. Try it and tell me if it's good!"

Denver and Travis both turned to look at Leslie.

Leslie smiled faintly. "You don't know I'm allergic to seafood?"

Kiana blinked innocently. "I… I didn't know."

Leslie believed that Denver and Travis didn't know—after all, she had never eaten seafood in front of them. But Kiana? There was no way.

When Kiana first came into Denver's life, Leslie had treated her like a younger sister. She once even brought her out to a restaurant for New England cuisine. Back then, Leslie didn't know she ate lobster until she broke out in rashes immediately.

Denver frowned. "My love, are you really allergic to seafood?"

Travis scoffed. "Isn't that just an excuse? If you don't want to accept Kiana's apology, just say so."

Denver sighed. "Are you still upset about Kiana ruining your dress? She's already apologizing sincerely. Let it go, okay?" Then, he added, "I'll buy you an even prettier dress. Stop making this complicated, alright?"

As he spoke, he cut a small bite of Lobster Newberg with a fork and held it up to Leslie's mouth.

But she turned her head away, refusing to eat it.

"Open your mouth," Denver said coldly, his tone sharp.

When Leslie pressed her lips together tightly, resisting, Denver grabbed her chin. He forced her lips open and shoved the dish into her mouth.

Leslie struggled, trying to break free.

Suddenly, Denver threw the fine bone china fork to the floor, smashing it into pieces. The sharp sound echoed in the room, much like Leslie's shattering heart.

He stood abruptly, glaring at her. "Leslie, have you had enough?"

Leslie held his gaze for just a moment before the cold, unfamiliar look in his eyes made her feel as if she'd been burned.

Tears streaming down her face, she got up and ran upstairs to the bedroom. Once there, she clung to the toilet and vomited the Lobster Newberg.

Downstairs, Kiana lowered her head, her tears falling steadily. "Denver… it's all my fault," she muttered. "I shouldn't have come here. I'll leave now…"

She stood up as if to go, but Denver grabbed her wrist and pulled her back into her seat. "Sit down! This isn't your fault."

Upstairs, Leslie kept vomiting until her head spun. Weak and dizzy, she stumbled to the drawer, searching for her allergy medicine.

She turned the drawer inside out but couldn't find it. Helpless, she watched as red welts spread across her arms, swelling painfully.

Sliding down against the wall, Leslie sat on the floor, silent tears rolling down her cheeks. Then, she let out a bitter laugh.

So this was Kiana's plan—not just to take her husband but to take her life too.

Meanwhile, Denver finished both his plate and Leslie's portion of the Lobster Newberg.

Wiping his mouth, he smiled at Kiana. "It's delicious!"

Then, he went upstairs.

When he pushed the door open, he saw his fiancée lying unconscious on the floor. The sight made his heart stop for a moment.

"Leslie? Leslie! Wake up! Don't scare me!"

Panic-stricken, Denver picked Leslie up and rushed downstairs.

Travis, startled, stood up quickly. "What happened? Did she faint from being upset?"

Meanwhile, Kiana started crying again.

"Oh gosh, this is all my fault! I must be the one causing trouble! Everyone around me ends up miserable…" She sniffed, then declared, "I'll leave. I'll leave right now!"

Just like that, she grabbed her suitcase and made it as if to leave again.

Distracted and overwhelmed, Denver handed Leslie to Travis. "Travis, take Leslie to the hospital! I'll stay here and look after Kiana. Hurry!"

Still flustered, Travis quickly carried Leslie out and drove her to the hospital, his movements clumsy with panic.

After half an hour of emergency treatment, Leslie slowly came to.

The first thing she saw was Travis. She couldn't help it—disappointment came first, acceptance last.

'Of course, Denver wouldn't care enough to stay,' she thought in resignation.

"Thanks, Travis," Leslie said quietly.

"Such a hassle," Travis hissed, brushing off his pants as he stood and went to call the doctor.

The doctor gave her a quick check and said, "She's fine now. Just watch her diet and keep anti-allergy meds at home."

But Travis's mind was elsewhere—probably on Kiana. He pulled Leslie up without much thought and started striding toward the parking lot.

"Something's going on at home. Can you walk faster?" he asked in an annoyed tone.

Still shaky from waking up, Leslie stumbled. Her legs gave out, and she fell to the ground, scraping her knees.

Travis froze, his patience snapping like a rubber band stretched too thin. "Leslie, why do you always have to be so much trouble?"

Leslie's chest tightened, her nose stung, but she forced the tears back.

'Is this really the same boy I used to know?' she wondered. 'The same kid who would get worried over a tiny scratch on my heel and insist on carrying me on his back?'

She pressed her palms to her knees and pushed herself up. Her knees throbbed, but the pain wasn't what hurt most. She knew she'd lost to Kiana—but she still didn't understand why.

"Travis," she said, her voice trembling, "can you just tell me why? Why does everyone side with Kiana? Why do you hate me so much?"

Hands stuffed in his pockets, Travis shot her a cold glance.

"Kiana grew up with us at the same orphanage.

We got separated because of an accident, and my brother spent sixteen years looking for her.

If it wasn't for you, Kiana would've married my brother! She could've been my sister-in-law soon!

We could've had a happy life—perfect, really.

But you? You ruined all of it!"

His words hit like a hammer, each one heavier than the last. He punched a nearby tree, his frustration boiling over, not even noticing how hard Leslie flinched.

"So that's how it is." Her voice cracked. "I get it now."

She forced herself to stand straighter. "You can go. I just… want to walk by myself for a while."

He didn't hesitate. Without another word, he climbed into Denver's car, hit the gas, and left Leslie standing there.

The streets that night were quiet and empty.

Leslie wandered with no destination, Travis's words circling her mind like a broken record.

'Orphanage… like family… separated…'

Flashes of unfamiliar memories hit her out of nowhere. Images she didn't recognize flickered in and out.

Her head pounded. She grabbed onto a lamppost, her breaths coming faster and faster.

'Happily ever after. Never leaving each other.'

In her head, she saw images of three children, pinky-promising under a tree.

'Forever,' they said. 'No matter what.'

Leslie blinked hard, trying to hold onto the memory, but the blurry images of the children vanished.

Even the light from the streetlamps seemed to fade away.

Everything went dark as Leslie collapsed by the roadside.

Then she dreamed—strange yet surreal.

She was six years old, following a cute boy up a hill.

He was laughing, his voice clear and full of excitement. "Kiana, look! I found an emerald!"

'Kiana? Is he talking to me?' Leslie thought.

The boy sat down on the ground, legs crossed, and started polishing the green stone he held.

He worked for what felt like forever until the emerald turned into a smooth pendant, shaped like a lock. He threaded a red string through it and slipped it over her neck—or was it Kiana's?

The next morning, Kiana came to visit Leslie in the hospital.

As soon as she saw Leslie lying on the bed, unconscious, Kiana broke down in tears.

Denver was by her side, his voice gentle. "Shhh. She's fine now. Just tired and sleeping."

He stroked her hair softly, but as his fingers brushed past a red string around Kiana's neck, something slipped out—an emerald pendant, smooth and polished.