“Oops, my bad, little sister. Didn’t see that coming." Max crouched down as if to help her up—only for a smirk to tug at his lips.

“What’s this? A few days apart and you've already picked up new tricks to throw yourself at me?”

Max’s grip tightened around Ashley’s arm as he yanked her to her feet, his gaze sharp with warning. Meanwhile, the moment Liliana heard Ashley was his sister, the wariness in her eyes faded.

With the interview over, Max wasted no time leaving with Liliana.

Minutes later, Ashley’s phone buzzed with two notifications.

One was a friend request from Liliana.

The other—a message from Max.

[Get a grip. Stop crossing the line.]

[If you pull another stunt like that in front of Liana, it won’t just be a simple fall next time.]

Ashley’s fingers trembled as she stared at the screen.

So this was how little he thought of her. She wanted to tell him he was wrong, that she wasn’t putting on an act, that she had already given up on him.

But Ashley hesitated.

Would he even believe her? Or would he see it as yet another attempt to hold onto something that was already gone?

Her grip on the phone tightened before she finally turned off the screen.

There was nothing left to say. Her actions would speak for themselves. She would be gone soon—out of his sight, out of his life.

Slipping a hand into her pocket, Ashley pulled out a familiar bottle of paroxetine, rolling it absently between her fingers.

She let out a quiet, bitter laugh. "Guess quitting was never an option."

Unspoken emotions, the weight of passing years and Max’s constant ambiguity had slowly chipped away at Ashley’s confidence in their relationship. Yet, despite everything, she couldn’t bring herself to let go.

The emotions she buried kept piling up, suffocating her, until the anxiety she once dismissed turned into something far worse.

At first, it was just heart palpitations and dizziness. Then, it escalated—shortness of breath, an invisible weight pressing down on her chest, making it harder and harder to breathe.

She never told Max. She didn’t want his concern. And now, nothing he did would matter anymore.

She had waited—from seventeen to twenty-seven—only to arrive at the inevitable ending.

Stripped of love’s illusions, she saw Max for who he truly was—cold, detached, unmovable. She refused to use her illness to earn even a shred of pity.

After finishing up her work at the branch, Ashley picked up her newly issued passport and work visa before heading back to The Laguna Family Estate. She wanted to spend some time with her mother before she left.

Once she explained her decision, she quietly went upstairs to pack.

She didn’t expect to find Max there.

Leaning against the doorframe, he watched her, his expression unreadable. "Why are you back?"

"Let me guess—you only came back tonight because you knew Liliana would be here." Max’s voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it. "What’s wrong? Still not over me, little sister?"

Ashley’s hands paused mid-fold, but she kept her composure and replied evenly.

"I took some time off. I’ll be staying here for a few days. Just so you know, I had no idea Liliana was coming. But don’t worry—I won’t be in your way."

Max loosened his tie, irritation flickering in his gaze.

"You’d better not." He was about to say more when his phone rang.

"You’re here? I’ll come down and get you." His voice softened instantly, warm and gentle—a stark contrast to how he had spoken just moments ago.

Not that it mattered anymore.

Ashley watched him disappear down the hall before quietly closing her door. She picked up her phone, idly scrolling through company messages when a notification from Liliana’s social feed caught her eye.

[Question: What should I bring when meeting my boyfriend’s parents for the first time?]

Attached was a photo—two silhouettes leaning close together, radiating warmth and intimacy.

What really caught Ashley’s attention was Max’s comment beneath it.

[Just bring yourself and be good.]

Ashley smirked to herself. No wonder Max had said those things earlier. Without much more thought, she tapped the like button on Liliana’s post and returned to packing.

When Juan arrived, the family gathered for dinner. Liliana, visibly tense, sat stiffly in her chair. She clearly hadn’t expected Max’s father to be such a towering political figure.

Noticing her nerves, Max took control of the conversation, effortlessly easing the tension. His teasing remarks made Liliana giggle and soon enough, she relaxed, slipping her hand into the crook of his arm with a bright smile.

With Max leading the way, no one questioned their relationship or made things difficult. The meal went on smoothly.

Across from them, Ashley remained quiet, idly picking at her food, her long lashes casting delicate shadows over her cheeks.

This—this was how a normal couple acted. Comfortable. Natural. Unlike her and Max, who had spent years in this house carefully minding their every move, terrified of crossing an invisible line.

She lifted her gaze slightly, a faint smile tugging at her lips. Maybe this twisted love ending was a relief.

Juan, in rare high spirits, suggested a toast.

Ashley offered to grab the wine and to her surprise, Liliana quickly volunteered to go with her. Unable to refuse, she led the way.

The moment they were alone, Liliana’s cheerful mask slipped.

"So… dating your stepbrother—was it exciting?"

"Are you even aware of how ridiculous you look? The way you eat, all dramatic—can you cut it out? You're seriously making me nauseous."

Ashley’s expression darkened. She turned to Liliana, her gaze sharp and unforgiving.

"You should be grateful you’re dealing with the current version of me—I used to have a much worse temper."

"And what exactly are you so smug about, Liliana? You just got lucky. Luck doesn’t give you the right to stand on some moral high ground and judge me."

Ashley let out a cold laugh. Luck? No—Liliana simply never had to experience the spiral from a normal relationship into a tangled mess of ethics and betrayal.

"What’s that supposed to mean?" Liliana’s anger flared.

Ashley wasn’t even ashamed—if anything, she seemed almost amused.

"I mean, someone like you—a no-name degree, an average family with no resources. Your résumé should’ve been tossed out in the first round."

"But Max took a liking to you, so people made exceptions for him. Be real—by any standard, you don’t even make the cut. I honestly have no idea what he sees in you."

The words were casual, almost offhanded, but they sent a chill down Liliana’s spine.

Ashley's gaze was ice-cold. With just a few words, she had completely stripped Liliana of any sense of worth.

Liliana couldn't understand—she was supposed to have the upper hand. She was the one on the moral high ground. So why did it feel like she was being utterly crushed by the woman in front of her?

Ashley stepped closer, her shadow stretching over Liliana like a suffocating weight. The sheer pressure made her feel as if she were being hunted, trapped with no way out.

She wanted to step back, to run—but her legs refused to move. Fear gripped her so tightly that they buckled beneath her and she collapsed onto her knees.

The wine glass slipped from her hand, crashing against the floor. The sharp crack of shattering glass cut through the tense silence.

Hearing the commotion, Max rushed over. The moment he saw Liliana on the ground, his expression darkened. Without hesitation, he strode toward her. As he passed Ashley, he slammed his shoulder into hers with enough force to knock her back.

She staggered, her foot landing squarely on the jagged shards of glass.

"Liana, are you okay?"

His voice was filled with worry as he helped her up. But almost immediately, his concern turned to fury.

"Ashley, Lili came here just to grab some wine. Is this how you treat your guests—cornering them when no one's around?"

Ashley's chest tightened. She glanced down at her foot, where crimson was beginning to seep through the fabric of her slipper.

When she finally lifted her gaze to meet Max’s, there was something almost imperceptible in her expression—disappointment.

"Is that really how you see me?" Ashley's voice was calm, but there was a sharp edge to it. "Liliana, why don’t you tell Max what you just said? I’m sure he’d love to hear it."

Liliana’s eyes flickered toward the security camera in the corner. Her breath hitched. Then, almost frantically, she shook her head.

"No—Maxie, I fell on my own. It had nothing to do with Ash. We were just… talking."

She forced a smile, but the way her lips trembled and the tears welling in her eyes only made her lie more obvious. Max's chest tightened at the sight. Gently, he pulled out a handkerchief and dabbed at the wine stains on her dress, his touch careful, protective.

Then, he turned to Ashley with a cold, cutting glare—only to falter.

Her face was deathly pale. His gaze dropped to the floor and his stomach tensed when he saw the slow spread of crimson pooling beneath her foot.

"Your foot..."

Instinctively, he moved toward her, but before he could take another step, Liliana clutched his sleeve, her voice trembling.

"Maxie… my leg hurts. I just want to go home. Will you take me?"

He hesitated, his jaw tightening, but only for a second. Without another word, he swept Liliana into his arms.

"You’re not going home—I’m taking you to the hospital."

As Max carried her away, Liliana’s lips curved ever so slightly. She turned her head just enough to catch Ashley’s eye, her expression soft—but her gaze victorious.

After they left, Ashley remained where she was, staring at the mix of blood and wine seeping into the floor. A dull ache tightened in her chest and for some reason, her nose stung, as if she were on the verge of tears.

She glanced at her reflection in the glass wall and let out a quiet, mocking laugh.

What were you expecting?

When it came to choosing between her and Liliana, Max hadn’t even hesitated.

A man’s love—or lack of it—was always painfully obvious.

The pain in her foot grew sharper, pulsing with every beat of her heart. With the housekeeper’s help, she made her way upstairs, unsteady but composed. She refused to go to the hospital—she simply cleaned the wound, applied some ointment and wrapped it up. The bleeding stopped, but the dull sting lingered.

That night, sleep was impossible. No matter how she turned, the discomfort kept her awake. Frustrated, she reached for a book from the shelf, hoping for a distraction.

As she flipped it open, something slipped out from between the pages—a faded brown envelope. She was about to toss it aside when a cream-colored wedding invitation slid to the floor.

Her fingers trembled as she picked it up and unfolded it.

‘Groom: Max Laguna | Bride: Ashley Vera’.

The elegant calligraphy seemed to mock her. She ran her fingers over the embossed gold lettering and a deep, aching pressure settled in her chest.

Eighteen. The age of reckless, all-consuming love.

At eighteen, marrying Max had been Ashley’s dream. She had spent years watching invitation after invitation being sent out for grand weddings at the backyard of the Laguna Family Estate. Sometimes, she had even let herself imagine—what kind of invitation would she send when it was finally her turn?

Max had guessed what she wanted, so he secretly bought the wedding invitation and carefully wrote their names on it.

When she saw it, her heart melted. She reached for it, but Max teasingly held it just out of reach, lifting his arm to keep it away from her.

"If you can grab it, we’ll get married."

He pressed a quick kiss to her cheek, his ears turning red as he smiled—youthful, earnest and full of promise.

Then, in the blink of an eye, he hid it away. She never saw the invitation again.

"So this is where it’s been all along..."

The wedding invitation still looked as pristine as the day he had bought it. But now, holding it again, she felt nothing but a hollow ache.

She murmured, "If I had found it sooner… would things have been different?"

The thought barely had time to take root before she shook it off. It was foolish. Pointless.

With a quiet sigh, Ashley hopped on one leg to her desk, picked up a utility knife and carefully sliced through their names.

This was how it should be. Those names never truly belonged on this invitation.

She had just realized it too late.

Knock, knock...

A sudden knock at the door broke the silence. She glanced at her phone—past midnight.

At this hour, there was only one person who would come looking for her.

Max.

Ashley didn’t move. She didn’t want to open the door. But the man outside wasn’t going anywhere.

"Open the door, Ash. I know you’re awake."

She didn’t respond, just listened in silence as his voice, laced with urgency, echoed through the door. Without a word, she calmly slid the wedding invitation back into the drawer.

"Ash, how’s your foot?"

Her foot?

She glanced down at the bandage wrapped around her wound. What did it matter? Compared to the ache twisting in her chest, this was nothing. Barely a scratch.

Leaning against the wall, she carefully made her way to the door on one leg. The knocking had stopped. Silence stretched on, as if he had finally given up and left.

Pressing her ear against the doorframe, she listened, waiting. When it seemed like he was truly gone, she slowly turned the handle—

Only for a tall figure to push through the moment the door cracked open, trapping her in his arms.

"You didn’t leave!"

She tried to break free, but before she could, he swept her up without effort and carried her straight to the bed, setting her down firmly.

Max didn’t say a word—just knelt before her, silently and carefully unwrapping the bandage around her foot.

"Tss…"

A sharp sting shot through her as he peeled the dressing away. She flinched, instinctively jerking her leg back—And ended up kicking him square in the shoulder.

Caught off guard, Maz let out a low grunt of pain. But he didn’t let go. His grip on her leg remained firm.

Ashley’s heart trembled. "Knocking on my door in the middle of the night, barging in without a word and now holding onto my foot like this—do you really think that’s okay?"

"Max."

His hands stilled. His jaw tightened, his expression dark and unreadable. He didn’t say a word, but the tension in the air was palpable.

Under the dim glow of the night lamp, she could sense his simmering anger, though she had no idea what had set him off.

What did he have to be angry about?

Ashley was the one who had been abandoned. She was the one who had been hurt. And now, she was the one being cornered in the middle of the night.

If anyone had the right to be mad, it was her. Yet, somehow, he was the one acting like the victim?

Ashley’s chest rose and fell sharply, frustration bubbling beneath her skin. The man in front of her was utterly unreasonable.

"Why is the wound this deep?" Max’s voice came out rough, tinged with something that almost sounded like regret. For a fleeting moment, she wondered—did he actually care? "Just stay home and rest, alright?"

She nearly laughed. What else was she supposed to do? Ran off to work with injured foot?

Instead of saying her thoughts out loud, she forced a small, detached smile and gave a quiet nod.

Seeing her unwillingness to speak, Max assumed she was still angry about what had happened earlier.

"Apologize to Lili when you get a chance. She’s just a young girl—you really scared her."

Ashley’s lashes trembled. In that moment, everything clicked.

Max hadn’t come to check on her injury. He didn’t care how bad it was. He was here to make sure she apologized to Liliana. That’s how much she meant to him now.

A dull, suffocating pain crept through her, wrapping around her like a vice. Tears slipped down her cheeks, silent and unnoticed as they landed on her knees.

Max had been angry before, but the moment he saw her cry, his frustration faded.

And in its place, an unfamiliar panic took root. A gut-deep unease, like something was slipping beyond his control.

"Ash, I promise… I’ll never let you get hurt again."

A bitter laugh nearly escaped her lips. A promise?

Seventeen-year-old Ashley would’ve clung to those words. Would’ve trusted him with her whole heart.

But she was twenty-seven now. And she knew better.

This was classic Max—hitting her with the stick, then offering a sweet lie to smooth it over. He had mastered the art of breaking her down and dressing the wound all in one breath.

Too bad for him. Her heart had already died.

His promises? They meant nothing now.