The engagement day loomed closer, yet Cassandra felt like a ghost haunting her own life. Every step she took was weighed down by the growing arsenal of evidence against Matthew. She would endure this betrayal for now, but when the time came, she would strike with precision.

It wasn’t long before Julia found another chance to flaunt her dominance. At the engagement venue, she sauntered in, dressed to turn heads, her every move a deliberate challenge to Cassandra.

“You look lovely today,” Julia sneered. “Though I must say, age doesn’t flatter everyone.”

Cassandra’s smile didn’t waver. “And you’re as bold as ever, Ms. Julia. I do hope you’re enjoying your youth—it fades so quickly.”

The tension was palpable, a storm brewing between them. But Cassandra didn’t care. She had already decided. Soon, neither Julia nor Matthew would have any power over her.

As she watched Julia prance about with her usual arrogance, Cassandra thought of Mavel Street and the explosion waiting to erase her from this nightmare. A bitter smile tugged at her lips.

Just a little longer.

Perhaps Matthew had been bound to Julia long before Cassandra even stepped into his life. Time seemed to freeze as this realization hit her, a crushing weight settling over her heart. It wasn’t pain—no, it was something heavier, something suffocating. If Matthew and Julia had known each other for so long, then what were these seven years between her and him?

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Seven years... a cruel joke.

On the second-to-last day before the engagement, Matthew took Cassandra to The Lawrence Family residence for an evening of opera with his parents. The melodious singing filled the room, but Cassandra struggled to stay awake. The heavy atmosphere only amplified her restlessness, so she stepped outside to clear her head.

As she checked her phone, her eyes froze on a post from Julia, uploaded just a minute ago: “Boyfriend is so annoying today, insisting on taking me to meet his parents.”

The location? Near The Lawrence Family mansion.

Her fingers went numb as her mind spun. Her breathing quickened as her phone buzzed again. Another notification—this time, a private message from Julia.

“Guess where I am.”

Attached was a photo. The angle was unmistakable; it was taken inside the opera house, from under the same red silk-covered table Cassandra and Matthew were sitting at earlier.

Cassandra’s heart pounded as panic set in. A moment later, she felt a strange sensation—a hand brushing against her leg beneath the table. Her breath hitched as she froze in disbelief. It wasn’t Matthew. Her wide eyes darted to him, only to see his face darkened with anger. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat, repeatedly trying to push away the hand that persisted. Julia, bold and unashamed, was under the table.

Cassandra’s body trembled with fury. She slammed the table, her voice breaking the tension in the room.

“Housekeeper! There seems to be a rat under the table!”

Gasps rippled through the audience. The housekeeper approached hesitantly, but before he could lift the tablecloth, an authoritative voice rang out.

“I’ll handle it,” said Aunt Lawrence, stepping forward. Her calm, commanding demeanor silenced everyone.

Aunt Lawrence bent down, her gaze piercing as she lifted the tablecloth. Seconds felt like hours. Her expression shifted subtly, but she quickly straightened, brushing off the incident.

“There’s no rat. Just a few pesky mosquitoes. Nothing to worry about,” she said with feigned composure.

Before Cassandra could protest, Aunt Lawrence pulled her aside, murmuring about leaving early. Cassandra’s confusion deepened as the event unfolded. What game was Aunt Lawrence playing? And why was everyone, even the servants, complicit in covering up Julia’s outrageous behavior?

Later that night, Cassandra stood alone in her room, staring blankly at her phone. A new message appeared from Julia:

“He says I’m not worthy of stepping into The Lawrence Family home. Funny, isn’t it? Because tonight, I showed him exactly what he needs the most: me. Not you.”

Her chest tightened, her grip on the phone unsteady. For the first time, she realized the depth of her isolation. Everyone around her—the servants, Aunt Lawrence, even Matthew—had known. They had all been in on this cruel game, leaving her to play the fool.

The next day, Cassandra woke with a chilling determination. If this engagement was to end, it wouldn’t be quietly. Her revenge wouldn’t come in screams or tears. No, it would be colder, more calculated.

That morning, she clung to Matthew’s arm, her eyes teary as she begged him not to leave her side.

“Can’t you stay with me today?” she whispered, her voice trembling. It was a rare moment of vulnerability and Matthew, caught off guard, softened instantly.

“Of course,” he murmured, turning off his phone to assure her of his attention.

But beneath her fragile demeanor, Cassandra was already plotting. She returned two texts to Julia while pretending to nap:

“You’ll never have Matthew. Give up before it’s too late.”

“I still love him—like the wind that travels 8,000 miles without asking for a return date.”

The lies tasted bitter on her tongue, but they served their purpose. By evening, Cassandra had set her plan into motion. Matthew, distracted by her uncharacteristic affection, had no idea what awaited him.

***

The final day arrived.

Matthew’s phone buzzed relentlessly throughout breakfast. Cassandra smiled sweetly as she reached out to hold his hand. “Ignore it,” she pleaded.

Reluctantly, he agreed, silencing the device. For a fleeting moment, he allowed himself to believe in her love again. But Cassandra knew better. She had seen through the lies long ago. Her revenge wasn’t just for herself—it was for every moment he had made her feel small, unwanted and replaceable.

As the day wore on, Cassandra excused herself to the garden, her mind racing with thoughts of the engagement. Her phone buzzed, this time with a damning message from Julia:

[Your precious Matthew? He told me he’d rather have no child at all than adopt one with you. Funny how he didn’t mention that to you, isn’t it?]

Cassandra’s vision blurred with rage as she remembered the doctor’s words after her accident:

“Ms. Cassandra, the damage to your reproductive organs means you may never have children.”

Matthew’s refusal to consider adoption had once seemed noble. Now, she saw it for what it was—a selfish excuse to keep her bound to his empty promises. Tears stung her eyes, but she refused to cry. If Matthew had stolen her love, her pride and her future, she would make him pay in kind.

And as she stood there, surrounded by blooming flowers, Cassandra vowed that her final act would leave a scar on Matthew’s soul—one he would carry for the rest of his life.

“Cassey, don’t worry. I’ll stay right here with you in the car. I’m not going anywhere.”

Cassandra allowed herself to relax, her lashes fluttering closed.

At that moment, Matthew didn’t know—couldn’t have known—that he would spend a lifetime regretting those words. Words that would come to haunt him, as they ultimately led to Cassandra’s demise.

He had seen her take the sleeping pills, the smooth, practiced motion of her hand as she swallowed them. But it didn’t alarm him. Lately, she often complained about sleepless nights, so it seemed logical to him—a harmless attempt to rest.

With a sense of misplaced ease, Matthew turned on his phone. Instantly, it lit up with a flood of notifications: messages and missed calls from Julia.

Matt, you’re not going to leave me, are you?

Matt, I’ll be good! I’ll obey you and never look at another man again. Please don’t abandon me…

Matthew! You were the one who sought me out, who begged me to stay! And now, because of my love for you, I live like a dog in the gutter. Is this what you wanted?

Matthew’s pulse quickened, his heart pounding as he scrolled through the sea of texts. Then, the most recent message—timestamped just twenty minutes ago—froze him in place:

Matthew, I’ve slit my wrists. If you’re going to leave me, I’ll make sure you spend the rest of your life in agony, knowing you drove me to my death.

Attached was a photo. Julia lay in a bathtub filled with crimson-stained water, her slackened expression framed by bloodied wrists. The bright red cuts were jagged and visceral, searing themselves into Matthew’s mind.

His breath hitched. Heart hammering, he bolted toward the hotel, but something made him stop short. A sense of foreboding gripped him as he turned back toward the car.

Quietly, he retrieved Cassandra’s bottle of sleeping pills. After handing strict instructions to the driver to stay with her and ensure her safety, he ran off toward Julia.

When he found her, she was alive but hysterical. Screaming. Crying. Her emotions were a storm, threatening to consume everything in their wake.

“You want me to go to the hospital? Fine!” Julia shrieked. “But only if you promise to marry me!”

Matthew clenched his jaw, anger simmering beneath his calm façade. Yet, as Julia’s cries grew louder, he relented. He called for an ambulance and even summoned a driver to help.

“This will only take a moment,” he muttered to himself. “It’s just one block away from Cassey. She’ll be fine.”

Together, they lifted Julia into the ambulance. As they secured her, she coughed violently, blood staining her lips.

“The patient is in a critical emotional state,” the paramedic warned. “It’s best if someone stays with her to keep her stable.”

Matthew hesitated, one foot already out of the ambulance. He looked back toward the direction of Cassandra’s car, visible through the small window at the rear. To his relief—or so he thought—he saw the vehicle moving steadily down the street.

But then, his gaze shifted.

Walking in front of the car was a figure with bright yellow hair—Thomas. The man strolled casually, occasionally glancing back toward the car with a smirk of familiarity.

Matthew’s chest tightened, his mind clouded with a sudden, irrational storm of jealousy and betrayal. She didn’t even wait for me to leave before running to him?

The bitterness in his throat burned as he lowered his eyes, suppressing the turmoil within. After a long pause, he gave the driver an order in a voice low and cold.

“Follow them. Make sure she stays safe.”

And then the ambulance sped off.

***

Minutes later, just as they were leaving Mavel District, a deafening explosion shook the ground beneath them. The sound was overwhelming, a monstrous roar that seemed to split the sky. Flames and thick smoke erupted in the distance, rising like an inferno against the horizon.

Cassandra stood outside her car, staring at the towering blaze with an unflinching gaze.

The chemical factory had gone up in flames.

She looked one last time in the direction where Matthew had disappeared, her eyes reflecting neither sorrow nor anger—only a quiet, unshakable resolve.

As the car door closed behind her, it severed the last fragile thread tethering them together.

“Matthew,” she whispered to herself, her voice soft but resolute, “after tonight, the paths we take will never cross again. Yours is a road of endless regret, while mine leads to a place where you no longer exist.”

***

Meanwhile, in the ambulance, Matthew felt a sudden, inexplicable pain in his chest. A searing ache that made him clutch at his heart.

He turned his head, trying to shake the unease. His fingers gripped the edge of the seat as he asked himself, over and over:

“What’s wrong with me? Why does it feel like something’s breaking…?”

But no amount of self-reassurance could quiet the storm rising within him.

And far away, back in Mavel District, the flames continued to burn.