Husband, Why Did You Send Me to Prison for Her

My husband's ex-girlfriend, Margaret Cowell, lost her mind and showed up outside our house with a gun. She wanted to kill me.

But everything went wrong.

The bullets missed me. Instead, she shot my older brother five times. He died before the ambulance arrived.

I told my husband everything. I told Alaric Hamilton, the man I loved more than anyone, the feared Mafia Don of Hexagon Prime and the powerful president of Hamilton Groups. I thought he'd protect me. I thought he'd stand beside me.

God, how stupid was I?

On the day of the trial, I walked into that courtroom believing my husband would save me.

Instead, he destroyed me.

My lawyer was presenting evidence and tearing apart every accusation against me. For a moment, I actually thought I might be okay.

Then Alaric stood up.

The entire courtroom went silent.

Dressed in a black suit, broad-shouldered and imposing, he looked exactly like the kind of man who could control an entire city with a single phone call.

He opened a folder and spoke in that deep, calm voice of his. "There's something all of you don't know."

His eyes never met mine.

"I'm Olivia's husband."

The room instantly erupted with whispers.

Then he continued. "I know things about her that nobody else does. Olivia's older brother abused her when she was younger and continued threatening her after she became an adult."

He lifted several photographs.

"These photos prove she had a motive. She had every reason to want him dead."

My whole body froze.

What was he saying?! Why was he doing this?

My brother never hurt me. He never touched me. He was innocent!

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell everyone they were lies, but no sound came out. The courtroom blurred before my eyes. People pointed at me, whispered about me, judged me. Even my own lawyer turned to look at me in shock.

And the worst part was that the deepest wound I'd ever carried inside my heart was being ripped open by the man I loved.

Alaric never looked away. Never hesitated. Never showed mercy.

For the next fifteen minutes, he tore apart every defense my lawyer tried to make. Every piece of evidence. Every argument. Every hope. One by one, his lawyer crushed them all.

At one point, our eyes finally met.

"A-alaric..." My voice cracked. "P-please tell me this isn't real. Please tell me you're not doing this."

His jaw tightened. For a second, I thought I saw regret but it vanished.

"Olivia," he said quietly, "I'm doing my damn job."

"A damn job?" I laughed through my tears. "I'm your wife!"

His expression darkened. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

"Harder?" My chest felt like it was being ripped apart. "You're burying me alive."

His fingers clenched around the file.

"Do you think I wanted this?" he snapped. "You think I enjoy standing here? The evidence is what it is, Olivia."

"No," I whispered. "The evidence is whatever the hell you decided it should be."

The silence that followed felt endless.

Then he looked away from me.

Just like that, as if I didn't matter anymore. As if I was already gone.

When the judge finally announced the verdict, I barely heard the words. My ears were ringing. My hands were numb. Everything felt distant.

Then the sentence came down.

eight years in prison.

And the man who sent me there was my husband.

...

"Prisoner 8034."

The guard's voice pulled me back to reality.

"You're free now. Once you get out there, be a good person."

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

A good person?

I hadn't even been a criminal.

The heavy iron gates slowly opened, and sunlight hit my face for the first time in years. A black sedan was parked across the road. I recognized it immediately.

It belonged to Alaric.

For a moment, my heart betrayed me.

Was he really here? Had he finally come?

But when the door opened, it wasn't Alaric.

It was his right hand, Bob Evans.

Disappointment settled heavily inside my chest. Of course. Why would he come himself?

Bob hurried toward me. "Boss Alaric had something important to handle, so he asked me to pick you up."

I didn't answer. I was too tired. Too empty.

I simply walked toward the car.

"Wait, Miss Olivia."

I stopped.

Bob quickly grabbed a paper cup from the passenger seat. Before I could react, he tossed the contents toward me.

A cup of salt.

Some of the grains hit my face, and some stung my eyes. The sharp burn made me flinch and the moment I realized what it was, I almost laughed.

He looked embarrassed. "Boss Alaric said salt can get rid of bad luck. He wanted me to do this before you got in the car."

Something inside me shattered.

"Bad luck?" I asked quietly. "He thinks I'm bad luck?"

He immediately looked uncomfortable. "Miss Olivia, Boss didn't mean it like that..."

I let out a hollow laugh and looked toward the empty seat where Alaric should've been.

"Really? Has he forgotten who personally sent me to prison?

I didn't say another word.

The assistant didn't answer either. He simply gripped the steering wheel and kept driving as silence settled over the car. Slowly, I closed my eyes, and the memories came rushing back.

Back to that courtroom.

Back to the moment my life was destroyed.

My voice had been shaking so badly that day when I looked at Alaric and asked the only question that mattered.

...

"Why?"

Why did you do this to me? Why did you choose her? Why wasn't I enough?

For a moment, something flickered across his face. It looked like guilt, pain, maybe even regret, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

"Marga was assaulted at a bar after our breakup," he said quietly. "That incident made her mental condition worse."

I stared at him, unable to understand what any of that had to do with me.

His jaw tightened. "A long time ago, I promised her something. I told her I'd grant her six wishes as compensation."

The explanation sounded ridiculous, almost insane, yet he continued anyway.

"When she got arrested, she told me she didn't want to go to prison," he said, lowering his voice. "And I couldn't refuse her."

A chill spread through my body.

Alaric finally looked at me, "Olivia... I'm sorry."

Sorry?

The word echoed through my mind.

Before I could respond, he continued, "Listen to me. No matter how many years this takes, I'll wait for you. I'll be here when you get out. I swear it. You're my wife. That won't change."

I laughed.

The sound startled even me. I laughed until my stomach hurt, until tears streamed down my face and the bitterness in my mouth became unbearable, like poison slowly tearing me apart from the inside.

Seven years.

I'd loved Alaric Hamilton for seven damn years.

Back when Margaret left him, he practically lived inside bars, spent night after night drinking himself numb.

And every night, I was there.

I made sure he got home safely. I made sure nobody took advantage of him. When he buried himself in work and forgot to eat, I brought meals to his office. I learned every preference he had, every habit, every little detail that made him who he was.

I waited quietly.

Patiently.

I loved him when he barely noticed I existed.

Then one day, he looked at me and said the words I'd spent years dreaming about.

"Olivia, marry me."

I thought my waiting had finally been rewarded.

After our wedding, he treated me well. If I glanced at something for more than a few seconds, he'd buy it. If I casually mentioned wanting something, it would appear the next day. He remembered every dish I liked, every holiday, every anniversary.

He made me believe I was loved.

But all it took was one sentence from Margaret.

I don't want to go to prison.

Suddenly, none of it mattered and without hesitation, he chose her.

To save her, he threw me away.

Alaric leaned forward, "Olivia, I'll help defend you."

I looked at him without blinking.

"We'll prove you didn't commit intentional murder," he continued. "If you plead guilty and cooperate, your sentence can be reduced." His voice softened further. "Trust me."

Trust him?

The man who had just buried me alive?

"My wife will always be you, Olivia."

Those were the last words he said to me that day.

...

"Olivia. We've arrived."

Bob's voice pulled me back to reality.

The memory vanished, and I slowly opened my eyes. They felt sore, dry, and faintly burning. How long had it been since I'd cried?

Years.

In prison, I'd cried until there was nothing left. The prison doctor once told me my tear glands had been permanently damaged.

"You'll probably never cry normally again."

At the time, I hadn't cared. There was nothing left worth crying over.

I turned toward the window. The street outside was unfamiliar, lined with luxury restaurants and upscale storefronts.

Before I could ask where we were, the car door opened and bright sunlight flooded the interior.

A familiar figure appeared.

Alaric.

My husband.

Eight years had passed, yet he looked exactly the same. Tall, handsome, powerful, his sharp features still carrying the confidence of a man who could alter countless lives with a single command.

A smile spread across his face when he saw me.

"Olivia," he said warmly. "Hurry up and get out."

He extended a hand toward me.

"Marga spent all day preparing a welcome party for you. You're the only one we're waiting for."

The words almost made me laugh.

Alaric was still the same. Gentle, patient, and kind.

At least when it came to Margaret.

His hand settled naturally on my shoulder, and my body stiffened immediately.

Before I could move away, a cheerful voice rang out nearby.

"Olivia!"

The moment Margaret appeared, I noticed Alaric quietly remove his hand from my shoulder, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong.

I lowered my eyes.

Yeah, right.

Margaret hurried over, her eyes already red and shining with tears. Before I could avoid her, she grabbed my hand.

"Olivia," she said in a trembling voice, "I'm sorry about everything that happened before. I know I've hurt you, I killed your brother and I've regretted it every day. I really wanted to apologize properly."

I didn't respond.

The atmosphere instantly became awkward.

Margaret bit her lip, looking even more pitiful than before.

As expected, Alaric stepped in."Marga got up before sunrise today," he said, his expression softening immediately. "She spent the whole day choosing a venue and decorating everything herself."

Margaret quickly shook her head. "Alaric, don't say that."

But he ignored her protest. "She hasn't even eaten yet," his gaze fixed on her. "She was worried everything wouldn't be perfect."

Only then did he look at me.

"Olivia, she's genuinely trying to apologize."

"I really am," Margaret added immediately.

Together, they made it sound like I was the unreasonable one, like eight years in prison had been nothing more than a misunderstanding.

Nobody asked how I'd survived.

Nobody asked what prison had done to me.

Nobody asked how many nights I'd cried myself to sleep or how it felt to be framed for my brother's death.

Nobody cared.

All they cared about was whether Margaret felt guilty enough.

I was about to say something when Alaric suddenly grabbed my wrist.

"Come on," he said.

Without waiting for my response, he led me toward the restaurant.

Before we even stepped inside, voices drifted through the door. They were loud, clear, and impossible to ignore.

"If it wasn't for Alaric and Marga, I wouldn't even be here. Imagine throwing a welcome party for a murderer."

Someone snorted.

"Right? What exactly are we celebrating? The fact that she got away with killing her own brother?"

A burst of laughter followed.

My fingers slowly curled into my palms.

"I warned Alaric years ago," another person said. "A girl from that kind of background was never going to be clean."

"Exactly."

"I heard her brother abused and fucking rape her for years. Since she was little all the way through high school."

My chest tightened.

Every word was a lie, but they kept talking.

"They said she finally snapped and killed him."

"That's not even the worst part." The speaker lowered their voice dramatically. "I heard she also killed her parents because they always favored the older brother."

"What?! Really?"

"Yeah. Apparently she hated them. Then suddenly they died in a car accident. Tell me that's not suspicious."

"I knew it."

"God, she's terrifying."

The rumors grew louder and more confident, as though repeating a lie often enough could somehow make it true. Nobody mentioned that my brother had never touched me. Nobody mentioned that my parents died because their brakes failed. Nobody mentioned that Margaret was the one who had spent years feeding these stories to anyone willing to listen.

Why would they?

The truth was boring.

The lie was entertaining.

Beside me, Alaric suddenly froze. His expression darkened, and a second later he wrapped an arm around me. One hand covered my ear while the other pulled me tightly against his chest.

It was a familiar gesture.

For years, whenever rumors surfaced about my family, whenever I broke down crying, Alaric would do exactly this. He'd shield me from the world, hold me close, and promise everything would be okay. Back then, I believed he was my safe place. My protector. My home.

Funny, wasn't it?

The man who had taught the world to stab me was now trying to shield me from the knife.

The trembling he expected never came.

Slowly, I lifted my hands. Prison had left them thin and bony. Without hesitation, I pushed him away.

Alaric stared at me. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment I saw shock, confusion, maybe even hurt.

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

There was a time when hearing those rumors would've destroyed me. There was a time when he was the one who comforted me.

Nobody's gonna hurt you again, Liv. I'll protect you. I swear on my life.

And I had believed every word but now, I didn't need his protection anymore.

Something shifted in Alaric's expression. For a brief moment, he looked almost suffocated. Then anger flashed across his face, directed not at me but at the people inside.

The next second, he kicked the restaurant door open.

The loud bang silenced the entire room.

Everyone immediately turned pale.

Alaric stepped inside like a storm, tall, broad-shouldered, and terrifying. The room suddenly remembered why he was feared.

His cold gaze swept across the room.

"If you've got something to say, say it in front of me."

Nobody answered.

His voice turned colder. "Olivia's my wife."

The room remained silent.

"She didn't ask for any of the shit that's happened to her. So if you've got a problem with her, bring it to me."

Nobody moved.

"What happened? You people were talking pretty damn loudly a minute ago."

Several guests lowered their heads.

"Don't want to be here? Then leave. Nobody's forcing you."

The pressure in the room became suffocating.

"And if I hear anyone talking behind her back again, we're gonna have a different conversation."

That finally shut everyone up.

Across the room, Margaret's smile nearly cracked. For a split second, jealousy flashed across her eyes before she quickly buried it beneath a pitiful expression.

Picking up a glass of wine, she walked toward us.

"Alaric..." she said softly.

Instantly, his expression softened.

Margaret stopped in front of me carrying two glasses.

"I know I've made mistakes to Olivia," she said, her voice trembling. "I really do." She raised one glass and emptied it in a single gulp before placing the second in front of me. "I never wanted things to turn out like this."

A tear slid down her cheek.

"I just wanted everyone to get along." She bit her lip. "I've been carrying guilt for eight years. Please..." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Can you forgive me?"

The entire room watched, waiting, and watching me as if I were the villain.

As if I were the cruel one.

As if I was supposed to comfort the woman whose lies had destroyed my life.

Slowly, I lowered my gaze to the glass.

Before I could say anything, several people nearby immediately spoke up.

"What is her problem? Marga already apologized so sincerely. She's practically begging for forgiveness. What more does Olivia want?"

Another person scoffed. "We didn't come here tonight to watch Marga get bullied."

"Exactly. Marga stayed by Alaric's side for three whole years and didn't even care about her own reputation. And this is the thanks she gets?"

Their voices grew louder with every sentence, painting me as the unreasonable one, the villain who refused to appreciate Margaret's generosity. I lowered my eyes and remained silent.

Across from me, Margaret bit her lip and looked on the verge of tears. Alaric glanced at her before turning to me, his jaw tightening.

Finally, he reached over and took the wine glass from Margaret's hand. Without a word, he held it in front of me.

"Olivia," he said in a low voice, calm but unmistakably dangerous, "be good. Don't make this into a bigger scene than it already is."

I almost laughed.

A scene?

Who exactly was making a scene here?

Me, or the woman who destroyed my life and was now performing innocence in front of an audience?

When I still didn't take the glass, Alaric leaned closer. His breath brushed against my ear.

"You haven't seen your grandfather in years."

My body froze instantly.

Alaric noticed.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his eyes.

"Drink it," he said, softening his tone slightly. "Be good for me, Liv."

Then came the threat hidden beneath the gentleness.

"Drink this glass, and I'll personally take you to see your grandfather afterward."

My throat tightened.

Grandfather was the only family I had left.

The only person who still mattered.

For a moment, I stared at the wine as the dark liquid swayed inside the glass. A metallic taste suddenly rose into my throat, but I didn't hesitate any longer. I took the glass from Alaric's hand and drank every drop.

The atmosphere immediately relaxed.

Conversations resumed.

People laughed again.

Everyone looked pleased, as though I'd finally learned my lesson and become obedient enough to satisfy them.

At that moment, Alaric peeled a shrimp for Margaret and placed it onto her plate. Margaret smiled sweetly, then suddenly picked up the plate and walked over to me.

Without a word, she held a shrimp in front of my face.

"Olivia," she said warmly, "since we're friends now, have a bite. This is imported shrimp. It costs over a thousand dollars."

I stared at the shrimp.

For a moment, I genuinely thought I was hallucinating.

Alaric knew.

He knew I was allergic to seafood.

Years ago, when we were still dating, I'd nearly died after accidentally eating shrimp at a company banquet. He'd stayed beside my hospital bed for three straight days without sleeping. He knew every ingredient I couldn't eat. He used to remove seafood from dishes before they ever reached me.

Yet now he sat there watching Margaret offer me shrimp.

I almost laughed.

Had he forgotten? Or did he simply not care anymore?

When I didn't move, Alaric's expression darkened. "If you don't eat it, I'll shove it into your mouth myself," he said coldly.

The room immediately fell silent.

Margaret stepped forward and said softly, "Alaric, don't be angry. Olivia, I just want us to be friends again. That's all I've ever wanted."

Before I could react, she pushed the shrimp closer.

My entire body froze as a memory surfaced without warning. In prison, several inmates had laughed while one of them mixed crab meat into my food despite knowing I was allergic. I remembered the suffocating pain that followed, the ambulance ride, the six days I spent confined to a hospital bed, and the internal bleeding so severe that doctors had nearly rushed me into emergency surgery.

Alaric knew all of that.

He had received the medical reports.

He knew exactly what seafood could do to me.

Yet neither he nor Margaret stopped.

The shrimp touched my lips. Instinctively, I tried to turn away.

"Try spitting it out," Alaric said quietly while looking directly into my eyes. "If you do, your grandfather will spend the rest of the year alone. Don't test my patience, Olivia."

My body went rigid.

Margaret smiled sadly as though she were the victim. "Olivia, please. I'm trying so hard to make things right between us."

I looked at the shrimp, then at Alaric, then at Margaret. Slowly, I opened my mouth.

Margaret immediately pushed the shrimp inside.

The room visibly relaxed. Several guests even smiled as though they had just witnessed a touching reconciliation instead of humiliation.

I chewed, swallowed, and sat there in silence.

"There," Margaret said happily. "See? Now we're friends again. I knew you'd forgive me eventually."

Laughter rippled through the room.

Margaret continued placing shrimp onto my plate while Alaric peeled more for her. He never stopped her. In fact, he calmly peeled one shrimp after another and placed them in front of me.

"Eat," Alaric ordered. "Marga prepared this dinner for you. Don't waste her effort."

So I ate.

One shrimp after another disappeared from my plate. Each bite felt like swallowing shards of glass. Nobody noticed. Or maybe nobody cared.

Especially not Alaric.

His attention remained fixed on Margaret.

"Eat more," he told her gently while placing another peeled shrimp onto her plate. "You barely touched your food all day. You'll get sick if you keep neglecting yourself."

Margaret smiled shyly. "Thank you, Alaric. You're always taking care of me."

The tenderness in his voice used to belong to me.

Now it belonged to someone else.

My stomach began twisting violently. The pain was familiar, sharp, burning, and dangerous. Sweat dampened my back while the room slowly started spinning around me.

Across the table, Margaret was still smiling.

"Olivia, let's eat together," she said while lifting another shrimp toward me. "After tonight, we'll put everything behind us."

I looked at the food and felt my stomach lurch. Something surged up my throat. My breathing stopped and a sharp pain exploded through my chest.

I coughed!

Blood burst from my mouth.

Bright red blood splattered across the tablecloth.

The entire room froze.

Someone screamed. Chairs scraped violently across the floor. And Margaret's face turned white.

Alaric reacted instantly. Without hesitation, he stepped in front of Margaret, and the blood splashed across his white shirt.

His first instinct had always been to protect her.

Not me.

Never me.

That was my final thought before darkness swallowed everything.

My body collapsed backward, and the last thing I heard was someone shouting my name.

"Olivia!"

When I opened my eyes again, everything around me was white.

White walls. White ceiling. The sharp smell of disinfectant.

My head throbbed, and my stomach felt as though it had been carved open from the inside.

Beside the bed, Alaric sat silently.

The moment he noticed I was awake, whatever concern had been on his face vanished.

"You really went all out tonight," he said coldly. "If you didn't want to eat the shrimp, you could've just said so."

I stared at him.

Alaric crossed his arms and let out a bitter laugh. "But coughing up blood? That's a new one. I didn't realize you'd become this desperate for attention."

My heart sank.

"You think I faked it?" I asked.

My own voice sounded rough, broken, almost unfamiliar.

For some reason, the question made him frown.

His gaze lingered on me.

Because this wasn't the Olivia he remembered.

The old Olivia smiled.

The old Olivia spoke softly.

The old Olivia looked at him as if he hung the moon.

That woman no longer existed.

His eyes slowly drifted downward. The hospital gown hung loosely on my frame. My wrists were frighteningly thin and my cheeks were hollow.

Prison had taken almost everything from me.

I watched realization slowly settle across his face.

Earlier, when he'd carried me into the ambulance, he must have noticed it too.

I was too light.

Like there was barely anything left of me.

He sighed and sat back down beside my hospital bed. His large hand reached for mine, his palm warm against my ice-cold skin as he gently covered the back of my hand, almost as if he was trying to warm me up.

"Olivia, I know you're angry," he said softly. "But I've already completed three of the six promises I made to Marga. There are only three left, and once I finish them, everything will finally be over."

I stared at the ceiling without speaking.

For the first time that day, there was genuine anticipation in his voice.

"I'll finally be able to put the past behind me," he continued. "Then it'll just be us. No more complications, no more obligations, no more people standing between us."

His expression softened as he leaned closer.

"You always wanted to leave New York, remember? You used to tell me you wanted a quiet life surrounded by flowers. I'll buy an estate overseas, a huge one, and I'll fill every corner with flowers if that's what you want. You won't have to worry about anything ever again because I'll spend the rest of my life making it up to you."

The future he described sounded beautiful.

Peaceful.

Like a dream.

The problem was that I didn't care anymore.

The woman who would've cried from happiness hearing those promises had died eight years ago.

After a long silence, I finally asked, "Where's Grandpa?"

Alaric froze.

The smile disappeared from his face.

For a brief moment, he looked caught off guard.

Before he could answer, the ward door suddenly burst open.

"Alaric, Marga's sick again," a bodyguard said anxiously. "She suddenly started feeling unwell and keeps asking for you."

Everything about Alaric changed instantly.

The concern in his eyes.

The tension in his posture.

The urgency in his voice.

"What happened?" he demanded.

"We're not sure yet. She said she feels dizzy and her stomach hurts."

Before the bodyguard even finished speaking, Alaric was already standing.

The hand covering mine disappeared.

So did its warmth.

"I'll go check on her," he said.

That was all.

No answer to my question.

No reassurance.

Not even a glance back.

He simply walked out of the room.

The door closed behind him.

I stared at the empty doorway and let out a cold laugh.

Of course.

What exactly had I been expecting?

A few minutes later, the ward door opened again.

This time, it was a nurse.

She looked around nervously before hurrying toward my bed.

"Miss Olivia, did you offend someone powerful?" she asked quietly. "You were seriously injured, but someone ordered us to give your husband a fake medical report."

My fingers tightened around the blanket.

"A fake report?"

She nodded and handed me a folder.

"The report shown to your husband only mentioned a minor allergic reaction. This one is your real diagnosis."

I lowered my eyes to the pages.

At first, the words blurred together.

Then they became clear.

Severe stomach damage.

Foreign objects found in the stomach.

Immediate surgery recommended.

My hand trembled.

"There are multiple foreign objects inside your stomach," the nurse explained. "Small stones, metal fragments, and signs of long-term internal damage. They need to be removed immediately."

The room fell silent.

After a while, I asked, "How bad is my throat?"

The nurse's expression darkened.

"The old injuries never healed properly," she admitted. "Whoever did that to you caused permanent damage."

I closed my eyes.

Immediately, the memories returned.

My first month in prison.

Several inmates cornering me in the cafeteria.

Forcing my mouth open while laughing.

Shoving food mixed with stones and metal fragments down my throat.

I remembered choking.

Vomiting blood.

Begging them to stop but nobody came and nobody helped.

That day, I truly thought I was going to die.

The nurse left shortly afterward, leaving me alone with the report.

As I stared blankly at the pages, another memory surfaced.

Years ago, before everything fell apart, a thief had stolen my bag. During the struggle, my leg was slashed by a knife. The wound wasn't even serious, yet when Alaric saw it, he looked as though his entire world had collapsed.

"Fuck, I should've protected you better," he'd said while carrying me home. "Does it hurt? Tell me where it hurts, Olivia. I'll call every doctor in the city if I have to."

After that, he personally picked me up from work every day. Even if it meant driving fifty minutes out of his way.

Even during storms and winter... He never complained.

Not once.

Back then, I truly believed he loved me.

Now, looking at the report in my hands, I could only laugh at myself.

I was the idiot.

The biggest idiot in the world. How could I have believed a man when he promised to love me forever?

The surgery had to be performed immediately.

But I didn't have the money.

Every dollar I'd earned before prison was still under Alaric's control.

So I called him.

The moment he answered, I got straight to the point.

"I need surgery," I said. "The doctors found foreign objects inside my stomach, and they need to operate immediately."

Alaric laughed. "Olivia, are you seriously still doing this?" he asked. "I'm already dealing with enough problems right now. Can't you stop making trouble for one damn day?"

I gripped the phone tighter.

"I'm serious, Alaric. The doctor said there are stones and metal fragments inside my stomach."

"Stop," he snapped immediately. "The medical report is already sitting on my desk. You had an allergic reaction, that's all. Now you're telling me you suddenly need surgery? What's next? Are you going to tell me you're dying too?"

My chest tightened painfully.

Then another voice drifted through the phone.

Margaret.

"Alaric, my stomach hurts."

Everything about him changed instantly.

"Marga, did you eat something you shouldn't have?" he asked gently. "I told you not to touch spicy food while you're on your period. Be good and listen to me. I'll get you something else to eat."

A few moments later, the call disconnected.

I sat there staring at my phone for a very long time.

I'd already given up on him. I knew that. I truly did. So why did it still hurt?

Why did it feel as though someone had wrapped a rope around my heart and kept pulling tighter and tighter?

I wanted to cry but I couldn't. My tears had dried up years ago.

So I laughed instead.

I laughed until my stomach hurt. Laughed until I couldn't breathe. Laughed until there was no sound left.

In the end, the person who paid for my surgery wasn't my husband. It was my childhood best friend. Violet Jones.

She sat beside my hospital bed and stared at me for a long time. Her eyes were red, just like always. Out of everyone in my life, she was the only one who had visited me consistently during those eight years. The only one who cried for me. The only one who never abandoned me.

She pulled out a cigarette, lit it, took a long drag, and pointed at me. "Tell me something, Olivia. How the hell are you still alive after everything that bastard did to you? eight years, Olivia. Eight damn years, and he let everyone treat you like garbage while he protected that woman."

I looked at her quietly.

Violet let out a bitter laugh and shook her head. "No, seriously. That man destroyed your life, yet you're still letting him stay in your world. If I were you, I would've slapped both of them already."

After a brief pause, her eyes flashed with fury. "Actually, forget slapping them. I would've killed them."

That made me laugh.

It wasn't a happy laugh.

It was small.

Broken.

"You think I still love him?" I asked softly. "After everything that's happened, do you really think that's what this is?"

Violet nearly choked on her cigarette. "What else am I supposed to think? Most people would've lost their minds by now, but you're still sitting here acting calm."

I lowered my gaze to the blanket covering my legs. Kill them?

No.

Death was too easy.

Alaric had destroyed my life. He had put me on a stage and let the entire world throw stones at me. He had turned me into a criminal, a joke, a monster.

Meanwhile, he remained everyone's respected a don.

Margaret had done even better.

She had become a famous actress, the rising star of the entertainment world. People praised her talent, admired her success, and respected everything she stood for.

Nobody knew they had climbed to the top using my flesh and blood as the staircase beneath their feet.

One day, I would drag both of them down from that pedestal and make them experience everything they'd done to me.

I looked at Violet and asked calmly, "Do you know anyone at the City Clerk's Office or Vital Records department? Someone reliable."

She blinked in confusion. "Yeah, I know a few people. Why are you asking?"

I turned toward the window. The sunlight looked distant, cold, like something that belonged to another world.

"Can you do me one more favor?" I asked quietly. "In one month, erase everything connected to Olivia."

The room fell silent.

Violet's eyes widened.

For a long moment, she simply stared at me.

Then she understood.

Pain flashed across her face, but she didn't try to stop me.

"I'll handle it," she said quietly. "You don't have to explain anything. Just leave it to me."

...

A few days later, Alaric learned the truth.

He found out I had actually undergone surgery.

Found out there had been foreign objects inside my stomach.

Found out I hadn't lied.

The moment he heard it, he rushed to the hospital.

For the first time in years, I saw genuine panic on his face.

He brought in specialists. Demanded additional examinations. And reviewed every report personally.

From that day forward, he practically lived inside my hospital room.

Until the final test results arrived.

Benign and non cancerous.

Not life-threatening.

The moment he heard the diagnosis, his entire body relaxed. Then suddenly he wrapped his arms around me.

Tightly.

Almost desperately.

I could actually feel him trembling.

It was so ridiculous that I couldn't stop myself from laughing.

"What's wrong?" I asked hoarsely. "I thought you didn't believe I needed surgery. Why are you so scared now?"

Alaric's body stiffened.

"Olivia, that's not what happened," he said quietly. "I found out the truth about the report. I found the person responsible, and I already dealt with her."

I remained silent.

Alaric took both of my hands and pressed them against his lips. "The report was forged by one of Marga's friends. She blamed you for everything Marga went through and thought she was helping. I made sure she paid for what she did."

"Really?" I asked softly. "What exactly did you do to her?"

Silence stretched between us.

For the first time, Alaric looked uncomfortable.

Finally, he lowered his gaze and answered, "She paid three times your hospital expenses. She covered your nursing fees, your recovery costs, and I warned her family. They know what she did."

I stared at him.

That was it.

That was his punishment? We both knew that wasn't justice.

Not compared to what had happened to me.

After a long silence, he finally admitted the truth.

"She's Marga's best friend," he said heavily. "If I punish her too harshly, Marga won't be able to handle it. She's already struggling enough."

Marga.

Again.

Always Marga! Everything was about Marga!

What about mine? Did my pain count for nothing?

I wanted to scream. I wanted to smash everything in the room.

I wanted to ask him why Margaret always mattered more.

Why I was always the one being sacrificed.

But my damaged throat wouldn't let the words come out.

Instead, I dug my fingernails into my palms until it hurt.

Alaric looked like he wanted to explain himself.

Wanted to justify everything.

But even he couldn't find the words.

Then suddenly his eyes brightened, as though he'd remembered something important.

"Olivia, trust me," he said urgently while leaning closer. "There are only three wishes left. Just two. Once I finish them, everything will be over and we'll finally be okay again."

His eyes searched mine desperately.

"After that, it'll just be us. I'll spend the rest of my life making this up to you. I promise you won't regret staying."

I closed my eyes.

I didn't want to hear another word.

"Alaric, I'm tired," I said quietly. "I want to rest. Please leave."

The room fell silent.

Neither of us spoke again.

Eventually, I heard the door close softly behind him.

And I was alone.

The day I was discharged from the hospital, Alaric drove me home himself. I sat quietly in the passenger seat and watched the city pass by outside the window. Neither of us spoke much during the drive.

When the car finally stopped, I stepped out and looked at the house before me.

It had been eight years since I'd last stood here. Everything looked familiar, yet none of it felt like mine anymore. My gaze drifted toward the courtyard where I used to grow tomatoes, peppers, strawberries, and fruit trees. I had spent countless afternoons caring for them, but now every trace of them was gone. In their place stood rows of bright red roses.

Beautiful. Expensive. Completely useless.

Inside the entryway, I instinctively searched for my old blue slippers. The pair I'd worn for years had disappeared, replaced by a delicate pink pair that perfectly matched Margaret's taste. I stopped walking.

Alaric noticed immediately. Without a word, he kicked the pink slippers aside, opened the shoe cabinet, and pulled out another pair. "Here," he said awkwardly. "I threw your old slippers away because they were worn out. I just haven't had time to buy new ones yet."

I lowered my eyes without responding. Old slippers, old flowers, old memories. Some things were surprisingly easy to replace.

The silence seemed to make him uncomfortable. Before he could explain further, my attention shifted toward the living room. Women's clothes were scattered across the sofa. A designer handbag sat on the coffee table beside lipstick, perfume, and hair accessories. The signs of another woman living here were impossible to miss.

Alaric followed my gaze and immediately explained, "Marga had another episode a few days ago, so one of her friends brought her here. Don't worry, she's staying in the guest room."

As if afraid I wouldn't believe him, he led me upstairs and opened the guest room door. "See? She's staying here."

I glanced inside and nodded.

That was all.

No anger. No jealousy. No reaction.

For some reason, my indifference seemed to unsettle him more than any outburst could have.

His brows furrowed before he suddenly pulled me into his arms. "Olivia, I missed you," he said roughly. "You refused every visit while you were in prison. I couldn't sleep. Every night I dreamed you hated me. Every night I thought you'd never forgive me."

A bitter smile touched my lips.

Dreams?

Reality had kept me awake for eight years.

I pushed against his chest and stepped back. "I don't want to talk about the past."

Alaric froze before slowly letting go. "Okay," he said quietly. "It's over. Everything is in the past now."

I almost laughed.

Over?

Really?

Before I could ask about my grandfather, the front door opened and Margaret walked in carrying several shopping bags.

The moment she saw Alaric holding my wrist, something ugly flashed across her face before disappearing behind a bright smile.

"Olivia, we should go shopping," Margaret said cheerfully as she linked her arm through mine. "You just got out of the hospital. We need to buy you new clothes."

Alaric suddenly looked embarrassed. "Your old clothes were stored too long," he admitted. "Marga thought they wouldn't fit anymore, so she threw them out."

My eyes slowly lifted.

Margaret watched me carefully, clearly waiting for a reaction. Instead, I simply pulled my arm away and said, "Okay."

The disappointment on her face was almost amusing.

Before leaving, I told them I needed the restroom. Instead, I quietly slipped upstairs. First into Alaric's study, then into Margaret's room. My movements were careful and silent. By the time I came downstairs, a tiny pinhole camera had already been hidden inside each room.

...

The mall was crowded that afternoon.

People moved in every direction, filling the halls with noise and movement.

Alaric stayed beside us until Margaret suddenly pointed toward a drink shop across the hall.

"Alaric, could you buy me that drink?" she asked sweetly.

Without suspicion, he nodded and walked away.

The moment he disappeared from sight, Margaret's smile vanished.

"So you're still alive," she said coldly.

I looked at her calmly.

Margaret laughed. "You're really lucky, Olivia. After everything that happened, you still survived."

She stepped closer and lowered her voice. "But that's okay. Today I'll show you exactly who Alaric chooses between us."

I didn't respond.

There was no point.

I already knew the answer.

Nothing had changed.

Margaret suddenly raised her hand and slammed it against the emergency alarm. Instantly, sirens exploded throughout the mall.

People screamed and panic spread everywhere.

"What happened?"

"Run!"

"Move!"

The crowd surged forward in a wave.

Within seconds, Margaret and I were separated.

Bodies shoved between us as chaos erupted throughout the building.

Then I saw Alaric, He was running toward us.

His face was filled with alarm.

"Marga!" he shouted.

Margaret immediately stumbled to the floor and burst into tears. "Alaric, I'm scared. Please don't leave me."

Without hesitation, he ran straight to her.

For a brief second, his eyes swept through the crowd.

Searching but Margaret grabbed his arm tightly.

"Please don't leave me," she cried again. "I'm terrified."

Alaric hesitated for only a moment before bending down and lifting her into his arms.

Then he carried her away.

To safety.

I watched his back disappear into the crowd.

I could have called his name.

I could have told him I was here.

But why?

Margaret wanted me to see who he would choose.

How ridiculous.

There had never been any need for a test.

Alaric had already made that choice years ago.

Someone slammed into me from behind.

Pain exploded through my body as I crashed onto the floor.

A foot landed on my shoulder.

Another stepped on my hand.

Nobody stopped.

Nobody cared.

Everyone was trying to save themselves.

My vision blurred as my fingers twisted painfully beneath someone's shoe. The air felt too thin. My stomach cramped violently. My head, shoulders, chest, everything hurt so badly that I could no longer tell where the pain was coming from.

The world spun around me.

Voices became distant.

Fainter.

And fainter.

Until everything went black.

Then I lost consciousness.

When I woke up again, I was back in a hospital room.

The first thing I saw was Alaric standing by the window with a cigarette between his fingers. Smoke drifted through the room as he stared into the darkness outside. For a moment, he looked exhausted.

The smell reached me and my chest immediately tightened.

"Cough... cough..."

I started coughing violently.

Alaric spun around so quickly he nearly knocked over the chair beside him. "Shit," he cursed as he crushed the cigarette out with his bare fingers and hurried over.

The smell still lingered in the air.

For some reason, he looked nervous. Almost guilty.

"Olivia, at the mall I was going to come back for you," he said roughly. "Marga suddenly got a headache, and you know how fragile her health is. I was worried something would happen to her, so I got her out first. After that, I planned to come back and find you."

I looked at him quietly.

Alaric ran a hand through his hair and continued, "By the time I came back, you were already gone."

Silence settled between us.

I turned my gaze away. "I understand."

Alaric frowned. "You understand?"

"Yes," I replied calmly. "I understand."

How could I not?

After all these years, I understood better than anyone. Whenever it came down to Margaret or me, he would always choose Margaret. The explanation wasn't for me. It was for himself.

Alaric stared at me. Something dark flickered across his face, and my calm acceptance seemed to make him even more uncomfortable.

After a long silence, I finally asked, "I want to see Grandpa."

His expression softened slightly. "Your grandfather had some heart problems a few days ago, but don't panic," he said as he crouched beside the bed. "I've already arranged the best cardiologist available. It's not serious, and the doctors are monitoring him closely."

My body stiffened immediately.

Alaric squeezed my hand gently. "Focus on recovering first."

I looked at him and asked, "When can I see him?"

After a brief hesitation, he answered, "As soon as you're strong enough to stand properly, I'll take you there myself."

My ribs still hurt whenever I breathed, but hearing Grandpa wasn't well made my chest tighten.

For the next day, Alaric barely left my side. He stayed in the room, reviewed documents, took calls outside, and brought me meals. For brief moments, it almost felt like the old days.

Almost.

The following evening, his phone rang.

The moment he answered, Margaret's sobbing voice filled the room.

"Alaric, I know you care about Olivia and I know she's your wife, but we loved each other first. Why is she doing this to me? What did I do to deserve this? Is she trying to force me to die?"

My fingers slowly tightened around the blanket.

"Marga, calm down and talk to me," Alaric said immediately, his voice softening. "What happened?"

Before she could answer, the call disconnected.

Alaric's expression changed instantly. Without a second thought, he grabbed his coat and headed for the door.

I didn't know what had happened.

But something inside me sank.

Nothing good ever came from Margaret crying.

As soon as Alaric left, I picked up my phone and called Violet.

She answered almost immediately. "Olivia?"

"Violet, I need another favor."

"Anything."

"Please find out which hospital my grandfather is staying in."

There was a brief pause before she answered, "I'll handle it."

It was already late at night when Alaric returned.

A thunderstorm raged outside, and rain hammered against the windows. The ward door slammed open so hard it hit the wall.

I opened my eyes.

Alaric stood there breathing heavily. His clothes were soaked, and water dripped from his coat and hair.

At first, I thought it was rain.

Then I looked closer.

The liquid running down his sleeve wasn't clear.

It was red.

Blood.

Before I could say anything, he strode toward me.

His face was dark and furious.

"Olivia, why the fuck did you do it?" he demanded.

I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

Alaric let out a cold laugh. "You really want to ask me that?"

I stared at him in confusion. "What happened?"

Without warning, he pulled out his phone and threw it onto the bed. The corner slammed painfully against my hand.

I flinched and looked down.

Photos filled the screen.

Photos of Margaret from years ago.

The night she'd been carried out of a hotel.

The headline above them read:

Famous Female Lawyer Assaulted After Drinking!

Thousands of comments flooded the page. People called her a mistress, a homewrecker, a slut, and a disgrace.

Slowly, I looked back up.

Alaric's face was terrifying.

"I found the reporter," he said coldly. "I tracked down everyone involved, and you know what he told me? He said a woman surnamed Muffin contacted him. She didn't want money or fame. She only wanted one thing." He stepped closer. "She wanted to destroy Marga."

The room suddenly felt suffocating.

Alaric stared directly into my eyes. "The evidence is overwhelming. Tell me, what else am I supposed to think?"

I immediately shook my head. "It wasn't me."

"Olivia..."

"It wasn't me," I repeated, forcing the words through my aching throat. "I swear it wasn't me."

For a brief moment, doubt crossed his face.

Then it disappeared.

His jaw tightened.

The next second, his hand swung across my face.

Smack!

My head snapped to the side as pain exploded across my cheek.

The slap left my ears ringing. My face burned, but somehow that wasn't what hurt the most.

Alaric stood over me, his eyes cold with anger, looking at me as if I were the criminal, as if I were the one who had ruined someone's life.

"Olivia, how the fuck did you become this vicious?" he demanded, his voice low enough to make an entire boardroom fall silent.

Slowly, I turned my head back toward him. Blood lingered at the corner of my mouth where I'd bitten myself.

"I didn't do it," I said hoarsely.

But Alaric wasn't listening anymore.

His fists tightened as he said, "Marga slit her wrists because of this. She almost died, Olivia. She cried while people tore her apart online, and you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with it?"

Every word sounded like an accusation.

"This isn't over," he continued. "You don't get to hurt her and walk away."

Then he turned and left without another glance, without asking whether I was telling the truth, without caring enough to hear my side.

The door slammed shut behind him.

The room fell silent.

I stared at the empty doorway for a long time before a quiet laugh escaped me. It sounded more like a sob than laughter.

In my mind, I heard the vows we had exchanged on our wedding day.

What a joke.

"Alaric," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "what exactly did you ever manage to keep?"

A few hours later, I finally understood what he meant when he said this wasn't over.

Margaret's scandal disappeared overnight. Every article, every photo, every trending topic vanished as though none of it had ever existed. The internet moved on from her.

It didn't move on from me.

Instead, a new scandal exploded online.

Mine.

Or rather, the version they wanted people to believe.

AI-generated photos flooded every platform. Fake images showed me tied to a bed. Others showed my dead brother standing over me. More fake pictures appeared with strangers, old men, young men, anyone they could use to paint me as something disgusting.

None of it was real.

None of it mattered.

People believed it anyway.

My name, my face, my entire life were thrown onto the internet like bait.

The comments multiplied every second.

"Disgusting."

"No wonder she's crazy."

"Like brother, like sister."

"Maybe she enjoyed it."

"She's jealous because Marga is prettier."

"She's trying to destroy another woman because her husband doesn't love her."

My hands started shaking as I gripped the phone harder and harder.

No. No. No!

They're fake. Every single one is fake. My brother never touched me, never.

The lies that destroyed me years ago had returned, only this time they were even worse. My chest tightened, the room began spinning, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. The courtroom flashed through my mind, followed by the whispers, the stares, the prison cell, the humiliation, and the hatred. It felt as though invisible hands were wrapping around my throat and squeezing harder with every second.

Somewhere in the distance, voices shouted.

"Olivia, look at me! Take a breath and stay with us!" someone yelled urgently.

"Call a doctor, now!" another voice shouted.

My vision blurred as everything dissolved into noise. Then something covered my mouth and nose. A breathing mask.

One breath.

Two breaths.

Three.

Gradually, the darkness retreated. Shapes returned. Colors returned. Eventually, so did Alaric.

His face appeared above me, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw genuine worry in his eyes. Then his phone rang.

Margaret.

Of course.

Always Margaret.

He answered immediately. "Marga, what's wrong? Talk to me."

I couldn't hear what she said, but I watched him leave anyway.

Before disappearing through the door, he said gently, "The posts are gone now. Don't worry, I won't let this happen again."

Then he left.

Again.

And I was alone.

Again.

...

Over the following days, Alaric rarely came to see me. The internet, however, made sure I knew exactly where he was.

Photos appeared online every day.

Margaret and Alaric walking along the beach.

Watching the sunset together.

Sitting side by side on a mountain overlook.

Laughing.

Smiling.

Looking like the perfect couple.

The comments adored them. Nobody cared that Margaret had knowingly pursued a married man. Nobody cared that I was still his wife. Instead, people called them soulmates, true love, and a romance destined to happen.

Stories spread across social media.

Some claimed Alaric once bought gifts for an entire class just so he could secretly give one to Margaret without attracting attention.

Others said Margaret casually mentioned wanting a cake from another city, and Alaric immediately boarded a flight to bring it back to her that same night.

The stories became more ridiculous every day.

People loved them anyway.

Some even begged Alaric to divorce me and marry Margaret.

Margaret made sure I saw every post, every screenshot, and every article. She sent them to me personally, one after another, hoping to provoke me and make me lose control.

I ignored all of it.

I'd already made my decision.

I didn't want this man anymore.

Not now.

Not ever again.

That night, I opened the app connected to the hidden cameras. At first, I only wanted to make sure they were working.

Then the video loaded.

And I froze.

Margaret stood in her bedroom completely naked, tears filling her eyes. Across from her stood Alaric, his face tense and conflicted.

"Alaric, this is my fourth wish. You promised me six wishes, and this is all I'm asking for," Margaret said as she stepped closer and grabbed his hand.

His frown deepened. "Marga, don't do this. You know this isn't right."

Tears rolled down her cheeks as she shook her head. "Please. Just this once. Don't refuse me."

Alaric's jaw tightened.

He closed his eyes.

For a long moment, neither of them moved.

He should have pulled away... He should have walked out. He should have refused but Instead, he hesitated.

And he stayed.

That was enough.

A slow smile appeared on my face, not because it hurt and not because I was angry, but because it confirmed everything I already knew.

I copied the video.

Saved it.

Then turned off my phone.

Violet worked fast. Within two days, she found the hospital where Grandpa was staying and gave me another contact number, the person who would help erase every trace of Olivia from the world. Everything was ready. Almost everything. There was only one thing left for me to do.

See Grandpa before it was too late.

The morning I left, I dressed carefully and even put on a little makeup to hide how exhausted I looked. On the way, I bought a bouquet of flowers. For the first time in years, I felt nervous.

When I was sentenced, I had begged Alaric for only one thing. Don't tell Grandpa.

He was the man who raised me, taught me how to ride a bicycle, walked me to school, and always saved the biggest piece of meat for me at dinner. He knew nothing about the rumors, nothing about the lies, nothing about what people said my brother had done to me.

Because none of it was true.

My brother had never touched me.

He was dead and couldn't defend himself, yet people still dragged his name through the mud. Grandpa was old, his heart was weak, and I couldn't bear the thought of him hearing those accusations.

Standing outside his hospital room, I tightened my grip on the flowers and slowly smiled. Maybe everything would be okay. Maybe I would finally see him.

My fingers touched the doorknob.

Then something shattered inside the room.

A sharp voice followed.

Margaret laughed. "Look carefully, old man. See these pictures? Your precious granddaughter tied to a bed. I've got dozens more if you want to see them."

My blood turned cold.

Margaret continued mercilessly. "Do you know what your granddaughter's dead brother used to do to her? He molested her for years. He raped her. He ruined her."

Every word was a lie.

Margaret laughed again. "But that's not even the best part. You were the one who sent Olivia to live with him, so what does that make you? An accomplice? A failure? Maybe you deserve this too."

My breathing stopped.

Margaret stepped closer to the bed. "Your granddaughter is disgusting. Everyone online knows it. They know what kind of woman she is and what kind of family she comes from. Tell me, old man, why is someone like her still alive?"

I kicked the door open so hard it slammed against the wall.

"GRANDPA!"

My damaged voice cracked through the room.

Margaret spun around. The smile vanished from her face, replaced by something that looked almost like disappointment.

My bouquet slipped from my hands.

I looked straight at Grandpa.

His face had turned blue. His hands trembled violently. Tears streamed down his wrinkled cheeks while one hand clawed at his chest. The moment his cloudy eyes found me, more tears spilled out.

Grandpa's lips trembled. "O... Olivia..."

I ran to his side. "Grandpa, I'm here. It's okay. I'm here."

His shaking hand reached toward me.

"Oli..."

The monitor beside him suddenly erupted.

BEEEEEEP!

Doctors rushed forward. Nurses shouted. The room descended into chaos.

Then Margaret screamed.

"My foot! It hurts!"

I turned and saw blood spreading beneath her shoe. She had stepped onto the broken porcelain she had thrown earlier.

The door burst open.

Alaric rushed inside. "Marga, what happened?"

The second he saw her crying, his attention locked onto her.

Margaret grabbed his shirt. "Alaric, I'm scared. My foot hurts so much."

Without hesitation, he lifted her into his arms.

Only then did he notice me.

His eyes moved from my tear-streaked face to Grandpa lying unconscious on the bed. Somehow, he still reached the wrong conclusion.

"Olivia," Alaric said coldly, "how many times do I have to tell you? Why do you keep causing trouble for Marga?"

I stared at him in disbelief.

My grandfather was dying.

And he was worried about Margaret's foot.

The monitor shrieked louder while doctors continued trying to save Grandpa.

Margaret suddenly clutched her chest. "Alaric, I can't breathe."

Panic appeared on his face instantly.

"Marga, stay calm."

Then he turned toward the medical staff.

"I said get over here."

One doctor hesitated. "But sir, the patient"

Alaric's expression darkened. "I said get over here. Don't make me repeat myself."

The entire ward fell silent.

His voice thundered through the room. "If anything happens to Marga, every single one of you is finished."

My heart stopped.

The doctors looked between Grandpa and Margaret, trapped and terrified.

I stumbled forward and grabbed Alaric's pant leg.

"Please," I begged. "Grandpa fainted. Please save him." Tears blurred my vision. "Please."

For a moment, I thought he would listen.

Instead, disgust appeared in his eyes.

"Your grandfather had enough strength to attack Marga," Alaric said coldly. "Stop acting like he's dying."

I shook my head frantically. "He didn't. He never touched her."

But Alaric had already decided.

Like always.

He pulled away from me, turned around, and walked out carrying Margaret in his arms.

The doctors exchanged helpless glances.

Then one of them slowly approached me.

Before he even spoke, I already knew.

"Miss Olivia," the doctor whispered, his voice breaking, "I'm sorry."

No.

"Your grandfather has passed away."

No!

The world stopped.

Tears hit my arm one after another.

I hadn't cried in years, but suddenly I couldn't stop.

I shook my head repeatedly.

"No."

The doctors began leaving. They had already been ordered away. There was nothing more they could do. I grabbed their sleeves desperately.

"Please save him! I'll I'll do anything." My knees slammed into the floor. "Please!"

I bowed my head again and again until my forehead struck the ground. Blood ran down my face, but I didn't care.

"Please save him. But nobody stopped.

One by one, they left.

Until only Grandpa and I remained.

The room was painfully silent.

I stared at his motionless body.

And something inside me finally shattered.

A scream tore from my throat, raw and broken, the sound of someone who had lost everything.

This time, there was nobody left to hear it.

The day I was supposed to leave, the sky looked like it was about to collapse. Dark clouds covered everything, blocking every trace of sunlight. It reminded me of my life.

The past few days had been spent handling Grandpa's funeral. I signed documents, met relatives, accepted condolences, and repeated the same empty words until they lost all meaning. By the end, I felt nothing at all.

I returned home for one reason only, to collect my luggage.

The moment I stepped inside, I saw Alaric sitting in the living room. For a second, I almost didn't recognize him.

He hadn't attended Grandpa's funeral. He hadn't called, texted, or asked how I was doing. Yet there he was, sitting comfortably in our house as if nothing had happened.

Dark circles shadowed his eyes. A stack of documents sat on the coffee table. The moment he saw me, he stood and pushed them toward me.

"Take a look," Alaric said tiredly. "I've already reviewed everything. Just read it and tell me if there's a problem."

I lowered my gaze.

Divorce papers.

Alaric rubbed his temples before continuing, "This is Marga's fifth wish and the sixth is to be her husand for a month. Once I complete it, everything will finally be over and we can move on."

My fingers paused slightly.

"Marga wants a wedding," he said calmly. "A real ceremony, at least in appearance. That's the fifth thing she asked for."

I remained silent.

"We'll get divorced first," Alaric explained. "It's only paperwork. There'll be a cooling-off period, then we'll hold the ceremony."

He leaned forward slightly.

"But we won't register the marriage. It won't be legal, it's only for her wish. Once it's done, everything will return to normal."

Normal.

I almost laughed.

My brother was gone.

My grandfather was gone.

My marriage was gone.

My life was gone. What exactly was left to return to?

Without saying a word, I picked up the pen and signed my name.

Olivia Muffin.

The signature was neat and steady, as if it belonged to someone else.

Alaric stared at it for several seconds before releasing a long breath. The relief on his face was impossible to miss.

"Honey, it's finally over," Alaric said, his voice lighter than it had been in years. "After this, we can leave everything behind and start over." He leaned back against the sofa. "You always wanted to travel. We'll leave New York and go wherever you want. We'll bring Grandpa with us and spend time together."

My heart stopped.

I stared at him. Did he forget? Or had he never cared enough to remember?

Grandpa was dead.

Before I could speak, his phone rang.

Immediately, everything about him changed.

The tension left his shoulders. The exhaustion disappeared. And his eyes softened the moment he saw the caller ID.

Margaret.

Always Margaret.

"Marga," Alaric answered immediately. "What's wrong? Did something happen?"

Margaret's cheerful voice came through the phone. "We agreed we'd try wedding dresses today. Don't tell me you've forgotten already because I've been waiting forever."

Alaric checked the time and cursed under his breath.

"I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I lost track of time. I'm leaving now and I'll be there soon."

Margaret laughed softly. "You always say that. If you don't get here quickly, I'm picking the ugliest dress I can find."

A smile appeared on his face.

"Be good and wait for me," Alaric replied gently. "Don't run around by yourself. I'll be there before you know it."

The call ended.

He grabbed his coat and headed toward the door.

Halfway there, he suddenly stopped.

Something made him look back.

I was still sitting on the sofa, watching him.

For some reason, he frowned.

As if something felt wrong.

As if he'd forgotten something important.

The feeling lasted only a second.

"Wait for me," Alaric said with a smile. "We'll talk tonight. There's still a lot we need to discuss."

Then he left.

The front door closed behind him and the house fell silent.

I sat there for a long time, listening to the emptiness around me.

Eventually, I walked to the storage cabinet and pulled out our wedding album from where it had been hidden behind old boxes. Dust coated the cover. My fingers brushed across it lightly.

Back then, I'd believed that wedding was the beginning of my happiness.

What a stupid dream!

I opened the album.

Photograph after photograph filled the pages. Smiling faces. Happy memories. Promises that had sounded eternal at the time.

Lies.

I stared at the first picture for a long moment before tearing it in half.

The ripping sound echoed through the silent house.

Then I tore another, and another.

Page after page, photograph after photograph, until shredded pieces covered the floor around my feet. Our wedding day. Our honeymoon. Birthdays. Anniversaries. Every memory that had once seemed precious became nothing more than scraps of paper.

I looked down at the mess and surprisingly, I felt nothing.

The woman who would've cried while destroying those photographs had disappeared a long time ago.

After a while, I closed the album and set it aside. Then I picked up my suitcase and walked toward the front door.

This time, I didn't look back.

Because the moment I signed those divorce papers, Alaric became someone else's problem.

As for the wedding gift I had prepared for the happy couple...

I smiled faintly.

They would receive it soon enough.

And when they did, neither of them would ever forget it.