After She Deleted My Fingerprint Ninth Time, Wedding Off

1: 1

At the housewarming for our wedding home, everyone got rowdy and started a truth-or-dare party game.

The childhood friend who drew the King card laughed and gave her order:

Number Five, open the smart lock and delete the least important fingerprint in it.

Grace Delgado flipped over her number card. It was Five.

She looked down and tapped a few times, and a notification popped up on my phone:

Your door access has been revoked.

While the room roared with laughter, she slipped an arm around my waist as though it were nothing.

"Don't be upset. They're just messing around."

"After the party's over, I'll register it again for you."

That made it nine times she'd deleted my fingerprint.

Every time she re-entered it, she'd kiss my cheek and say,

"You can come by whenever you want. There'll always be a place for you here."

But the next time I stood outside that door, what met me was always the same line:

This fingerprint has no access.

I was about to ask her how long this newly registered print would last, when the childhood friend burst out laughing.

"Grace, you still haven't given him permanent access?"

"When Herbert Winfield moved in last month, didn't you set him straight in as the master of the house?"

The whole room went dead quiet.

I looked at the lock's admin panel.

There, in the permanent resident field, was another man's name.

Grace was silent for a moment, and then her tone turned almost impatient.

"Herbert just got back to the country. He's got nowhere to go for now."

"You're not here most of the time anyway. What difference does permanent access make?"

I said nothing. I only took the ring off my left hand and set it in her palm.

Then I turned and called the agent.

"That wedding home. List it for sale tonight."

Grace stared at the diamond ring in her palm, frozen for a couple of seconds, her brow knotting.

The friends who'd been drinking in the living room stopped, every pair of eyes landing on me.

Grace stepped forward and grabbed my wrist.

"Lambert Henson, it's just a door lock. Do you have to pull off the ring in front of all these people and blow it up like this?"

I looked at her and didn't answer.

Herbert, sitting on the couch, set down his glass.

"Lambert, don't get the wrong idea. I'm only staying temporarily. Grace registered my print so I wouldn't have trouble coming and going."

"If it bothers you, I'll move out tomorrow. I'll stay at a hotel."

He started to get up as he said it.

Grace instantly let go of my hand, turned, and went to press him back down by the shoulder.

"Why would you stay at a hotel by yourself? This is your home."

Then she turned her head, fixed her eyes on me, and hardened her voice.

"Herbert's only staying a few days. You won't be satisfied until you force him out in front of everyone?"

"I registered the print. If you've got a problem, take it up with me. Don't make things hard for him."

The money for this place, Grace and I had each paid half.

And now I didn't even have the right to register a fingerprint for the front door.

I gave her one look, turned, and walked to the master bedroom.

I pulled open the drawer, took out the purchase contract, and slid it into the briefcase I carry.

Grace heard the noise and came over.

Seeing me getting ready to leave, her expression shifted.

She took two steps toward me and reached out to grab my arm.

Then Herbert's voice came from the living room.

"Grace my stomach hurts so bad. It's probably the chilled champagne I drank. Cramps."

Grace stopped and spun around, hurrying toward the living room.

I had just stepped out of the bedroom, and I happened to be blocking the hallway.

Without a second thought, Grace shoved me aside.

The force sent me stumbling back two steps, and my lower back slammed hard into the corner of the solid wood cabinet in the hallway.

The pain spread through me at once.

I braced against the cabinet and sucked in a breath.

Grace was already at the couch, gripping Herbert's arm.

She whipped her head around and yelled at me,

"What are you still standing there for? Go pour him a glass of warm water!"

The stabbing pain in my back dragged at my stomach until it started cramping too, wave after wave.

I clutched my stomach, hurting too much to breathe.

Seeing no reaction from me, Grace just bent down, hauled Herbert up, and strode for the door.

"Forget it, I can't count on you! I'll take him to the hospital."

She half-carried him out the door.

The security door slammed shut with a bang.

Five seconds later, the smart lock gave its little beep as it locked.

The friends could tell something was wrong and left one after another.

The living room was empty.

On the entryway floor lay the leather shoes Herbert had kicked off.

His jacket was tossed on the couch, and his half-finished champagne still sat on the coffee table.

Holding back the pain, I took out my phone and called the real-estate agent I know.

"John Finch, this place downtown, I need you to list it for sale right away."

"Yes, urgent. I'll take two hundred grand under market. I just want a buyer as fast as possible."

The call ended, and the screen went dark.

I pressed a hand to my stomach and tightened my grip on the bag.

I pushed open the front door and walked out without looking back.

2: 2

The next day, I took a cab alone to the bridal shop downtown.

The wedding had been set for the following month. Since there was no longer any reason to hold it, the formalwear had to go back too.

The moment I stepped inside, I heard a familiar voice coming from the VIP fitting room.

I followed the sound and found the door left ajar.

Through the gap, I saw Herbert standing in front of the floor-length mirror, wearing my groom's suit.

I'd spent half a year settling on that suit.

From the curve of the collar to every custom cuff link on the sleeves, I had gone over each detail with the designer again and again.

The day of the fitting, Grace had a meeting come up and didn't show.

Afterward I sent her the photos, and three hours later she wrote back one word: "Nice."

Yet now she stood behind Herbert, patiently straightening the hidden clasp at his waist.

Herbert turned and laughed at his own reflection in the mirror.

"Grace, it's a little tight through the waist."

"Then again, Lambert never works out, and his shoulders are on the narrow side. He probably couldn't fill this out anyway."

Grace studied him in the mirror and actually nodded, in earnest.

"True. It really does hang better on your frame."

"Have them alter the size, and you can wear it to the dinner next week."

I pushed the door open.

It banged against the wall, and they both turned at once.

Grace let go of him fast and stepped back half a pace, already explaining.

"I was afraid you were still sulking over last night and wouldn't come try it on, so I had Herbert wear it first to check the fit."

I looked at the suit on Herbert, and my stomach turned.

"No need to try anything."

"I don't want this suit anymore. Return it."

The smile on Herbert's face faded a little.

He smoothed the hem and walked toward me. "Lambert, don't be angry, I'll change out of it right now"

When he reached my side, Herbert suddenly seized my wrist, let himself fall backward, and at the same time shoved me hard toward the floor mirror behind me.

"Lambert, why did you push me?"

Caught completely off guard, I stumbled back two steps.

My back slammed into the mirror, and the glass shattered with a sharp crack.

Cracks spread fast across it, and a jagged shard sliced open my arm.

Blood ran down my skin and dripped, drop by drop, onto the snow-white carpet.

Grace rushed over first.

But only to pull Herbert to her and shield him against her chest.

"Herbert, are you hurt?"

She checked him over, and once she was sure he was fine, she turned to me where I stood.

Her eyes swept over my bleeding arm, and her brows drew tight.

"Lambert, have you lost your mind?"

"Herbert was doing you a favor, trying it on for you. Why would you push him?"

She stood between him and me, and never once reached out a hand toward me.

The pain in my arm slowly gave way to numbness.

Bracing myself against the wall, I stepped around the glass on the floor and steadied myself.

"There are cameras in this shop. If you want to know who pushed who, go check them yourself."

Grace froze for a second.

Herbert clutched at her sleeve and said softly, "Let it go. It's all my fault."

I didn't stay to hear more. I turned and left.

The moment I was out the door, my stomach clenched.

The cut on my arm was still bleeding. I managed a few steps before everything started to blur white.

As my body lost its balance, someone caught me in time.

"Mr. Henson, careful."

I looked up and recognized her as Sophia James of James Group.

She handed me a handkerchief and turned to instruct the assistant behind her. "The nearest hospital."

When she looked back at me, her tone was certain.

"If Delgado Group isn't worth any more of your effort, James Group would welcome the man who was truly behind it all, anytime."

The pain left me cold all over, but my mind was strangely clear.

I took the handkerchief and closed my hand around it.

"All right. I'll start tomorrow."

3: 3

After they bandaged the cut on my arm at the hospital, I got in a cab straight to Delgado Group.

All the years I spent building this company with Grace Delgado, every original draft of the core proposals I wrote, every project file, all of it was locked in the safe in the CEO's office.

Take them back, and we could cut ties for good.

The moment I reached the company turnstile, the screen flashed red.

This employee has no access.

The receptionist looked uncomfortable. "Mr. Henson, Ms. Delgado said you haven't been feeling well lately. You don't need to come in for now."

I called the admin manager and had him open the turnstile, then went straight up to the top floor.

The CEO's office door was ajar.

Herbert Winfield was sitting in Grace's chair, and Grace was leaning over him from behind, guiding his hand on the computer.

"Grace, when we take this to James Group tomorrow, they won't figure out the proposal was originally Lambert's, will they?"

Grace's voice was gentle. "The proposal's in the company system, so it's company property. You'll present it tomorrow, and I'll back you up."

I pushed the door open.

They both turned at once.

Grace let go of Herbert's hand fast and frowned. "How did you get in?"

I didn't answer. I walked straight to the safe, keyed in the code, and packed every original draft inside into a document envelope.

Grace pressed her hand against the door of the safe.

"Lambert, do you really have to push this so far? Yesterday was just a small disagreement. You take these files now, are you trying to wreck tomorrow's investment meeting?"

I lifted my eyes to her.

"Deleting my access, canceling my account, letting Herbert take my place, that's a small disagreement?"

"Herbert's only helping out for a while. You've been unstable lately. Take some time off. It's better for everyone."

Herbert walked over with a coffee in his hand.

"Lambert, don't get the wrong idea. If you don't want me at the company, I'll leave right now."

As he passed me, his wrist tilted, and the coffee spilled all over the carpet.

He gave a startled cry, grabbed the industrial-strength cleaner off the desk, and pumped it over the stain a dozen times.

The sharp chemical smell flooded the whole office in an instant.

My breath caught, and my chest clamped down hard.

I've had severe asthma since I was a child. A harsh smell can trigger respiratory failure at any moment.

I clamped a hand over my nose and mouth and stumbled toward the window, but the floor-to-ceiling panes were all sealed shut, and the AC was running on recirculation.

I yanked open a drawer looking for a spare inhaler. It was empty.

Herbert stood off to the side, covering his nose, muttering. "It's just a little cleaner. Does it really have to be this dramatic?"

I couldn't speak anymore. All I could do was grip the desk and fight for air.

My vision blurred, my legs gave out, and the files on the desk went crashing to the floor.

Grace finally realized something was wrong and rushed over to hold me up.

"Where's your medicine?"

I clutched her sleeve with everything I had, but only a broken thread of air came out of my throat.

She got an arm under me and started for the door.

Behind us, Herbert let out a cry of pain.

He'd stepped on the shattered coffee cup, and a gash opened across the sole of his foot, blood welling up fast.

"Grace, my foot really hurts. I still have to present at James Group tomorrow. What if the cut gets infected?"

Grace stopped.

She looked down at me, already convulsing from the lack of oxygen, then turned to look at Herbert sitting on the floor with his pained face.

Ten seconds later, she let go of me and pushed me onto the assistant who'd just come running.

She said coldly:

"His asthma's acting up. Take him to the hospital. Herbert has to present tomorrow, and his foot can't wait. I'll take him first."

With that, she helped Herbert up and hurried into the private elevator.

The doors slid slowly shut.

Herbert leaned into her arms, watching me through the closing gap, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile.

The assistant got me into the car right away and hit the gas.

The car raced down the jammed street.

I gripped the seat under me with both hands. Starved of air, the dull ache in my stomach suddenly seized into a cramp, and a warm, metallic sweetness rose in my throat.

The car ahead cut lanes without warning, and the assistant slammed the brakes.

I was thrown hard into the seat in front of me, and a tearing pain ripped through my stomach.

The next second, I lost consciousness completely.

4: 4

I surfaced from the blackout to a hospital room and the sharp bite of disinfectant.

The doctor saw me open my eyes and sighed.

Mr. Henson, your asthma attack cut off your oxygen, and when the car braked hard your abdomen took the impact. That caused a perforated stomach and heavy internal bleeding.

We had to remove part of your stomach in emergency surgery. From now on you'll need medication for the rest of your life and a strict diet, or you could develop serious complications at any time.

I lay there, the color drained from my face, the wound in my belly throbbing in waves.

A little more and I'd have died on the way to the hospital.

The phone on the bedside table buzzed once.

Numbly, I picked it up.

On the screen was a post Grace Delgado's assistant had just put up:

Celebrating early Ms. Delgado lands the big investment tomorrow! Thanks for all the hard work, Herbert~

The location tag was the most upscale steakhouse right below the office.

I'd just clawed my way back from death, and they were toasting to climbing over me.

I couldn't hold back anymore. I reached up and pulled the IV needle from the back of my left hand.

Forcing down the knifing pain in my gut, I took a cab to the restaurant.

The moment I reached the door of the VIP room, the sight through the half-open gap turned my stomach.

Herbert Winfield was half draped in Grace Delgado's arms, one finger hooked around her necklace.

Grace bent her head and, with sickening tenderness, kissed a smear of red wine from the corner of his mouth.

Grace, tomorrow when I take Lambert's proposal to James Group and land the investment, are you really going to transfer all his shares to me?

Grace tightened her arm around his waist, her tone scornful.

The second the funding is in hand tomorrow, I'll kick him out for good.

The general manager's seat will be yours, and only yours.

I pushed the door open and looked coldly at the two of them.

At the sound, Grace lifted her head.

When she saw it was me, she froze for a second, then shoved Herbert off her, her face going dark in an instant.

Lambert, you actually followed me here?

You went to the hospital for a little asthma, that's all. And now you're running over here to check up on me?

I walked to the table, picked up the bottle of red wine they'd just opened, and poured it straight over the proposal beside it.

The dark red seeped through the paper in seconds.

Grace slammed me aside and scrambled to snatch the documents off the table.

Lambert, have you lost your mind!

I was weak to begin with, and the shove sent me into the back of a chair, a rush of blood coming up my throat.

She wiped frantically at the wine on the pages, but the writing had already bled and blurred beyond reading.

She hurled the ruined paper onto the table, her face gray with fury.

That's the master copy for tomorrow's hundred-million investment! You won't rest until you've destroyed the company, will you!

Seeing the documents were beyond saving, she didn't waste another second on me. She grabbed Herbert and hurried out.

Come on, back to the office to reformat and reprint it!

Just before the door, she turned and glared at me:

Once I land James Group's investment tomorrow and kick you out for good, don't come crying to me!

The door slammed hard behind her.

Bracing myself on the corner of the table, I slowly straightened up and calmly dialed Sophia James.

The line rang twice before she picked up.

Looking out at the night beyond the floor-to-ceiling window, I spoke calmly:

Ms. James, tomorrow I'll be handling James Group's investment review personally.