Andrea Baxter's husband, Alexander Wilkinson, had been dead for three years.

In the first year after his death, she sold her art studio and worked herself to exhaustion just to pay off his debts.

In the second, she barely slept, taking on endless overtime to cover his sister's tuition—until her body finally gave up on her.

By the third year, she was drinking herself sick to raise money for his mother's surgery. Her stomach bled that night, but she didn't stop.

She threw up blood in the bathroom, wiped her mouth, and forced a smile.

Because the BlueWave Group's CEO was waiting—and this deal was her only chance to survive.

When the door opened, she managed a weak smile and lifted her glass in a formal toast.

Yet, the man sitting at the head of the table was a man she had buried three years ago.

Her husband.

***

The metallic taste of blood she had forced down rose in her throat again.

His handsome, aloof face and those deep, indifferent eyes—every detail had drawn her into countless sweet dreams, only for her to wake from them in tears just as many times.

"Alexander..." Andrea's voice trailed off.

She stared blankly at the man before her in shock.

How could he be here? He had been gone for three years!

Alexander's eyes flickered, but his voice was flat. "You've mistaken me for someone else."

Andrea's fingers trembled uncontrollably around the wine glass.

They had been together for three years and married for another three. She could never confuse him with anyone else!

Andrea stared hard at Alexander, her heart pounding violently as a torrent of questions and grievances surged through her.

She wanted to ask why he wasn't dead, and why he had never come home. Did he have any idea how much she had suffered these past three years?

But before she could speak, the door swung open, and a pregnant woman stepped inside.

"Honey, what's taking so long? Didn't you say you'd just take a quick look?"

Andrea froze. Her blood ran cold. Every word she wanted to say caught in her throat.

The woman clung to Alexander's arm, eyeing Andrea curiously.

"Who's this? Do you know her?"

Alexander's cold gaze settled on Andrea. "Nope. Just some random person."

His words hit Andrea like a sudden storm, leaving her chest tight with pain.

She remained frozen in place, watching him wrap an arm around the pregnant woman and walk out—never once looking back.

By the time Andrea returned home, it was already 11:00 p.m. A vicious pain tore through her stomach.

Ghostly pale, she fumbled for her pills with trembling hands and forced them down dry. The noise woke her mother-in-law, Rebecca Wilkinson.

She stepped out of her bedroom and gave Andrea a cold, dismissive glance. "Why are you home so late? Bridie has exams soon. Don't disturb her."

Andrea's lashes quivered, her mind consumed by the sight of Alexander standing there, alive.

Was it really him? Or just someone who looked like him?

She drew a sharp breath, forcing herself to stay calm. "Rebecca, I think I saw Alex today."

The water glass slipped slightly in Rebecca's hand, her face paling in an instant.

"Nonsense! Alex has been dead for three years," she snapped. "You're having drunken delusions. Next time, don't come home until you've sobered up!"

With that, she hurried back to her room and slammed the door shut behind her.

Andrea stared at the closed door, pressing her lips tight.

She had briefly wondered if she was simply drunk and seeing things. But the sharp pain stabbing her stomach told her otherwise. Her mind was clear—what she saw was real.

The next morning, as soon as she got to work, her rival, Haylie Ramirez, greeted her with biting sarcasm. "Stomach bleeding yesterday, back at work today—you're a real grind machine, aren't you? You've already driven away several of my team members. Why don't you just burn out everyone and do all the work yourself?"

Pale-lipped, Andrea sat at her desk, ignoring Haylie.

That 50-dollar perfect attendance bonus went straight to Rebecca's medical bills. She couldn't afford to lose it. Mockery or stomach pain, she would endure it all.

But Haylie wasn't satisfied. Her smirk hardened. "Of course, you would do anything for money. Last night you tried cozying up to Mr. Wilkinson, didn't you? Too bad he's been married for five years now."

Andrea froze, snapping her head up. "What did you say?"

Alexander had been gone for three years.

Five years ago, they had just celebrated their first anniversary.

Haylie gave a sharp laugh. "Next time you try throwing yourself at someone, at least do your homework. He's got a second kid on the way."

Andrea's face drained of color. Her hands clenched at her sides. A crushing heartbreak threatened to drown her completely.

She moved through her work like an empty shell, and by the time she got home, it was late into the night.

Her sister-in-law, Bridget Wilkinson, said with a smile, "Drea, the school art tour next semester costs 700 dollars. We need to pay soon."

Andrea looked at her, her chest convulsing with a violent storm of emotions.

Bridget had no clue that Alexander was alive, married to someone else, and done with Andrea and this family...

Andrea turned her head away, swallowing the ache in her throat. "Alright. I'll transfer it to your advisor."

"You're the best! Love you! I'm off to paint now," Bridget chirped, then skipped off to her room with a grin.

Exhausted, Andrea collapsed onto the couch and saw Bridget's phone. She was about to call out when a WhatsApp notification lit the screen.

She glanced down and froze.

"The monthly allowance has already been transferred."

The person who sent the message was Alexander.

Andrea's mind went completely blank.

She stared at the message in disbelief. A second later, Bridget's phone buzzed again with a bank notification.

"Your account received a deposit of 15,000 dollars on October 25, 2024, at 11:43 p.m. Current balance is 72,472 dollars."

She counted the zeros again and again, until her vision blurred.

Since Alexander's death, she had carried the entire weight of his family on her shoulders.

Rebecca's illness, Bridget's tuition and living expenses for art school, the company's debts, and the mortgage... Each one was pressing down until she could barely breathe.

She sold her studio, sold her dreams, and threw herself into a cutthroat sales job that cared only for profit, not lives. She worked harder than anyone so that his family could live better.

But in this moment, every sacrifice felt like a cruel joke.

The cruelest irony was that after working herself to the bone day and night, she had only just finished repaying the money she borrowed for Rebecca's last hospital stay that very afternoon.

Five hundred dollars was just one month's interest on the 70,000 dollars in savings. She had worked two full months of overtime just to cover it.

Andrea's chest clenched, the bitter taste of blood rising in her mouth.

Just then, Bridget hurried out to grab her phone. "Drea, get some rest. You've got work tomorrow."

Andrea tightened her grip, swallowing her tears, and forced out a hoarse whisper. "The hospital just sent the bill from Rebecca's last stay. It's 500 dollars. I already paid your tuition. I don't have any left."

Bridget replied without hesitation, as if it were only natural. "Just wait until your next paycheck. You'll figure something out, right?"

Andrea shut her eyes. Something deep inside her shattered completely. Her heart felt carved to pieces, the pain so sharp she could barely breathe.

The next day, for the first time, she didn't stay for overtime.

When she walked out of the office, the sky still held the faintest trace of light. She stood there, dazed, staring up as if it were something foreign.

On her way home, she passed a jewelry store and drifted inside. In the display window, a camellia necklace shimmered softly under the lights.

She remembered stopping at this same store just after graduation. Back then, Alexander had just begun his career.

His eyes were full of love and determination as he said, "Someday, whatever you want, I'll buy it for you."

But five years had passed. He was gone. And she had never again allowed herself to buy anything so frivolous.

"Would you like to try it on?" the clerk asked gently. Andrea snapped out of her daze, flustered, and shook her head.

She was about to refuse when a voice behind her cut in. "A sales manager who can't even afford a necklace? How pathetic."

Andrea stiffened. Turning, she saw a pregnant woman standing there.

It was Alexander's girlfriend, Dorothy Preston.

Dorothy pulled out a gold card and handed it to the clerk. "Wrap this up for her. Charge it to my husband's card."

The name printed on the card stabbed into Andrea's chest like a knife.

The clerk boxed the necklace and handed it over. Dorothy passed it to her with a look of disdain.

"If you want something, earn it yourself. Don't crawl into men's beds.

"Women like you are all the same—clawing their way into a man's sheets just for a scrap of benefit."

Andrea's face drained of color. Her voice was low, trembling but sharp. "Just because that's who you are, you think everyone else is the same?"

Dorothy let out a cold laugh, her lips curling with mockery. "The difference is, I don't have to beg. Whatever I want, he gives me."

Andrea's chest tightened, and Alexander's words surfaced in her mind. Her heart no longer even felt like her own. It hurt too much.

"Someday, whatever you want, I'll buy it for you."

The promise had come true. But the woman wasn't her.

Dorothy turned and left.

Andrea clutched the necklace, her knuckles white, and bit down hard as she hailed a cab to follow. The neon of the city faded into silence as the car pulled into a gated villa community.

She stood outside the fence, watching Dorothy walk into the house.

Through the wide glass windows, she saw warm light glowing. Alexander sat with his head pressed to Dorothy's belly. She whispered something, and he smiled before leaning down to kiss her with tender joy.

Rain poured down, drenching Andrea where she stood, staring unblinking at the scene inside.

She could no longer tell if the water running down her face was rain or tears.

Inside the villa, Alexander turned his head toward the floor-to-ceiling window as if sensing something.

Their eyes met across the rain-streaked glass, but the distance between them already felt like another lifetime.

Rain drummed against the umbrella, sharp and relentless.

Alexander held one out to her, rain soaking the cuff of his expensive suit.

"What are you doing here?"

Andrea's lips were pale, her eyes hollow and lifeless.

She didn't take the umbrella. Instead, she opened her palm. The camellia necklace lay quietly in her hand.

She bit down hard on her lip, her voice tangled with the sobs caught in her throat.

"I came to return this. Your... new girlfriend bought it for me."

Then, she let out a broken laugh, though her eyes burned red and wet.

"Your promise came true after all, Alexander. But why? Was I not enough?

"How could you walk away so coldly and choose someone else?"

Alexander's gaze flickered. His grip on the umbrella tightened.

"You did nothing wrong."

"Why then?"

He was silent for a long time.

Finally, he lifted his eyes. "Because I was tired. Three years of marriage with you drained me to the core."

The color drained from Andrea's face. Her heart plummeted into an icy abyss. Her world crumbled with those words. Tears flooded her vision until everything turned to white haze. She couldn't force out another word.

"So please don't ever disturb my life again." His voice, under the umbrella, was colder than the storm itself. "We're over."

The pitch-black night was so still it felt suffocating.

Behind him, Dorothy's voice drifted out. "Honey, who's that?"

Spots flickered chaotically across Andrea's vision, her body feeling as if it were splitting apart, the pain so sharp it stole her breath.

She stumbled back a step, then turned and fled into the rain, clutching the necklace so tightly that the camellia necklace cut deep into her palm.

By the time she returned home, it was already 10:30 p.m.

Her hand had just touched the doorknob when she heard Bridget's voice drifting out from inside.

"She's like a puppet on strings." Bridget sneered.

Andrea froze.

Then came Rebecca's voice. "It's all because of that fake-death stunt of yours. Alex got away clean, while I've been stuck living on scraps every day.

"Why couldn't that useless Andrea just make more money..."

A draft swept through the corridor as Andrea stood frozen at the door, her whole body chilled to the bone.

So they had all been in on it from the start. While she was working herself half to death to cover medical bills and skipping her own breakfasts just to buy Bridget art supplies, they had been laughing at her all along, mocking her foolish sense of duty and her foolish love.

How could they be this cruel?

They had already drained her dry, yet still spat on her lifeless body behind her back.

How laughable. How utterly laughable...

She closed her eyes, tears spilling unchecked.

The laughter inside continued. Andrea's chest burned as she pushed the door open. The noise cut off abruptly.

"You're home? Weren't you supposed to be—"

"Working late, right?"

Her tear-blurred eyes lifted. She smiled, though her face was wet with tears.

"Enjoying the puppet show? Was it entertaining?"

Both of their faces went stiff, but Andrea felt nothing but exhaustion—bone-deep, endless exhaustion. Clenching her fists, she walked straight into her room.

From a hidden compartment in the cabinet, she pulled out the marriage license. There was also a photo. In the photo, the two of them gazed at each other with eyes full of love.

She stared at it blankly, her chest tightened until she could barely breathe. Biting her lip, she grabbed the document and rushed back out into the downpour.

This charade needed to end.

She took a cab all the way to the villa, her hand trembling as she pressed the doorbell. Dorothy answered, her expression flickering with surprise.

"Why are you here?"

Andrea's gaze slipped past her, finding Alexander in the background, his eyes dark. Pain stabbed through her heart. She lifted the marriage license in her hand.

"We started dating in college for three years. We got married after graduation, and that was another three years. You promised me a perfect home. What's wrong? Can't bring yourself to admit it now?"

Her head swam from the hours in the rain, but she pushed on, desperate to make things clear.

Alexander only looked at the marriage license with detached indifference, and a chill spread through her chest.

Then, Dorothy let out a derisive laugh.

"I tried to spare you some dignity, but you just won't stop forcing yourself in, will you? We got our marriage license three years ago."

Andrea froze. Dorothy lifted her own marriage license, waving it mockingly in front of her.

"Yours doesn't even have an official seal. That so-called marriage license isn't even real."

Andrea heard Alexander's voice from behind, "You're using a fake marriage license to spin your lies. Do you really take me for a fool?"

Her eyes went lifeless as she looked at his cold, unfeeling face, and suddenly it all came back to her.

Six years ago, when they registered their marriage, the machine broke, and the license never received its official seal. The clerk told them to come back another day. But after that, he was always too busy, always putting it off.

He told her they didn't need a stamp to prove their love.

And she had believed him.

A bitter, colorless smile pulled at her lips. Her chest felt like it was drowning under icy seawater—choking and crushing her—but no more tears would come.

"No... I'm the fool..."

Lightning split the sky, and the entire city lit for a fleeting moment.

Andrea stumbled through the rain-soaked streets, ragged and disoriented, her mind spinning in a haze as shards of memory pierced through.

She had grown up in an orphanage, with no family and no one to love her. To escape, she studied tirelessly, relying on scholarships and loans to attend college.

And in college, she met Alexander. He saw the loneliness hidden in her paintings, broke into her guarded world, taught her to open up, and taught her what love meant.

She truly believed he was the only light in her otherwise cold and desolate life. She gave him everything—without fear, without holding anything back.

But after his "death," all he left behind was 800,000 dollars in debt. She sold everything she owned and worked herself to the point of exhaustion to pay it back.

She never allowed herself to get sick, never dared take even a single day off. She forced herself to be invincible, all so she could hold up his family in his absence.

Those burdens were shackles she carried day after day. And she had survived only by clinging to the memory of his love.

But now she knew. It had all been a lie.

Even the love he showed her had been a lie.

The torrential rain tore her past wide open, raw and merciless, as if the memories themselves bled out into the storm.

Her chest ached with unbearable pain.

Her vision blurred. Then, as a stranger brushed past, her body gave way and she collapsed in the rain. Voices cried out around her, but she heard nothing.

When she woke again, she was in the hospital. The rain outside had stopped.

"You collapsed on the street with a high fever. Someone brought you in. If you keep pushing yourself, it'll turn into meningitis."

The doctor warned, flipping through her chart. "But I suppose you won't take time off."

Her eyes stared blankly, unfocused. After a long silence, she finally raised her head.

"No... Write me a sick leave note. I need to rest."

She was too tired.

The doctor gave her a long look but said nothing. He filled out the form.

"And one more thing—your mother-in-law's surgery can't be delayed. The longer you wait, the more dangerous it becomes."

Surgery fees.

Her chest twisted sharply. She let out a bitter laugh.

"Talk to her daughter. Rebecca and I have nothing to do with each other anymore."

Walking out of the hospital, she wandered the quiet afternoon streets in a daze. She couldn't even remember how long it had been since she had strolled like this without rushing.

Her chest tightened as she approached home. But when she reached the door, she froze. The gate was open, and her belongings were piled outside.

Bridget tossed out her last painting and dusted off her hands. "Since you finally know the truth, pack up and get out. This house is in Alex's name, anyway."

Andrea stared at the painting. It was the piece that had sealed her love with Alexander.

No matter how poor she had been, she had never been willing to sell it. Now it lay in the dirt.

Her chest burned as she lifted her eyes to Bridget.

"I paid most of this mortgage. By law, half of it belongs to me."

Bridget sneered. "Sue me then. Oh, right—you're broke."

At that, she slammed the door in Andrea's face.

Andrea stood there, nails digging into her palms.

After a while, she let out a hollow, bitter laugh.

She couldn't even tell if she was mocking their cruelty or her own stupidity.

With little money left, she found a cheap motel nearby.

Feverish and alone, she curled under thin sheets, sobbing like the orphaned child she had once been.

Two days later, the fever finally broke. She steadied herself, gathered what strength she had, and went back to work.

The moment she walked in, the general manager, Ryan Calhoun, summoned her.

"Haylie will now handle the BlueWave Group project," he said flatly.

Andrea's hands clenched tight. "Why?"

His expression hardened.

"Because Mr. Wilkinson personally requested you be removed. Otherwise, the partnership ends here."

Pain stabbed through Andrea's chest.

She gritted her teeth, forcing out a hoarse voice. "But I haven't made a single mistake at work."

"That's true. But in this line of business, you should know that sometimes one word is enough to erase everything, even if you've done nothing wrong."

Ryan said calmly, "I don't know what you did to offend Mr. Wilkinson, and I don't care.

"But if you threaten this company's interests, I'll fire you without hesitation, no matter how good you are."

His words were final.

At the stairwell, Andrea clutched her phone, lips drained of color.

"Do you really have to be this ruthless?"

On the phone, Alexander's voice was flat and detached. "I just don't want you destroying my family."

"Destroying your family?" She let out a bitter laugh, the ache in her chest surging uncontrollably.

"You destroyed mine! You knew I had no family of my own. I treated yours like they were mine! I gave everything, tried to protect them from any hardship. And all of it was shattered by your lies!

"Alexander, do you really... not feel a single thing for me?"

Her voice cracked, trembling with the sobs she tried to choke back.

After a pause, his voice dropped like ice. "No. Every second with you was suffocating.

"I'm happy with Dorothy now. And I'll do whatever it takes to keep you away from my life."

The color drained from her face. She tried to speak, but her voice was cut short by a distant interruption.

"Honey, who are you talking to?"

Andrea froze. Before she could react, the line went dead.

The busy tone echoed through the stairwell, each beep slicing deeper into her chest.

She walked back to her desk, stiff and hollow. Haylie smirked, voice dripping with mockery. "Got caught trying to sleep your way up, huh? Now you've lost the man, the deal, and your dignity. Tell me—don't you think that's pathetic?"

Haylie smirked as she threw the jab, but then noticed Andrea slowly lift her head, her eyes rimmed red and glassy.

"Yes. I am pathetic."

She was pathetic for believing in his lies all these years and still hoping there might be something left to salvage.

Andrea shut her eyes in despair, tears finally streaming down her face.

After a long moment, she tightened her fists, forcing herself to look at Haylie with raw eyes and a hoarse voice. "Lend me some money."

Haylie froze, then burst out laughing. "You? Asking me for money? How have you fallen, Ms. Baxter?"

Andrea pressed her lips together, her voice low. "Please."

Haylie arched a brow. "How much?"

At the law firm, Zachary Vazquez pushed up the rim of his glasses. His lips carried a mocking smile, though his eyes were ice cold.

"I told you long ago, this would never end well for you."

Andrea bit her lip, saying nothing.

Zachary studied her for a moment before finally looking away. "You can reclaim most of the money you spent on his mother and sister with transfer records.

"Although you paid the mortgage, the house is not in your name. At best, you can recover the payments you made."

Her lips had lost all color, her eyes hollow.

"That's enough. I just want back what's mine."

He raised a brow. "If you want, I can—"

"No. I'll owe you this time. I'll pay you back one day."

She gave a thin, bitter smile. "Thank you, Mr. Vazquez. For everything—for the orphanage, and for the last three years."

His smile faltered.

Much later, he turned his head, his voice lost in the wind. "Do you really think the debt between us can ever be repaid?"

The late autumn wind was sharp, cutting to the bone. Andrea stood at the gates of the villa, shivering.

She pulled out her phone and dialed.

Alexander's voice came through, icy. "I told you, stop bothering me."

Her chest tightened with unbearable pain. She drew a shaky breath. "Alexander, do we really have to end up like this?"

His tone dropped. "Eight hundred thousand dollars. That's enough for your efforts in the past few years."

She gave a hollow laugh, staring at the closed door. Any hesitation in her heart was gone. Tears blurred her vision as she hung up and pressed the doorbell.

When Alexander opened the door and saw her, his face turned to stone.

"If the compensation isn't enough, I can add more. But don't ever come here again."

"You misunderstand."

Andrea cut him off, forcing a calm she didn't feel as she handed him the papers.

His eyes flickered when he saw the bold letters under the dim light—"Legal Notice."

"I'm here to sue you."

Inside the villa, the warm orange light could not soften the dead silence.

Andrea's hands were clenched, her chest burning with pain, though her face was composed.

"I've made myself clear. You deceived me for three years. I only want back what I gave—money and damages."

Dorothy, who had listened the entire time, went pale. She bit down hard on her lip before storming upstairs.

Alexander lit a cigarette. Smoke curled between them as he turned, his voice cold.

"Did it really have to come to this?"

"Come to this?" Andrea gave a hollow laugh.

"Fine, call it that. I've paid 2,000 dollars a month in mortgage payments for six years and three months, so that totals to 150,000 dollars. Then, there's the 800,000-dollar debt I cleared. Your mother's medical bills, your sister's tuition and expenses—another 250,000 dollars. A total of 1.2 million dollars. Pay now, or we go to court."

She laid it out piece by piece, each number carving deeper into her chest.

All of it had been bought with her blood and sweat. But to him, it was nothing more than a single day's profit for his company.

Alexander's face darkened. He put out the cigarette, his gaze carrying something almost like pain.

"Sometimes I wonder if you even have a heart."

Her breath caught, and then fury almost made her laugh.

She snapped her gaze to Alexander, every word wrung from her bleeding heart. "No heart? Alexander, what right do you have to say that to me?"

His eyes narrowed, shadows pooling in them. After a long pause, he looked away, scribbled a signature on a check, and tossed it onto the table.

"Fill in whatever amount you want. Take it and get out."

Andrea stared at the check, her chest crushed as if a hand was squeezing the air out of her lungs.

At last, she picked it up and walked toward the door.

But his cold voice followed her. "Walk out that door, and from now on, we have nothing to do with each other."

A sudden, crushing pain tore through Andrea's chest, as if her heart had been struck by a brutal blow. For the first time in her life, the anguish was beyond words.

Her hand tightened hard around the doorknob.

"From the moment you faked your death three years ago, it was already over between us."

With that, she pulled the door open and left without looking back.

In the days that followed, Andrea found a new place, moved, and went to work. On the surface, life went back to routine.

Until the fourth day. She was in the conference room, negotiating with a client, when the door burst open.

Rebecca stormed in, her face full of rage. "There she is! The woman who seduced my son and is now trying to ruin his marriage!"

She pointed straight at Andrea. "You all know my son—Alexander Wilkinson, CEO of the BlueWave Group!

"This woman used work as an excuse to get close to him, even following him home and trying to crawl into his bed.

"My daughter-in-law couldn't take it anymore. She's talking about divorce. Is this really the kind of person you want to do business with?"

Andrea stood frozen in place, feeling the weight of every gaze land on her. Contempt, gossip, disgust—each one lashed across her like an invisible whip, striking again and again.

Her spine went rigid as she caught the doubt on the client's face and the darkening expression of Ryan. Her nails dug deep into her palms as she forced herself to stay calm.

"Do you have any proof that I seduced your son?"

"Of course!"

Rebecca glared at her, then pulled a piece of lacy lingerie from her bag and flung it onto the table for all to see.

"She left this behind at my son's house!"

The conference room erupted with gasps, and Andrea felt her vision go dark.

She could endure slander. She could endure the looks of contempt. But the humiliation of her lingerie being held up for judgment in front of so many eyes tore at her soul.

She took a shaky breath and forced the words through clenched teeth, "Lingerie can be bought at any department store. How can you prove it's mine? Do you have footage? A recording?"

That silenced Rebecca for a moment.

Andrea closed her eyes, steadying herself, about to speak—when someone exclaimed, "Oh my goodness! Check the trending news!"

Her heart lurched. She pulled out her phone. The top trending tag read in bold—"Andrea Baxter, The Most Vicious Mistress in History."

And beneath it, a livestream link.

Andrea tapped the screen with stiff fingers. One glance was all it took—her blood seemed to turn to ice.

On screen, Dorothy lay in a hospital bed, wearing a patient's gown, sobbing pitifully.

"Just a few days ago, she followed me to my home and threatened me. She said if I didn't give her 1.5 million dollars, she would make me lose my baby."

She sniffled, then played a recording from the villa's security cameras. The footage showed Andrea leaving with a check in hand.

"She stormed into my house and made a scene. For my safety, Alex had no choice but to give her money. But I was so shaken I started bleeding. The doctor says my pregnancy is in danger..."

"You think I'd lie?"

She turned teary eyes to the man beside her, who had been silent the entire time.

"Alex, tell them. Am I telling the truth?"

Andrea's chest constricted. She stared at him on the screen.

After a pause, he lifted his eyes. His expression was cold.

"It's true."

Andrea shut her eyes in despair. Something inside her shattered completely in that moment—splintering into pieces she knew she could never put back together again.

The comment section exploded instantly, hundreds of thousands of furious replies flooding in.

"How disgusting. She must be desperate for a man."

"I've seen mistresses before, but never one who extorts to force her way in. What a trash."

"Targeting a pregnant woman? She deserves the worst."

The client shot up, chair toppling behind him, his face dark as ice. "How dare you bring someone like this to a meeting! Clearly, your company isn't serious about cooperation."

Andrea's face drained of color. She opened her mouth to explain, but no one cared to listen.

Ryan's tone was cutting. "If you can't clean this up in three days, don't bother coming back."

Her lips pressed together tightly. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Rebecca smirking with satisfaction, and an icy chill spread through her chest.

At home, she dove straight into her files, determined to gather proof.

But then came the knock on her door. She opened it, and there Alexander was. His face was cold as stone.

"I'll give you another 800,000 dollars to leave this city."

Her composure cracked, pain crashing through her like a tidal wave.

Her voice came out rough, torn. "Why? I've done nothing wrong. Why should I be the one to leave?"

His eyes hardened. "Because Dorothy is in the hospital because of you. As long as you're here, she won't have peace."

The pain in Andrea's chest was unbearable. Her voice trembled as she asked, "So after destroying my dreams, you want to destroy my career too?"

Tears streamed uncontrollably down her face. "Alexander, I won't let you win."

His tone dropped, deep and unyielding. "You can try."

Her chest felt hollowed out completely, the pain no longer even her own. She slammed the door in his face.

That night, she gathered every shred of evidence she had—proof of their years together—uploaded it all, and bought a trending news slot.

Within moments, the story flipped. The internet roared with debate, her name at the center of a firestorm.

She scrolled through the divided comments, preparing to post more—when her account suddenly locked. The evidence she had uploaded was wiped in an instant.

Andrea tightened her grip on the phone, ready to register a new account, when a fresh headline shot straight to the top of the trending news.

"Andrea Baxter—Prostitute."

For a moment, Andrea's vision swam, and a chill raced through her body.

Scrolling down, she saw that a blogger had dug up every dark corner of her past.

"Her mother was a prostitute. Her father was a thug—after he killed someone, her mom shoved her out onto the street to work with her."

"She was raised that way; no wonder she grew up sleeping with men."

"When her mom died, she was sent to an orphanage. She used to pester a young man there every day until he was finally adopted and escaped."

"And now she's back, trying to seduce Mr. Wilkinson—some people never change. She's rotten to the bone."

She began to tremble. Black, suffocating despair closed around her.

These were wounds she had never spoken of aloud.

Because of her past, she had endured endless scorn. That was why she changed her name and altered her identity—so no one could ever trace it back to her.

The only person she had ever told was Alexander.

He had held her close and promised he would keep it secret; he had sworn no one would ever use it against her.

Now those honeyed promises were knives thrust into her chest, and she bled.

She pressed a hand to her mouth as bile rose.

She staggered into the bathroom and vomited until her throat was raw. The physical ache was nothing compared to the hollowing despair inside her.

It was like a lethal liquor corroding her heart slowly, while she remained painfully lucid and helpless as the pain spread.

That night, Ryan texted her.

"You don't need to come into the office anymore."

Her hands went completely numb. She called back and found she had been blocked.

Clutching her phone, she watched the tag on the trending news and felt colder still.

She blinked, steadied herself, tried to create a new account to respond—only to see the trending topic wiped away in an instant.

One by one, the comments disappeared.

She froze.

Then, Zachary called. His tone was sarcastic, cruel.

"So this is the scumbag you threw everything away for? Your taste is terrible."

For some reason, hearing his voice made her eyes burn. The tears she had been holding in finally tumbled free.

For a moment, the air went utterly still, broken only by the muffled sound of her sobs, carried away by the night wind.

After a long silence, he sighed softly. "If you want to get out of here, come to me. I'll always have your back."

Andrea closed her eyes. Pain and gratitude mingled. "Thank you," she whispered.

Later that night, Alexander came again; his expression was heavier than it had been before.

"The trending news came down fast. You got Zachary involved?"

Andrea stared at him, her chest tight and suffocating. "And what does that have to do with you?

"Mr. Wilkinson, I have nothing left—only the shame. Isn't that enough? What else do you want? My bones or my blood?"

For a moment, something like pain crossed his face. "I never meant for things to go this far," he said.

"Tell me what you want. I'll make it right."

Her eyes had grown empty. "Make it right? You ruined my future and my past. What can you possibly offer me?"

She smiled, but the smile was fractured.

"If I die someday, Alexander, it'll be because of you."

Her laugh in the darkness was wild and hopeless.

He flinched. "Does saying that help anything?"

He inhaled, then added, "Believe me or not—I never intended to harm you.

"If it would ease you, I'll apologize."

"An apology?" Andrea felt the room tilt; cold prickled across her skin.

"One light, meaningless apology, and you go back to your perfect life. Me? I have no life left."

Her voice dropped to a hoarse whisper. "I won't let this go. I'll gather every piece of evidence and sue you.

"No matter how long it takes, I'll make you pay."

Alexander cut her off sharply.

"I have more than enough money to wear you down. When you've burned through all that money, what then?"

She looked up, startled. He continued, voice flat and merciless, "You'll have nothing—no family, no friends.

"What could you possibly do to make me pay?"

Andrea's body suddenly turned cold, and the intense pain twisting in her chest made her vision go black.

She clenched her fists and gritted her teeth, saying, "You and your sister, you really are a family."

After speaking, she turned to go inside, but her wrist was suddenly grabbed. Alexander blocked her way, his gaze colder than the night.

"I still have some patience left. I can give you some money, you can go to another city, or even abroad."

"Once my patience runs out, you won't even get the last bit of compensation."

At this moment, the Alexander in her memory—the boy who had led her out of loneliness—was completely unrecognizable after these words.

Andrea's heart ached as if twisted, and she suddenly broke free from his hand.

When the door closed, it separated them into two different worlds.

After the trending topic was removed, all discussions about Andrea were deleted. Everything seemed to return to normal.

But only Andrea knew that nothing was truly over; nothing had passed.

No company would ever want her again.

Even on the street, she could always hear quiet whispers.

"Murderer's daughter."

"Child prostitute."

Everything she had desperately tried to escape from, spent more than a decade trying to forget, now reappeared before her eyes.

Unspeakable humiliation and despair pushed the last bit of her sanity into darkness.

She buried her head and walked quickly back, but a figure blocked her way.

Dorothy looked at her and sneered, "The way you struggle on the verge of collapse is truly laughable."

Andrea closed her eyes, clenched her fists, and tried to walk around her.

But Dorothy quickly stepped in front of her. The autumn wind was bleak, and her voice was just as cold.

"Still staying here? You don't actually think Alex still cares about you, that you still have a chance, do you?"

Andrea stopped in her tracks. "Since I have no chance, why did you come to find me?"

Dorothy's expression changed, then she laughed again. "What makes you so confident to say that? You think he ever loved you? Don't make me laugh."

She looked at Andrea, her smile bold and triumphant.

"Before you two got married, he came to me and said that if I wanted to be with him, he would break up with you immediately."

Andrea felt as if she had been punched in the face; she suddenly looked up at Dorothy.

Dorothy laughed, "On the day you got your marriage certificate, he knew the machine was broken and deliberately didn't get the stamp, just in case I regretted it."

Andrea instinctively clenched her hands, her heart aching so much she could barely breathe.

All her questions were answered in that moment.

He kept making excuses to delay getting the certificate, just to wait for her to say she regretted it.

That's right—if someone truly wanted to marry you, how could they not even find time to get the certificate?

Yet at that time, she couldn't see it...

Looking at her pale face, Dorothy spoke with disdain. "I know you're unwilling to accept it, but your unwillingness will only end up hurting the people around you."

Andrea was suddenly stunned. She looked up, only to see Dorothy turning and getting into her car.

"Andrea, you will never be able to beat me."

With that, she started the car and drove away.

Watching the car disappear into the distance, a sense of foreboding swept over her like a chill.

Andrea clenched her hands and hurried toward Zachary's office.

Just as she reached the door, she saw that everything inside had been cleared out, and several employees were carrying things outside.

Andrea stood frozen as if struck by lightning, Dorothy's words echoing in her mind.

Hurting the people around you...

Her chest felt as if a huge stone was pressing down, making it hard to breathe.

Zachary walked up to her with a nonchalant look, pretending to be relaxed. "Running an office is exhausting. It's a good chance to take a break."

Andrea's voice was hoarse. "Was it Dorothy and her people who did this?"

For once, Zachary fell silent and said nothing. But the answer was already clear.

This time, she hadn't just hurt herself—she had hurt the people around her too...

What was she still holding on to?

"Actually, I lost a long time ago—completely and utterly."

Bitterness, like leaves swirling in the air, overwhelmed her. Andrea trembled as she closed her eyes.

"Zachary, take me away."

Villa.

Alexander's expression darkened. "I told you, I will handle it."

"Is your way of handling it just to keep seeing her?" Dorothy bit her lip tightly. "I helped you deal with her, what's so bad about that?"

Alexander's brows furrowed slightly. "She can leave, but not with Zachary."

"Because you two almost broke up because of him?"

Alexander's expression turned cold.

Tears shimmered in Dorothy's eyes. "Didn't you say you have no feelings for her at all? Why do you still care who she leaves with?"

"Once she's gone, it'll be just you and me, and I'll only have you. Isn't that good?"

Alexander looked at her tears, moved for a moment, but his brows remained tightly furrowed.

Dorothy gazed into his eyes, and hatred began to grow within her tears.

In the following days, Andrea sold everything she could. Just like when Alexander faked his death years ago, she sold it all. But last time, it was because she loved him.

This time, it was because she was leaving.

On the day she left, Alexander came.

The car window rolled down, his eyes cold and distant. "I'll take you to the airport."

She stared at him for a moment, then got into the car. The vehicle slowly drove along the lakeside, and the morning breeze made Andrea's eyes red.

She looked at the scenery outside the window, suppressing her emotions, but couldn't help speaking. "So, I was always just a substitute to keep you company when she wasn't around, wasn't I?"

He had Dorothy in his heart, yet still came to provoke her. He gave her hope, only to let her experience despair.

She should have known long ago that love, for her, was as illusory as bubbles in the sunlight. It would never truly belong to her, yet she still dared to dream.

"All those details of love, the beautiful moments together... were they all lies too?"

"You had planned everything from the start, just waiting for Dorothy's command so you could walk away unscathed, watching me struggle alone in the darkness, and it didn't matter to you, did it?"

Andrea's voice was visibly choked, her heart aching as if someone was gripping it tightly.

Alexander looked ahead indifferently. "Does any of this still matter?"

Yes, at this point, does it still matter?

Andrea's heart was numb from pain, and she couldn't even shed tears anymore.

She bit her lip and said, "Stop the car. There's nothing left for us to say."

Alexander acted as if he hadn't heard, only replying coldly, "But you have things to say to Zachary?"

Andrea felt cold inside and out, holding back her tears as she retorted, "Does any of this still matter to you?"

Alexander's gaze suddenly turned icy. "It doesn't matter."

The car stopped abruptly, but the door wouldn't open no matter what.

Andrea asked warily, "What are you going to do?"

"The ticket is already bought. I'll take you somewhere where Zachary isn't." Alexander said coldly, "I don't like giving things I've used to others."

Things he's used.

Andrea closed her eyes in despair. She thought her heart could gradually grow cold, but hearing those words still cut her like a blade, the pain unbearable.

She clenched her teeth, trying to struggle out of the car.

Alexander was about to say something else, but his pupils suddenly contracted.

"Watch out!"

Andrea froze and turned her head, only to be blinded by a sudden beam of light.

The next moment, her body was violently thrown, the world spinning as she crashed heavily to the ground.

Amid the violent crash, Andrea felt pain radiate from every part of her body. Through blood-blurred vision, she saw Alexander rush to the car and carry Dorothy out.

Dorothy whispered something weakly in his ear. He turned, and through the thick smoke, his eyes met Andrea's bloodied figure from afar. In those eyes surged endless conflict.

After a moment, he gritted his teeth, lowered his gaze, and carried Dorothy away.

In Andrea's despairing gaze, he walked toward the hospital without a trace of regret. Once again, he abandoned her. Bitterness flooded over her like a tide, and Andrea trembled as she closed her eyes.

In a daze, she seemed to hear Zachary's voice, filled with indescribable fear and pain.

"Don't die... Andrea, don't die."

Someone held her in their arms, her hand tightly gripped by a cold hand. Broken tears fell on her face, but she could no longer open her eyes.

In the haze, she seemed to return to the orphanage.

When Zachary was a child, he would smile and play in front of her, promising they'd never be apart. In the end, the only one by her side was him.

Back then, everything was so good... If she could do it all over again, she would never want to meet Alexander.

Darkness completely engulfed her, and a bone-chilling cold invaded her body and soul.

All the sounds around her vanished in an instant, leaving only deathly silence. Suddenly, a sharp cry rang in her ears.

Andrea suddenly opened her eyes.

In an instant, the amplified noise, the crying... all flooded into her ears.

She gasped for air, breaking free from suffocating darkness. Looking around in confusion, she found everything was snow-white, and there was a corpse on the hospital bed.

What... was going on? Wasn't she already dead?

Before she could react, she saw Rebecca and Bridget standing beside her, sobbing.

Bridget was wearing her high school uniform, and their faces and hairstyles... were just as they were three years ago.

Andrea's eyes widened, and an unbelievable thought suddenly rose in her heart.

—She had returned to three years ago!

At that moment, Bridget walked over to her, crying, "Drea, if you're so sad, don't come with us to the crematorium."

Andrea glanced at the 'corpse', suddenly wanting to laugh, though her eyes were completely red.

Last time, it was on the way to the crematorium that Bridget switched Alexander, wasn't it?

This time...

Andrea took a deep breath, forcing herself to calm down.

"No, I want to light the fire myself and send him off one last time."