To My Childhood Sweetheart, See You Never

"Ms. Hall, these are the details of the feigned death service you booked with us. The date of death is set for the wedding, half a month from now. The cause of death will be suicide by drowning, and the deceased is yourself. Please confirm and sign here." Wendy Hall nodded. Without hesitation, she signed her name at the bottom of the document. The bustling street was alive with chatter and movement. As Wendy walked home alone, she glanced up, and there it was—the giant screen on a nearby building, looping a video of Grayson Bryce proposing to her. Chapter 1 In the video, the ever-composed Grayson trembling slightly as he knelt on one knee, holding out the ring. When her voice finally uttered, "I do," the tears he had held back spilled over, glistening trails tracing the joy on his face. A beautiful moment. So beautiful, in fact, that two girls standing nearby watching clung to each other, moved to tears. "Oh my god, Grayson loves Wendy so much!" "Right? He's like the ultimate romantic. Did you hear they're childhood sweethearts? When he was seventeen, he couldn't wait to confess to her. By twenty, he had the world's most expensive pink diamond crafted into a crown for her, saying she'd always be his princess. At twenty-three, when she was in a car accident and the blood bank ran out of her rare type, he gave his own blood, almost draining himself to save her. And at twenty-six, he proposed to her live for the entire world to see. How could anyone be more devoted than him?" The words blurred together, a clamor of admiration that Wendy didn't need to hear. She lowered her gaze, masking the faint smirk of self-mockery in her eyes. Everyone envied her love story with Grayson. Everyone believed he was utterly, hopelessly in love with her. No one would imagine that Grayson had secretly kept a minor internet celebrity hidden away in a luxurious apartment for three whole years. The truth had struck her like a blade, cruel and unrelenting, when she discovered that his "late nights at the office" were, in fact, spent entwined with another woman. The first time she saw the incriminating photos—intimate and shameless—her chest had felt hollowed out, her heart carved open and left bleeding. And yet, her mind drifted back to another memory. When she was fifteen, her parents had divorced in a storm of screaming and accusations, each fighting to abandon her. That was the day Grayson had pushed open the door, taken her hand, and said, "It doesn't matter they don't want you, I do." From that moment on, he gave her his entire heart. He fought for her, breaking three ribs in a street fight. He remembered every detail of her life, even the dates of her monthly cycle. His social media was a shrine to her. Every friend of his knew him as the guy hopelessly in love with Wendy Hall. When he slid the wedding ring onto her finger, his tears mingled with his kisses, his words trembling with pleas. He begged her to love him for the rest of their lives. He begged her never to leave him. If she did, he said, it would drive him insane. But in actuality, it was he who had betrayed her first. If that was how it was meant to end, she would vanish. She'd fake her death, change her name, and disappear completely from his world. She would ensure he never found her again. Wendy wiped away the dampness forming at the corner of her eyes. Just as she was about to step forward, a sleek Maybach screeched to a halt before her. The rear door opened, and a tall figure stepped out, striding toward her with urgency. "Wendy, weren't you supposed to wait at home? I told you I'd pick you up after work to try on wedding dresses. Why did you come out alone?" Grayson took her hand as he spoke, frowning when he felt the coldness of her fingertips. Without hesitation, he slipped off his coat and draped it over her shoulders. "Your hands are freezing. You didn't even wear a coat. Are you trying to make me worry myself sick?" She didn't reply. Instead, she raised her eyes to meet his, searching his gaze. The concern there seemed genuine. And yet, that only deepened her confusion. How could someone love two people at once? Grayson tightened the coat around her shoulders, gently urging her toward the waiting car. As he did, the two girls across the street, drawn by the commotion, turned their heads instinctively. When they recognized the pair, their eyes lit up with unrestrained excitement. They hurried over, faces flushed and words tumbling out in nervous fragments. "Excuse me, are you… are you Wendy and Grayson? We—we're huge fans of you two as a couple. Could we… take a photo with you?" Wendy hesitated, unwilling to disappoint their earnest enthusiasm. After a brief pause, she nodded. With permission granted, the two girls quickly positioned themselves, sandwiching the couple as they faced the camera. Grayson was never fond of photographs, yet he instinctively placed his arm around Wendy, leaning into the frame with her. After the photo was taken, the girls blushed even deeper, showering the couple with effusive thanks. Their words brimmed with wishes for the couple's everlasting love and a blissful marriage. 'Grow old together?' Wendy thought bitterly. She turned to glance at Grayson. He met her gaze, his lips curving into a smile so tender it seemed to drip with affection, a quiet acknowledgment of the girls' blessings. But only she knew the truth. They wouldn't grow old together. When they arrived at the bridal boutique, Wendy stepped out of the car, greeted by a staff member who had clearly been waiting for her. The woman approached with practiced enthusiasm, her tone carrying a trace of awe. "Ms. Hall, the thousand custom wedding gowns Mr. Bryce ordered for you are ready. You're welcome to try them on anytime to see which one you like best." Wendy said nothing, her gaze drifting toward Grayson. He stood a short distance away, engrossed in something on his phone. His expression, unguarded for a fleeting moment, betrayed a hunger she recognized all too well. It was the same look she had seen in the illicit photos of him and the minor internet celebrity—the same gaze that spoke of raw, unbridled desire. Sensing her eyes on him, Grayson quickly tucked his phone away and walked over, an apologetic smile softening his face. "Wendy, I'm sorry. Something urgent came up at work, and I have to go handle it. I've arranged for the driver to wait for you here. Once you've tried on the gowns, he'll take you home." He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her forehead before rushing into a different car. The door closed with finality, leaving her standing there, alone. The boutique staff member approached cautiously, her voice tentative. "Ms. Hall, would you like to start trying on the dresses now?" Wendy withdrew her gaze from the departing car and shook her head. "No. I don't want any of them." After all, at their wedding, the only bride present would be a "dead" one. Chapter 2 Wendy settled into the car for her ride home, her fingers reflexively unlocking her phone. A message from Rita Olson popped up almost immediately—a screenshot. In the image, Rita was sprawled on the floor in a provocative black bunny outfit, her legs draped with sheer stockings. Her expression was hazy, her gaze both vulnerable and enticing as she looked into the camera. The message read: [If Master arrives within twenty minutes, this little bunny is yours to devour.] Beneath it was a brief reply from Grayson's black-profile avatar: [Wait for me.] Wendy turned off the screen. She closed her eyes, willing herself to suppress the needle-like pain pricking at her heart. She had thought that after seeing so many such photos, she'd become numb, that her heart would learn to shield itself. But no amount of practice could dull the ache. It swept through her body, relentless, invading even her bones. Finally, she forced herself to shut her eyes, shutting out the screen as well. Late that night, Wendy curled up at the edge of the bed, her eyes swollen and red, exhaustion dragging her into a restless sleep. Yet the phone on her bedside table buzzed relentlessly, vibrating every hour until the early morning. When she finally woke and checked her messages, she found that Rita had been sending her photos throughout the night. Each photo showed something unmistakable—used contraceptives, one after another. The accompanying message was sharp as a dagger: [He had me all night. Tried every position imaginable until I couldn't even get out of bed. Has he ever been like this with you?] Wendy didn't react outwardly, yet she couldn't stop herself from rereading the words and images over and over, dozens of times, as if the repetition would somehow make them unreal. When Grayson returned, he found her lying on the bed, her eyes swollen and red, clutching her phone so tightly her knuckles had turned white. His chest tightened, and he hurried to her side, pulling her into his arms, his voice taut with concern. "Wendy, why are you crying?" Crying? Wendy blinked, as if only now realizing it herself. Her fingers brushed her cheeks, and she found them damp. At some point, without knowing it, tears had carved their way down her face. After a long moment, she let out a soft laugh, though it failed to mask the sadness lingering in her eyes. "It's nothing. I just saw some… deeply moving photos." Grayson stroked her face, his tone indulgent, almost playful. "What kind of photos could make you cry like this, baby? Are you trying to break my heart?" Before she could answer, the butler knocked lightly on the open door and spoke with measured respect. "Sir, the car is ready." Grayson nodded, then turned back to Wendy, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Wendy, I was wrong yesterday for leaving you alone at the bridal boutique. To make it up to you, I'm taking you to an auction today. Whatever you like, it's yours. Okay?" Wendy didn't respond, but Grayson took her silence as consent. He scooped her up effortlessly and carried her out of the room, personally selecting her dress, jewelry, and shoes. At the auction, Grayson spared no expense, bidding on every item during the first half to please Wendy, even though she seemed indifferent to it all. During the intermission, a group of his friends approached from behind, their voices loud and familiar. "Well, well, I wondered who was sweeping up everything in the first half—it's Grayson, of course!" "And here I thought I'd snag something for my grandma's birthday. Looks like I'm going home empty-handed." "Grayson, the legendary wife-spoiler! Give us a break and let us have a shot at something in the second half, won't you?" Their teasing was lighthearted, but Grayson barely spared them a glance. He continued peeling an orange for Wendy. "Don't bother trying. Everything in the second half is for Wendy, too." The men groaned dramatically, clutching their chests as if wounded, though their grins betrayed their admiration. Grayson ignored them, carefully offering the peeled orange to Wendy. His voice was soft, coaxing. "Here, baby. It's sweet. Have a bite." Wendy shook her head faintly, her expression unreadable. "I'm not hungry. You eat it." The second half of the auction began soon after. Just as the first item was unveiled, the grand doors to the hall swung open. A waiter stepped in, bowing respectfully as he escorted a striking woman in a red dress into the room. In that moment, Wendy felt the subtle stiffening of Grayson's body beside her. She lifted her eyes, following his gaze, and met Rita's radiant smile as it pierced through the crowd. Chapter 3 Rita casually retrieved a few crisp dollar bills from her bag and slid them into the waiter's pocket with an effortless grace. Her smile was an intoxicating blend of mischief and allure. Before the startled waiter could react, she walked straight over and settled herself boldly into the seat beside Grayson. A collective intake of breath rippled through the room. Whispers erupted like the quiet fizz of champagne bubbles, each voice charged with disbelief. "Who does she think she is? Sitting beside Mr. Bryce like that?" "Doesn't she know he could ruin her with a snap of his fingers?" "Shh, you don't understand. Word is, she's backed by someone powerful. Have you seen the designer brands she flaunts during her live streams?" As Wendy was about to shift her gaze away from the commotion, a gesture caught her eye—casual yet brazen. Rita took Grayson's hand and, without hesitation, guided it beneath the hem of her dress. His hand froze, rigid as stone. Reflexively, he tried to pull away, but Rita's delicate fingers tightened around his, her smile deepening as she made a subtle movement. For a moment, his hesitation flickered, then extinguished. He stayed still. Wendy's breath hitched, her trembling fingers clenching tightly at her side. She turned her head abruptly, trying to anchor herself against the storm surging inside her chest. The second half of the auction began, though Wendy hardly registered its progress. She floated through the proceedings, adrift in a haze of numbing detachment, until a sharp collective gasp yanked her back to the present. Her eyes rose to meet the object of everyone's attention—a dazzling necklace displayed on velvet, its brilliance almost surreal. The auctioneer's voice rose with fervor as he extolled its virtues, weaving an enchanting tale of its provenance. Rumored to be Queen Elizabeth's most cherished piece, the necklace symbolized steadfast, eternal love. Noticing Wendy's faint flicker of interest, Grayson didn't hesitate. He raised his paddle. "One million." A feminine voice, playful yet deliberate, immediately followed. "Three million." Grayson's head snapped toward the source. Rita was raising her own paddle, her lips curved into a teasing smile, her gaze brimming with challenge. She leaned back leisurely, an image of effortless confidence. "Sorry, Mr. Bryce, but my boyfriend wants me to have this necklace too." A shadow crossed Grayson's face, his jaw tightening. "Five million." "Ten million." "Fifteen million." The auction climaxed in a dizzying crescendo until Grayson, exasperated, signaled to the auctioneer. The gavel fell, the auctioneer's voice reverberating with triumph. "Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. Bryce has lit the lantern! Congratulations on securing the Heart of True Love!" As the room erupted in applause, Grayson turned back to Wendy, his expression softening. He leaned in, planting a kiss on her. "Wait here, my love. I'll get the necklace for you." Wendy watched his retreating figure, her eyes tracing every step until he disappeared from view. Rita rose as well, casting Wendy a glance that lingered—a mix of satisfaction and something suggestive. When everyone had left, Wendy finally loosened the grip of her clenched hand. Her nails had dug deep into her flesh, drawing tiny beads of blood. But it was as though she didn't feel the pain. Without a hint of hesitation, she stood up and walked out. Her phone screen glowed faintly, the notification still visible: [Underground parking lot.] Perhaps it was because all the guests had left. The parking lot was empty, save for a lone vehicle stationed in the shadows, a sleek Maybach. From afar, she noticed a young driver standing nearby, his polite demeanor hiding a quiet vigilance. Any passerby who neared the car was quickly and discreetly turned away. What no one seemed to notice was the faint rocking of the vehicle, the open back door exposing a scene that made Wendy's blood run cold. The sound hit her first—a mix of feminine gasps and low masculine groans, each note threading into the heavy, humid air. Her legs buckled slightly, forcing her to lean against a pillar for support. Her eyes stayed fixed on the car, unwilling yet unable to look away. Inside, Rita's figure was unmistakable, her body entwined with Grayson's, their movements raw and uninhibited. Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, her cries blending into the rhythm of their entanglement. "Gentler, Master. The little bunny can't take any more…" Her voice was a broken whimper, pleading and delicate. Grayson's response was a guttural growl, his hands gripping her hips with ferocity. "You wanted this. Now bear it." He thrust forward, his movements harsh, his tone laced with a dangerous edge. Chapter 4 Wendy clasped her trembling hand tightly over her mouth, as if trying to suppress the overwhelming torrent of emotions threatening to break free. She couldn't bear to watch any longer. Turning sharply, she fled the suffocating scene. She ran—further, faster—until her legs gave out beneath her, leaving her to collapse in a stairwell. Her breath came in ragged gasps, each intake of air sharp and piercing, as though it scraped against her lungs. Tears streamed down her cheeks, unchecked and unrelenting. She pressed her hand to her chest, futilely trying to steady the erratic pounding of her heart. The auction had been painful enough—every glance, every word a tiny wound. But what she'd just witnessed in the car was a fatal blow. Memories surfaced unbidden, vivid and cruel. She thought of Grayson's careful tenderness, the purity of his affection when they first started dating. He had been shy then, almost boyishly so. Holding her hand would make him blush; kissing her brought a tremor to his lips. He had waited patiently for their first night together, steadfast until she agreed to his marriage proposal. She once teased him for his restraint, only to find herself wrapped in his embrace, his voice low and gravelly against her ear. "No man can resist the woman he loves," he'd said. "But I love you too much to rush things. I want everything to be perfect. I don't want you to ever regret it." Those words, spoken with such sincerity, had warmed her heart back then. Now, their echo only deepened her despair. Her fingers dug into her face as she sobbed silently into the stairwell, her grief spilling into the emptiness around her. After what felt like an eternity, she pulled herself together. Her body felt heavy, as though weighed down by invisible chains, but she willed herself to move. Step by step, she made her way to the bathroom. Just then, her phone vibrated in her hand. Another message from Rita. She hesitated before opening it, her fingers cold and reluctant. The image struck her like a slap: the car's disheveled backseat, and a tangle of ripped stockings in the corner. "The car's filled with the scent of our passion. Oh, and by the way, Grayson promised me your necklace. The Heart of True Love? It's mine now." Wendy's chest tightened. She powered off the phone without another glance. She walked out of the bathroom after fixing her makeup. When Grayson finally appeared, his arms reached out to hold her, carrying a faint trace of perfume that wasn't hers. "I'm sorry, Wendy," he murmured against her hair, his tone laced with contrition. "That necklace was a little chipped. It wasn't perfect for you. I'll find you something more dazzling next time, alright?" Her breath caught. She tilted her head up, her voice weighted with emotion. "What if I only want that necklace?" Her tear-streaked face and quivering words struck him like a blow. He cupped her cheeks, his voice soft, coaxing. "Don't cry, baby. Please, don't cry. I'll get you something even better, right now if you want. Anything for you." She let out a laugh—bitter, hollow. Once, he had given her anything she desired. Now, even her simplest wish came with conditions, tangled in another woman's lies. "It's fine. I don't want it anymore," she said, exhaustion seeping into her tone. She stepped out of his arms, the distance between them suddenly insurmountable. He moved as if to follow, but froze when her gaze shifted past him. He turned and saw Rita saunter by, the Heart of True Love glimmering on her neck like a mockery. His face turned ashen. "Wendy—" he started, but she didn't look back, walking past Rita without so much as a glance. When Wendy was gone, Grayson whirled on Rita, his hand gripping her wrist tightly. "Are you insane? I told you to stay away from her! Wendy is off-limits. She's my bottom line." Rita smiled faintly, unbothered by his outburst. "Relax, she didn't notice anything. And if it bothers you so much, I won't do it again. Promise." She leaned closer, letting the fabric of her dress slip slightly from her shoulders. "How about I make it up to you tonight? I have another surprise." The tension in his jaw eased as his eyes darkened. He didn't return the entire night. He fed Wendy some excuse about urgent business at the company. She knew it was a lie but didn't question him. Instead, she quietly set about her task. If she was going to disappear, she would leave nothing behind—no trace of her existence, no memories to tether him, just a fake corpse. Three hours later, she stood before a pile of her belongings, a lighter in hand. Everything went up in flames, the smoke curling around her like a shroud. Then, she opened a storage box from the bottom of a book rack and pulled out a collection of gifts Grayson had given her over the years. At sixteen, his first love letter, its boyish handwriting brimming with earnest affection. At eighteen, her first pair of crystal heels, promising to walk life's path together. At twenty, a pink diamond crown, declaring her his princess. At twenty-two, a custom-made ring, designed by him. He had vowed to propose every year until she said yes. Now, all of it was meaningless. She packed up the gifts without a second thought and listed everything online for 1 dollar, postage included. Those items worth millions were snatched up by eager buyers in mere moments. After arranging for someone to collect the goods, she was about to retreat to her room when the front door suddenly burst open. Grayson stormed in, drenched from the rain, his face a mix of panic and disbelief. He seized her hand, his voice trembling. "Wendy, why? Why did you sell everything I gave you for 1 dollar?" Chapter 5 Wendy lifted her gaze toward him. He looked as though he had rushed back at the fastest speed imaginable, his overcoat soaked through from the rain outside. He didn't seem to care; his entire face was a portrait of panic. "How did you know?" she asked softly. "It's all over the news," he replied, his tone tinged with desperation. "It's trending now." Before she could respond, he pulled her into a tight embrace. His voice, trembling with fear, was barely audible in her ear. "Wendy, what are you doing? Why did you sell everything? Are you leaving me? Do you not want me anymore? What did I do wrong? Tell me, and I'll change. I'll fix it. Just… don't leave me." His words cracked, carrying the weight of a sob, yet she remained still, her gaze distant. A faint, bitter smile curved her lips. If he was so terrified of her leaving, why had he kept another woman on the side? Was it his arrogance, thinking he had concealed it so perfectly, or his assumption that she was too naïve to notice? Now, merely sensing her slipping away, he was crumbling like this. She couldn't help but wonder how he would react on their wedding day, standing before her "corpse." Gently, she pushed him away, her face serene and unreadable. "It's not what you think," she said evenly. "I just didn't like those things anymore, so I sold them. Besides, we're getting married soon. Why would I leave you out of the blue? Unless…" Her voice trailed off, her eyes narrowing slightly. "You've done something you shouldn't have?" Grayson froze for a moment, the calmness in her question cutting deep. Relief flooded his expression at first, but the latter half of her words left him visibly unsettled. He grasped her hands tightly, his voice urgent. "No, baby, I swear. I haven't done anything to betray you. You know that. You know how much I love you." She chuckled faintly, a smile tugging at her lips. "Then what's there to worry about? It's late. I'm gonna go get some rest." Without waiting for a response, she turned and walked away. Grayson stood rooted to the spot, his chest tightening with unease. Over and over, he reassured himself, 'We're getting married soon. She's mine. There won't be any surprises.' But her recent actions had left him deeply shaken. That night, he stayed by her side, unable to sleep. The unease gnawed at him until dawn. When his phone buzzed, the faint light illuminated his face. He checked it and froze. The sleepiness in his eyes vanished instantly. He glanced at Wendy who was sleeping beside him, kissed her gently on the forehead, and quietly slipped out of bed. The moment the door clicked shut, Wendy opened her eyes. She grabbed her phone from the nightstand, her expression unchanging as she read the message that had just come through. The agency she had contacted for her fake death had located a suitable corpse in a hospital morgue. They had already performed modifications to ensure an exact likeness to her. They were asking her to make a trip to check if all was in order and if there were any other requests on her part. In the morgue, she stood over the lifeless body. The resemblance was eerie, down to the contours of the face. If she hadn't been standing there, she might have believed she was staring at her own corpse. Perfect, she thought. Grayson wouldn't suspect a thing. Everything was ready now. She only needed to wait for the right moment. After finalizing the details with the agency, she made her way out of the hospital. Passing the obstetrics department, a glance inside made her freeze mid-step. Not far away, Grayson was carefully supporting Rita, her slightly rounded belly unmistakable. His movements were meticulous, his expression tender. A glow of pure joy radiated from him—the kind of joy only a man anticipating fatherhood could exude. Rita was pregnant. The child was Grayson's. They were having a baby. Her mind went blank as she stumbled back to the villa. She didn't know how she made it inside. The darkness swallowed the space, the faint glow of her phone the only light. Just as the screen was about to dim, a new message appeared. It was from Rita. Attached was an ultrasound image and a link to a livestream with a caption that said: [I'm pregnant, three months along. The baby's father is overjoyed. Tonight, we're celebrating with a livestream for our fans. If you're happy for us too, feel free to join.] Wendy's fingers trembled, the chill seeping from her fingertips into her heart. With mechanical precision, she tapped the link and hit the screen recording button. In the livestream, Rita, dressed in a maternity dress, beamed as she held up the ultrasound photo. Her face glowed with maternal pride, and the chat filled with congratulatory messages from viewers. Then, a hand appeared beside her. A hand Wendy knew all too well. Chapter 6 That hand had once caressed her, held her, wiped away her tears, and slipped a ring onto her finger. But now, that same hand was tenderly resting on Rita's belly. "You may not want to rest, but the baby in your stomach needs it. Be a good girl, go to sleep," came Grayson's deep, soothing voice. Hearing his words, the online audience exploded in excitement, filling the chat with pleas for Rita to let her "husband" reveal himself. Amid the chaos of requests, a solitary comment popped up like a rogue wave in the sea of praise: [Wait... did I mishear, or does that voice sound just like Grayson Bryce?] The remark barely registered before being drowned in the torrent of other messages. Rita, her face flushed with coy delight, let Grayson take her hand in his. "My husband isn't the kind to show his face easily," she said, smiling gently at the screen. "He's an important man; please understand." The viewers didn't press further, instead shifting their focus to Rita's love story. They bombarded her with questions about how she and her husband had gotten together. Glancing at Grayson, Rita laughed. "He loves me so much," she said. "In high school, he confessed his love by giving me a love letter. He was so nervous he stumbled over his words despite rehearsing the entire day. In the end, I had to take the letter from him and say, 'I do.'" Her words triggered a flood of adoring comments from the audience, with viewers exclaiming about the sweetness of their romance. Meanwhile, Wendy's grip on her phone tightened, the pressure bearing down on her trembling fingers. A bitter, unexplainable ache rose within her. Grayson had loved Rita so much—enough to recount their story with such sincerity. Wasn't that the same story he had once told her? The quiet sound of a tear hitting her phone screen broke her reverie. She looked down, her vision blurry. On the livestream, Rita suddenly announced they were logging off. The audience, still caught up in the warmth of her tale, protested loudly. Feigning helplessness, Rita glanced at Grayson again, spreading her hands as if to say, "What can I do?" She laughed lightly. "It's not me; he says it's time for a little couple privacy." Understanding her implication, the audience erupted into playful screams, teasing and begging to be included. Rita chuckled, covering her mouth. "I wouldn't dare ruin the innocence of young minds," she said, teasing. One persistent viewer suggested a compromise: keep the audio on, just turn off the camera. Before Rita could respond, Grayson's hand reached out and switched off the visuals. The screen darkened, but an unmistakable gasp slipped through. "Oh! Careful! The baby!" The sound sent ripples through the audience, sparking an even greater uproar. But Wendy, clutching her phone in the cold, silent room, heard nothing more. Tears blurred her vision, her body shaking as the indistinct sounds of intimacy filtered through the speaker, each one cutting into her like the jagged edge of a broken blade. Their voices—tender, teasing—grew louder. "It's too big," came Rita's coy voice, soft and petulant. "But you're managing just fine, aren't you?" Grayson replied, his tone coaxing, indulgent. Wendy couldn't endure it any longer. Her trembling fingers powered off the phone, severing the connection. She lay there in the darkness, her gaze fixed on the darkness of the ceiling. Time passed slowly. The silence stretched, deep and suffocating, before she finally stirred, moving her stiff hands. Soon. Soon, she would leave it all behind. In the days that followed, Grayson didn't return to the villa. Rita, however, ensured that Wendy wasn't left in the dark. Through her messages, she painted a vivid picture of Grayson's whereabouts. One photo stood out: Grayson on one knee before Rita, like a first-time dad, his ear pressed gently against her growing belly, listening for the faint stirrings of life within. Wendy closed her eyes, but no tears came. Chapter 7 As Wendy's birthday approached, Grayson finally returned in haste, organizing a grand celebration in her honor. When she descended the staircase in her gown, he was already waiting below. She cast him a glance, her eyes unusually calm—too calm. It was a quietude that bordered on unsettling. Grayson's heart skipped a beat. The image of Wendy that lived in his memory was one of unrestrained brightness, of spirited vitality. But the woman before him now was a shadow of that, her complexion pale, her gaze hollow and devoid of its usual spark. Acting on instinct, he stepped forward, arms reaching to pull her into an embrace, but she sidestepped with a slight turn of her body. Her voice was hoarse, a brittle thread barely holding itself together. "I've been feeling unwell lately. Better you don't touch me—wouldn't want you catching anything." Her words hung in the air, brittle and impenetrable, as she walked past him, not sparing a glance at the hand he'd left suspended in midair. Through the entire evening, Wendy played her role as an outsider looking in. She stood at the periphery of the celebration, watching Grayson put on his familiar act: his declarations of love, his gestures of devotion. The climax of the evening arrived with his gift, as it did every year. Each birthday, Grayson spared no expense, presenting her with something rare, singular, and dazzling. This time, it was a necklace—a piece of royal lineage from Europe, priceless and unique. The moment he revealed it, the room filled with gasps of awe. But Wendy barely glanced at it, lowering her eyes to veil the irony flashing within. She did not lift her hand to accept the necklace when he offered it. Grayson, undeterred, assumed her reluctance stemmed from illness. Gently, he fastened the necklace around her neck himself, announcing the end of the party earlier than planned to escort her back to rest. But as soon as they reached the car, his phone buzzed. One glance at the screen, and his expression shifted to a mask of polite regret. "Baby, something's come up. I need to handle it. You head home first, alright? Rest well, and I'll be back soon." She merely nodded, her face an unreadable calm. With her tacit approval, he kissed her lightly, then stepped out of the car. But no sooner had he left than her phone buzzed with a message from Rita. Rita: [Follow him. There's a surprise waiting for you.] Wendy stared at the message for a long moment. Eventually, she instructed the driver to turn the car around and follow Grayson's. It didn't take long. His car stopped in front of Rita's villa. The urgency in his movements was palpable; he didn't even bother shutting the car door before rushing inside. Wendy's clenched grip on her phone tightened as she stepped out. The villa's door had been carelessly left ajar. Slowly, she pushed it open. What greeted her was another birthday party. But this one wasn't hers. Inside the villa, the scene was surreal. Guests filled the room, laughing and toasting. Rita stood at the center, radiant and poised. By her side was Grayson. Among the crowd were Grayson's closest friends, even his parents. Wendy's rational mind screamed at her to leave, to spare herself the pain of what would come next. But her body betrayed her, her feet rooted to the spot as if bound by invisible chains. She watched, unblinking, as Grayson draped a necklace identical to hers around Rita's neck. His friends erupted in playful teasing. "Your wife looks stunning with it, doesn't she?" Grayson's gaze turned cold, silencing them with a sharp glance. "Don't call her that. You all know who my wife is." They laughed it off, making exaggerated zipping motions over their mouths. "Relax, Grayson. We won't let your precious darling find out." "Yeah, we've been tight-lipped since the day you introduced Rita to us six months ago." Even Grayson's mother approached Rita, slipping an heirloom bracelet onto her wrist while saying, "You've stayed in the shadows long enough. Once the child is born, you'll truly be a part of this family." The rest of Grayson's mother's words became an indistinct hum in Wendy's ears. Her clenched fists fell limply to her side. Without a word, she turned and walked away. Her pace quickened, as though an unseen demon was chasing her, compelling her to escape. Suddenly, she broke into a run, her footsteps growing frantic against the pavement. She ran faster and faster until she stumbled and fell. The sky chose that moment to split open. Lightning ripped through the night sky, illuminating her silhouette against the dark. The storm followed in its wake, a torrential downpour that cascaded like a tidal wave, drowning the streets in a veil of chaos. Everything around her dissolved into a hazy blur of rain and despair. Chapter 8 The heavy rain soaked Wendy's clothes as she gazed at the palm of her hand, bruised from the fall. Suddenly, her mind flashed to a memory from long ago—when Grayson first brought her home to meet his family. His mother, Carrie had placed the family heirloom jade bracelet carefully onto Wendy's wrist, saying, "In my lifetime, I will only acknowledge you as my daughter-in-law." His bros had smiled at her with respect, their voices warm as they said, "A sister-in-law for life, we'll only recognize you as our sister-in-law." But now, Carrie had accepted another woman as her daughter-in-law, and his bros called that woman their sister-in-law. They were all just like Grayson, speaking of love and respect, but in their hearts, they had already recognized another. What was even more tragic was that their conversation had plainly revealed that they had known about Rita's existence long before she did. And they had all helped Grayson hide it from her. She was the only fool in this entire world. There she was, crouching on the road, the bustling pedestrians passing by, yet no one bothered to shield her from the rain. After the storm passed, Wendy fell seriously ill, her fever stubbornly refusing to subside. Her body was weak, and her head spun in a fog. In the villa, Grayson's voice rang out, low and furious. "She's been burning up for three days! Why hasn't the fever gone down yet?" The doctors stammered, offering no explanations, their eyes filled with helplessness. The room felt suffocating, the air so thick it almost choked. Finally, Grayson waved them all away, his face dark, and sat back down. He took her hand, his eyes red. "Baby, please get better..." But Wendy remained pale as she lay on the bed, her eyes shut tight, motionless. Another night passed, and finally, Wendy's fever broke. She woke, her mind foggy, but her body still drained, her throat dry and sore. She tried to make a sound, but just as she did, a loud crash echoed from the door. Then, Grayson's restrained voice reached her ears through the door. "I told you not to appear in front of her, didn't I?" Followed by Rita's soft, almost pleading tone, "But my baby wants to see his father, and I brought you a surprise. Do you want to see it?" Then, the only sounds left outside were the rustling of clothes and the shallow breaths of two people. "Why are you wearing clothes like that?" Rita laughed, the sound soft and sweet, almost enough to make a person weak in the knees. "Don't you like it?" Her only answer was Grayson's heavier breathing. Wendy could no longer bear to listen. Just as she was about to bury herself under the covers, the door suddenly swung open. "It's cold outside, should we go inside?" Wendy opened her eyes wide and looked at the reflection in the floor-to-ceiling window. There, in the faint light, she saw two tangled figures collapse onto the sofa at the foot of her bed. The rain outside grew heavier, and through the glass, the sound of the downpour was almost deafening. The cold air from the window that hadn't been properly shut slipped inside, creeping into her bones, and with it, her heart grew colder. ... After recovering from her illness, Wendy was weaker than before, the light in her eyes gone. Wrapped in a thick blanket, she curled up in the lounge chair, staring blankly at the scenery outside the window. In stark contrast to her calm, Grayson beside her was filled with worry and panic. Since Wendy had woken up, she had hardly eaten anything. No matter how he tried to coax her, she remained unmoved. He had tried spoon-feeding her porridge, but she remained in the same position, not even glancing at him. Grayson was on edge. Tomorrow was the wedding, and she still looked listless. His heart raced, and he tried to suppress the strange feeling gnawing at him. He kneeled in front of her, his voice laced with desperation. "Wendy, please eat something. I know you can't eat because you're sick, but your health is more important. I'm so scared, with your fever like that. If anything else happens to you... I'll go crazy..." Chapter 9 Wendy's eyes flickered, a hint of mockery surfacing beneath her eyelids. The next moment, a tear slid down her cheek, tracing the curve of her face. She instinctively reached up to wipe it away, but before she could, he beat her to it. His finger, trembling, gently wiped the moisture from her skin, as if afraid to disturb her further. "Wendy, what's wrong? Don't scare me. If you're upset, just say it—don't keep it to yourself." His voice was filled with quiet desperation as he reached out to embrace her, but she turned her body slightly, avoiding his touch. Finally, she allowed her gaze to settle on him, but the tone of her words was distant, detached. "Grayson, take me to the beach." His hand faltered, hovering in midair. He looked at her with surprise. "Baby, you've always been afraid of water. You never liked the beach." Wendy's response was cool, almost indifferent. "I suddenly want to see it." After all, her death had been staged as a "suicide by drowning." Without a word, Grayson turned and immediately instructed the butler to prepare the car. The drive was quiet. He drove with one hand, the other tightly holding her hand. Unlike before, she didn't pull away. He glanced at her, sensing something softer in her demeanor, and a smile touched his lips. He couldn't help but reminisce about the past, their once tender love. There was a time when, as a child, she'd given him lemon candy with a bright smile. There was the first dance they'd shared in high school, her arm linked in his. Then, during their long-distance relationship, she'd flown for hours to see him. "I always cherished you," he murmured, eyes full of affection. "And yet, you were the one who flew across the world just to be with me. I vowed then, I would never let you suffer, not even a little." "Wendy," he said, pulling the car to a stop at the beach, his gaze filled with love. "I will always love you." She smiled faintly, but the smile held an edge—almost bitter. Lies, when spoken often enough, could fool even the liar himself. They stood together, side by side on the sand, gazing at the still, quiet sea before them, the peace of the moment surrounding them. Then, suddenly, his phone began to ring incessantly. Without glancing at it, he immediately pressed the end button. But the calls kept coming, one after another, persistent, demanding attention. Eventually, he looked at the screen, and with a sigh, he stepped aside to take the call. Wendy couldn't hear what was said, but when he listened, Grayson's expression shifted slightly, his eyes darkening with a glimmer of desire. Just then, Wendy received a text message from Rita. Rita: [Wendy, even if you're getting married tomorrow, what does it matter? With one call, he'll come running to me. If you're smart, you should hand over the title of 'Mrs. Bryce' to me.] This wasn't the first time Rita had pushed her out of the way, but it was the first time Wendy had replied. Wendy: [Fine. As you wish.] Just as she sent the message, Grayson, having hung up the phone, rushed back to her, his face wearing an apologetic expression. "Wendy, I'm sorry. There's an urgent matter at the company…" Wendy's voice was calm but carried an unsettling weight. "Grayson, do you remember what I told you the day you proposed?" His heart clenched. "I told you, if you ever changed your mind about loving me, you should tell me, and I wouldn't bother you again. But if you lied to me, I'd leave you forever." A cold smile touched her lips, but it never reached her eyes. Grayson's hand tightened around the phone, his knuckles turning white. He remained silent for a long moment before, with a shaking hand, he gently ruffled her hair. "Wendy," he murmured, "I love you so much. How could I ever lie to you?" In that instant, the last remnants of love she had for him evaporated, vanishing without a trace. Wendy laughed softly, but the sound was empty, hollow. "Aren't you supposed to be dealing with something at work? Go on, then." His eyes locked onto hers, panic sweeping over him. He suddenly didn't want to leave. He was afraid that if he did, they would never see each other again. But remembering the call he had just received, he relaxed his grip on the phone, his fear momentarily subdued. Wendy was right here—nothing could happen to her, not now. Besides, they were getting married tomorrow. He let out a long breath. "Wendy, after you're done enjoying your time here, come back soon. I'll see you at the wedding tomorrow." Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked quickly to the car, driving off without looking back. Wendy stood on the beach, watching him disappear into the distance. She didn't try to stop him. She didn't plead for him to stay. Ten minutes later, a car pulled up on the sand. A man stepped out and approached her. "Ms. Hall, all your personal information in the country has been erased. New identification, a new phone, and tickets are all ready for you. From now on, no one will be able to find you." She lowered her gaze, accepting the documents from him. Then, she handed over her phone. "Tomorrow, deliver the fake body to the wedding venue. And this phone—make sure it's delivered to the groom, personally." She wanted him to know how Rita had continuously provoked her these past days. She wanted him to understand that because he lied to her time and again, choosing another woman over her, she had ended her life in the sea. She wanted him to know that today was their last meeting. For the rest of his life, he would feel the weight of that moment. He wanted his heart to shatter every time he recalled this memory. After she had given her instructions, Wendy took the new identification and got into an unmarked car. "Driver, take me to the airport." As the car sped into the night, far in the distance, the first rays of golden dawn began to break across the horizon.