"Ms. Conley, your sea burial procedures have been finalized. Please settle the remaining balance within 30 days. Once payment is confirmed, we will arrange the ceremony immediately."
Margarita stared at the text message on her old phone, momentarily dazed.
Six years in prison had stripped her of everything. Upon release, a routine physical examination delivered the final blow—Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). The treatment was beyond what she could afford. Rather than struggle, she chose to accept death with dignity. A sea burial in Maldives after her passing.
Maldives…
Her gaze dropped to her left hand. Her ring finger was bare. Once, an engagement ring had sat there—placed by Wade Roe himself as he knelt on a Maldives beach, kissing the back of her hand. Together for life, he had promised.
Now, that ring was long gone, thrown off a cliff by the very man who once swore forever.
Margarita pinched herself, forcing her thoughts back to reality. She needed to raise 3,000 dollars to pay for the burial. But with a criminal record, even dishwasher jobs turned her away. Desperate, she stepped into a nightclub.
"You're lucky," the manager said, tossing her a revealing black silk dress. "Lili's on leave, so we need a replacement. Just go in and move around—you don’t need skills, just a body."
In the cramped bathroom, Margarita changed into the dress when suddenly, faint gasps and moans leaked from the next stall—low, intimate sounds she knew too well.
"Wade, be gentle! There's someone outside... Mm..."
A man chuckled darkly. "What are you afraid of? This is a nightclub. Weren't you the one begging for it just now? Hmm?"
Margarita’s blood ran cold. Her grip on the dress tightened.
Wade.
And the woman moaning for him—Casey Goodwin.
The same Casey Margarita had protected and cared for like a sister for five years.
She pressed her lips together, swallowing the bitter sting in her throat, and waited until the noises stopped. Only after they left did she step out.
"Why are you so slow?" The manager grabbed her and shoved her toward the crowd. "Just follow what the others do!"
Margarita nodded numbly. When they twisted, she twisted. When they poured drinks, she poured drinks. But no matter how she moved, her mind remained trapped in that bathroom stall, replaying what she had just heard.
Even after six years, she still couldn't bear the sight—or sound—of Wade with another woman.
"Wade, you're so good to Casey!" someone gushed. "Twenty sets of wedding photos! Who does that for a wedding?"
"Not just that," another voice chimed in. "I heard he got her a full set of Lumière Royale’s luxury room packages. And at that auction, he even bought the 'Celestial Tide' jewelry set—just to spoil her!"
Margarita's fingers curled tightly around the tray she held.
Wade had once whispered the same promises to her. But now, all that remained were broken vows, an empty ring finger, and a debt she had to pay just to die.
Margarita never expected that the man she was serving tonight would be Wade.
Her hands trembled slightly as she poured the wine, the dim lighting barely concealing her unease. Hidden behind the curtain of her long hair, she mustered the courage to glance up.
Wade sat in the center of the sofa, leaning back lazily, his chiseled features indifferent. His long fingers twirled the stem of a wine glass, his lips curved into a faint, unreadable smirk. He looked at ease, as if the past had never happened.
Beside him, Casey nestled close, her cheeks still flushed.
Margarita’s heart clenched. So it wasn’t just an affair—Wade was going to marry Casey.
Six years ago, she almost became his wife.
Their story began in the sweltering summer after the college entrance exams. She hadn't even noticed the blood staining her pants that day.
Wade had.
With a teasing smile, he had taken off his school uniform jacket, wrapped it around her waist, and whispered, "Hey, you look a little cold. Let me help you warm up."
Her face had burned hotter than the sun above them. Despite the cramping in her abdomen, her heart pounded wildly.
That moment had been the start of everything.
He had set off custom fireworks for her at the beach, taken her to Tibet to cuddle baby lambs, and held her close when her mother was dying.
She had truly believed Wade was her forever.
But the night before their wedding, everything shattered.
His sister, Christine Roe, had died of an overdose.
The investigation pointed to Margarita—her medical license, her prescriptions, the cold medicine that had been found in Christine’s system.
It had been pouring the night of the operation.
Wade had knelt in the rain outside the crematorium, his voice raw, his fingers digging into Margarita’s wrist.
"Did you give it to her? Did you tell her how to use it?"
Margarita’s silent tears had mixed with the rain, but she hadn't spoken a word.
And so, Wade sent her to prison.
For six years, she had relived that moment, wondering—if she had lied, if she had fought for herself, would things have been different?
But the truth was, she couldn’t.
Because she knew what had really happened.
Christine had fallen in love with her head teacher—a man twenty years her senior, a man who would never leave his wife for her.
Despair had consumed her. She had refused to eat, to drink, to live.
Margarita had only wanted to help. She had brought a medical kit, hoping to bring down Christine’s fever. But when she had stepped out to buy her food, Christine had taken all the cold medicine in the kit.
She had died in Margarita’s arms, whispering her final plea:
"Don’t let them know… Let me die innocent."
If the truth had come out, if Wade had discovered what his sister had done… it would have destroyed him.
So Margarita had taken the blame.
And now, six years later, standing in a nightclub with a wine bottle in hand, she knew—none of it mattered anymore.
Wade had moved on. He had found happiness. And she… she had nothing left but an impending death sentence and an unpaid sea burial.
Margarita bowed her head, ready to retreat into the background. But then—
"Wine pourer, come here."
Wade’s voice sliced through the noise.
Margarita’s fingers tightened around the bottle.
She forced herself to move, stepping forward cautiously. The moment she reached him, she tilted the bottle, trying to steady her hands. But her body betrayed her—her muscles stiffened, and she poured too much.
Wine spilled over the rim of his glass.
"What the hell are you doing?!"
A sharp voice cut through the air before Margarita could react.
A woman yanked her backward with force. Her balance gave out.
She crashed into the edge of the glass table.
The impact sent wine glasses shattering onto the floor, red liquid seeping into the cracks like fresh blood.
A sharp pain lanced through her lower back, but Margarita barely registered it. She dropped to her knees, frantically gathering the broken shards with shaking hands.
The woman sneered. "Bitch, do you even know how much this table of wine costs? You couldn’t afford it even if you sold yourself!"
Margarita thought she had long since shed her dignity in prison. But now, kneeling on the floor, her fingertips bleeding, humiliation burned through her like acid.
Wade and Casey sat just a few feet away, untouched by the chaos, indifferent to the woman crouched in disgrace at their feet.
She just wanted to leave. To disappear.
Before she could rise, a mocking laugh filled the room.
"Alright, don’t be so harsh."
Robin Conway, one of Wade’s friends, leaned forward, amusement dancing in his eyes.
"Wade isn’t the kind of person who cares about a little spilled wine. Why not let this little sister make it up to me instead?"
The woman snorted, shoving Margarita toward him.
"You heard him. Hurry up and go over!"
Margarita barely caught herself from falling.
Then, a voice, sharp and disbelieving, cut through the air.
"Wait… You are… Margarita?"
