"Margarita!"
Wade’s voice was cold as ice. Without hesitation, he strode forward and struck her across the face.
The slap sent Margarita’s head snapping to the side. A sharp sting spread across her cheek, her ears ringing from the impact.
"Wade, what should I do?" Casey knelt down, gathering the scattered charm bracelet with trembling hands, as if she didn’t care about the red imprint on her own face. Her voice quivered, soft and pitiful. "The beads you gave me… the ones blessed after climbing the mountain shrine’s winding path… my sister broke them."
Wade pulled her into his arms, his gaze burning into Margarita like a blade. "So this is your true face? You finally dropped the act." His voice was dangerously low. "Why did you hit Casey? Why did you destroy something so precious to me?"
His fury filled the room, but his eyes—beneath the storm—seemed to be waiting. Waiting for Margarita to say something. To deny it. To give him a reason.
Because she couldn’t bear it?
Because she was jealous?
Because deep down, she still cared?
But Margarita only let out a low laugh and whispered, "How could I dare offend you, Boss? That charm bracelet was valuable… if I really wanted to do something with it, I would’ve stolen it and sold it for money."
The brief flicker of light in Wade’s eyes extinguished.
His jaw tightened. In a slow, deliberate motion, he grabbed Margarita by the collar and enunciated every word:
"That charm bracelet meant everything to me and Casey. Go and beg for another one. It must be blessed again—for our wedding."
His fingers tightened before he finally released her. "You’ll kneel your way up the mountain. Step by step. Do you understand?"
Margarita had no right to refuse.
While Wade and Casey enjoyed the warmth of a resort hotel, sipping tea by the fireplace, Margarita was thrown at the foot of Foshan Mountain.
She wore only a thin coat against the biting cold. Snow blanketed the stone steps, but she did not hesitate.
She knelt.
Pressed her forehead to the icy ground.
Whispered, "May Wade find happiness in this life. May Christine be reborn into a good family and never suffer again."
Her voice was soft, swallowed by the howling wind. But her devotion remained unwavering.
With each step she climbed on her knees, bruises bloomed beneath the fabric of her clothes. Her forehead grew swollen from the repeated kneel. She could no longer tell if her limbs were numb from the cold—or from the ALS stealing her strength.
By the time she reached the peak, trembling, she handed the newly blessed beads to Wade.
She braced herself for his ridicule. For his sneer.
But instead, he silently removed his coat and tossed it over her head.
"I'm staying here tonight," he said coldly. "You keep watch."
And just like that, he turned away.
—
That night, the ground trembled.
The entire mountain quaked violently. Cries of panic filled the air as the guesthouse walls groaned and crumbled.
Margarita barely had time to react before Casey came running, tears streaking down her face.
"Wade—Wade is still inside!" She clutched Margarita’s hand in desperation. "He still has a fever—he hasn’t come out!"
Margarita’s breath hitched.
No wonder he had been quiet. Wade never took medicine—not since his sister, Christine, died from an allergic reaction to cold pills. He would rather endure it.
Her vision blurred with urgency. Ignoring the people fleeing for safety, she turned and ran.
Straight into the collapsing ruins.
At that moment, her legs suddenly gave out.
Margarita crashed to the ground, her knees slamming against the icy stone. A sharp, searing pain shot through her body, nearly knocking her unconscious.
She gasped, trembling. But when she tried to move—nothing.
Her legs refused to respond.
“No... not now…”
Tears welled up as she punched her unfeeling legs over and over, as if sheer force could bring them back to life. Desperation clawed at her throat, but she gritted her teeth and dragged herself forward.
One inch at a time.
By the time she reached Wade’s room, her vision swam with exhaustion. But before she could even catch her breath, the bookcase beside her collapsed—
Crack!
The heavy wood crashed against her waist, knocking the air from her lungs. A choked cry escaped her lips, but she had no time to process the pain.
Wade.
She forced herself up and stumbled toward him. His body burned with fever, unconscious on the bed.
No hesitation.
Margarita hauled him up with trembling arms, dragging him into the bathroom. She heaved him into the bathtub, her strength failing, her own body screaming in agony. But even then, doubt gnawed at her.
This wasn’t safe enough.
So she shielded him with her own body. If the house collapsed—if death came—she would be the first to take the hit.
Wade stirred in his fevered haze, his lips parting slightly as he murmured—
“…Margarita…”
Her heart clenched.
She buried her face against his burning forehead, her voice shaking. "Wade... you must live…"
Tears spilled down her cheeks, falling onto his face.
Then—silence.
The tremors finally ceased.
Rescue workers climbed up a ladder to the window, shouting for survivors. Margarita didn’t waste a second.
"Take him first!" she cried, pushing Wade toward them.
They carried him out to safety, Casey following closely behind. But before leaving, she hesitated, turning to Margarita with a complicated expression.
"Aren't you going to tell him that you saved him?"
Margarita exhaled shakily. Her body ached, every nerve screaming for relief, but she forced herself to look away.
"I didn’t do anything," she murmured.
No one needed to know.
—
Wade and Casey made it home safely.
Margarita, on the other hand, remained behind.
Through the open doorway, she watched as Wade reached for Casey's hand, placing the charm bracelet gently onto her wrist. His touch lingered, his gaze soft.
"Casey," he whispered, brushing a tender kiss against her cheek. "Thank you for staying with me."
Margarita stood there, frozen.
Something inside her twisted, but she forced herself to move. The house was still a mess. She needed to clean up.
But the moment she bent down, pain shot up her spine like a dagger. Her vision blurred, and she collapsed onto the sofa, struggling to breathe.
Then—
A hand yanked up her shirt.
A sharp gasp tore from her lips as pain flared across her waist. The wound had been left untreated for too long—her clothes had fused to the dried blood, ripping away at her skin.
Margarita barely had time to react before she saw it.
The look in Wade’s eyes.
Red. Burning.
Rage.
His voice was low, controlled—but barely.
"What happened to your waist?"
