The next day, Stuart and Janet appeared together in front of the media.
When Michelle first came across the interview online, she intended to scroll past it. But the moment she heard the reporter mention her name, her hand froze, and she forced herself to watch until the very end.
As always, Stuart stood before the flood of cameras with his calm, detached composure.
Beside him, Janet lightly hooked her arm through his, her lips curved in a perfectly measured smile.
Soon, the barrage of questions came crashing down.
“Mr. Stuart, is it true what’s trending online—that you’ve been receiving long-term psychological treatment? And regarding the rumors that your doctor, Michelle Burnell, interfered in your relationship with Miss Janet—can you give us a direct response?”
“Miss Janet, were you aware of Mr. Stuart’s condition? With the wedding fast approaching, how do you feel knowing your fiancé supposedly suffers from serious mental health problems and may even be entangled with his doctor? Will this affect the union between your two families?”
The rest of the questions went unsaid.
In the video, Stuart raised his hand ever so slightly, and the noisy crowd of reporters gradually fell silent.
On the other side of the screen, Michelle’s heart tightened, rising and falling with the tension in the room.
“First of all, I want to make one thing clear,” Stuart said at last, his expression cold, his voice steady as he cut through the silence. “I have never received psychological treatment, nor do I suffer from any kind of mental disorder. The only issue I’ve had in the past was a sleep disturbance caused by overwork, which I sought help for to make adjustments.”
At that point, Michelle already knew exactly what would come next, but she still forced herself to keep watching.
And just as she expected, he neatly severed all ties with her in front of the public, painting himself spotless while portraying her as an unethical doctor who had deliberately schemed to get close to him.
In the end, Janet chimed in with a light, smiling voice, playing her role to perfection. “As the victim in all this, I do feel a little helpless. But with someone like her, I suppose it was bound to happen. Still, please rest assured—our wedding will take place as scheduled.”
By now, Michelle no longer needed anyone to explain. The truth was obvious.
The entire scandal had been carefully staged by the two of them—a calculated negative publicity stunt. In this way, Stuart would never again have to worry about her keeping quiet while Janet secured her position as the rightful fiancée, dazzling in the public eye.
They both gained from it.
The only one who paid the price was Michelle—her reputation and her career all sacrificed to their scheme.
For the first time, a dark, consuming hatred surged up in her chest.
She hated her parents for favoring her brother over their daughter.
She hated Stuart for his betrayal.
She hated Janet for her shamelessness.
But most of all, she hated herself—for softening back then, for mistaking scraps of kindness for sincerity, and for tying herself to this cursed entanglement.
‘Perhaps,’ she thought bitterly, ‘everything I’m suffering now is punishment for once having pitied a man like him.’
In the days that followed, she shut herself away at home, refusing to even turn on her phone.
After all, she had become the target of public scorn. Some people even came to her door to pound on it in hatred.
She was acutely aware that something was wrong with her state of mind. Sleepless nights, restless dreams, loss of appetite, ringing in her ears, heart palpitations—classic psychosomatic symptoms.
She was a psychologist herself, yet she couldn’t treat her own fractured psyche.
Then, one afternoon, a knock echoed from the entryway.
At first, she thought she was imagining it. But a second later, she saw a familiar face appear on the video doorbell.
She opened the door. Standing there was none other than Berenice, Stuart’s mother.
“Dr. Burnell, how have you been lately?” the older woman asked, her tone polite yet edged with mockery. Without waiting for an answer, she continued, “Not very well, I assume. I’ve seen plenty of women like you—scheming to climb your way up. But my son is not someone you can reach so easily.”
Looking at the refined, haughty socialite before her, Michelle couldn’t help but recall how the same woman had once begged her desperately for help five years ago.
As the saying went, birds of a feather flock together.
She and her son were cut from the same cloth—burning bridges, repaying kindness with betrayal.
Michelle no longer had the patience to trade words. Instead, she asked directly what had brought her here.
Berenice let out a soft, elegant laugh. “This is a blank check. You can name the amount…”
Before she could finish, Michelle snatched the check straight from her hand and, with deliberate clarity, completed the sentence for her.
“Name the amount, and in exchange, I disappear from your son’s life, isn’t that right? Very well. I’ll fill it in right now.”
