I stared at the pool of blood on the floor, calm. Then I pulled open the drawer and took out the two documents I'd prepared.
A divorce agreement.
A forced share-withdrawal notice for the company.
The digital lock on the front door beeped.
Reginald walked in with his arm around Katherine, and the first thing he saw was the withdrawal notice in my hand.
He let go of Katherine, crossed the room in three strides, and snatched the document from my grip.
His eyes skimmed it twice before he ripped it in half and threw the pieces in my face.
“Withdrawal? Gloria, do you really have to resort to these childish tactics to threaten me?”
He tugged at his tie, his tone leaving no room for discussion.
“The company's seventh-anniversary children's line launch is tomorrow. Once it's over, I'll deal with your little tantrum.”
The next afternoon. The launch venue.
I stood backstage on legs that could barely hold me.
That commemorative children's collection was my final work, sketched stitch by stitch before my diagnosis, in memory of the child I lost.
Thunderous applause rolled in from the main stage.
Reginald took Katherine's hand and led her into the spotlights.
My design drafts filled the giant screen behind them.
Reginald leaned into the cluster of media microphones, his voice soft and warm.
“This collection was inspired by Katherine's journey as a mother-to-be, carrying new life.”
“Today, we're proud to debut it as our flagship line.”
The audience erupted in admiration.
A high-pitched buzz filled my skull, and cold sweat soaked through my back in an instant.
The warning signs of acute organ failure crashed over me like a wave. My heart seized, as though a fist had closed around it and refused to let go.
I braced myself against the wall, fumbling through my bag with shaking hands for the imported emergency medication.
The hidden compartment had been opened.
The bottle was empty.
Nothing left but a few specks of white powder clinging to the glass.
After the launch ended, Reginald brought Katherine backstage.
She was wearing the couture gown originally made for me, the one meant for the lead designer. Her smile was radiant.
I was slumped in a chair, fingers locked around the empty bottle, my vision already blurring at the edges.
Reginald walked over and glanced down at the bottle in my hand.
“Katherine said she liked the color of the bottle. The vitamins inside, she just dumped them out to feed some stray cats.”
He kicked the bottle aside.
“You're perfectly healthy. Why the act? It's one outfit. What's the big deal if Katherine wears it?”
“This company's going to belong to Katherine's child someday anyway.”
His gaze swept over my sweat-drenched clothes with open disgust.
“Go home. Don't stand around here looking like a wreck and embarrassing me.”
I said nothing.
I looked at the face in front of me, that hollow, faithless face, and a faint laugh slipped out of me.
The smile cracked my dry lips. There was no life in it.
Reginald froze. His brow furrowed deeper.
“What are you laughing at?”
I didn't answer. I gripped the armrest, pulled myself to my feet, and walked step by step toward the doors, out into the downpour.
Rain hammered against my body, cold enough to cut to the bone.
I took out my phone and opened the last message from my doctor. The final option.
【Consent to immediate anti-cancer blood-replacement surgery.】
The success rate was negligible. The most likely outcome was dying on the table.
I pressed confirm.
Then I pulled out the SIM card and dropped it into the rushing water of the storm drain.
I sat alone on a bench at the side of the street. The world in front of me had already split into overlapping shadows.
The rain fell harder.
From somewhere in the distance came the shrill wail of an ambulance siren, its red and blue lights tearing through the curtain of rain.
A familiar black Maybach sped past without slowing.
It was Reginald's car.
The wheels cut through a puddle, and a sheet of cold, muddy water splashed across my body.
