Because of Dr. Lilith Lockhart and her reckless arrogance, my father nearly died. She once boasted to her peers that she could repair a ruptured brain aneurysm with just one hand. One hand. But when the moment came, she failed. She claimed a sudden headache, dropped the scalpel in the middle of surgery, and ran out like a coward.
And my father… my poor father… never woke up again. He lies there, trapped in that hospital bed, machines screaming alarms around him, and all I can do is bang the call button over and over. No one comes. No one helps.
My brother Tristan tried to fight back. He filed a lawsuit, pouring every ounce of energy into proving justice still existed. But in just two days, his law license was stripped, he was thrown into prison, and they accused him of bribery, perjury, defamation. Lies. Every accusation was a lie. Ten years they gave him, as if his life were meaningless. His name, his reputation, his entire world was exposed to shame. Even his colleagues and friends turned against him.
And behind it all?
Thorne Simpson. My husband. The man I’ve been married to for five years. The man who controls this city. The man who swore he would protect me.
That day, as I pounded the bell like a lunatic with no one answering, Thorne strolled in. Perfectly tailored suit, gleaming shoes, calm as a stormless sea. He handed me my phone like it was a gift and said, “The case has been dropped. Make a video. Apologize. Publicly. Do it, and your father gets surgery. He survives… or dies. Your choice.”
My hands trembled uncontrollably. My body shook. Tears streamed down, and I whispered, “W-why…? Why him? Why would you protect Lilith over your own father?”
For the second time in my life, I cried in front of Thorne. The first was at our wedding—tears of happiness. Now, tears of betrayal.
“Stop crying, Aria…” His voice was soft, almost human, and for a fraction of a second, it seemed like he cared. He lifted a hand, as if to wipe my tears, then hesitated. He recoiled, as though my suffering disgusted him.
“Aria,” he said slowly, “Lilith and I grew up together. That surgery… it was an accident. Maybe your father wouldn’t have survived, even if she hadn’t lost control. The media’s tearing her apart. You need to be reasonable. Record the video. Explain it clearly. Then this ends. The doctors are waiting, and afterward, I’ll free your brother.”
He spoke as if it were optional, but his eyes said otherwise.
Could I refuse? Could I risk saying no? If I did… would I end up in prison like Tristan? Or worse… like my father?
My heart felt like it shattered. I had trusted Thorne. For five years, he had given me everything. Every gift, every indulgence, every luxury—he made them mine. He never raised his voice, never scolded. I thought he was my safe place.
But since my father’s failed surgery, every plea for help was met with hesitation. And now I knew: he had never been my sanctuary. He was the blade.
At first, he acted indifferent. “Inconvenient,” he said, pretending it wasn’t his concern. But the moment Lilith’s name came up, his whole demeanor shifted.
“If you refuse,” he said, “your father dies today. Your brother stays in prison. Don’t blame me for cruelty, Aria. Lilith saved my life once, from that car accident. I promised I would protect her forever. Even if it’s you standing in the way, you won’t stop me.”
No sooner had the words left his mouth than my father convulsed in his bed. Alarms screamed. Doctors rushed in and wheeled him away without even looking at me.
“Dad!” I screamed. I tried to run after him, but Thorne grabbed my arm.
“Record the video, and he can have surgery,” he said.
I stared at him like he was a stranger. “Thorne… are you even human?”
He shoved my hand aside, looming over me like a wall I couldn’t breach. “Thirty seconds. That’s it,” he said.
In that moment, a chill ran through me. For the first time, I was truly terrified of him. Those years of love—maybe they were never real.
I had been his secretary once. I remembered how he pursued me relentlessly: 199 letters, 999 bouquets, everything to make me smile. After two years of dating, he did everything to keep me.
He shielded me from the rich heiresses who mocked me for being poor. He defended me at auctions, made public declarations, abandoned billion-dollar projects just to stand by me. He flew thousands of miles to care for me when I was sick.
The Simpson family hated me. They wanted him to marry Lilith—the perfect daughter from their elite circle. But he fought. He endured imprisonment, exile, even gave up his status as heir, just to marry me.
Finally, after all the struggle, they relented. We married. I thought that was the end of our battles. I thought we were untouchable. I thought we would grow old together.
Then Lilith returned. Spoiled, arrogant… and he treated her as if she were his responsibility. Her work, her failures, her surgeries—he handled them all. He chauffeured her, tended to her, cared for her more than me. One day, without even asking, he brought her into our home, put her in a guest room…
That day I realized the truth. I was no longer his choice. I was just his wife on paper. Lilith… Lilith had been his choice all along.
