A few years ago, the company was on the brink of bankruptcy.
We were barely making ends meet. Yet even then, Nathan insisted on supporting a poor student he had just met—Madeline.
I objected. And for that, he pointed at the birthday cake I had painstakingly saved up for and snapped:
“You said we don’t have money, so why did you buy a cake? Do you know Madeline nearly got tricked into going out drinking just because she couldn’t pay her tuition?”
In the end, he transferred all our savings to her, ignoring my protests.
Now, years later, he tossed a tissue box at me with disdain.
“Look at the mess you made. Clean it up.”
I caught it silently.
I knew if I didn’t play along, getting the dagger—my only hope to save my father—would become impossible.
I set my crutches aside and squatted down slowly. Such a simple motion, yet my leg screamed in agony and sweat streamed down my face.
Then my knee buckled.
I collapsed to the floor.
Nathan hurried over, his voice tinged with a concern he didn’t even seem to recognize.
“Why can’t you do anything right?”
He helped me to the desk, opened a drawer, and placed a cheap plastic hairpin in my palm.
“You said anniversaries should have a sense of ceremony,” he said with a half-smile. “Madeline helped me pick this out. Do you like it?”
I didn’t answer. My eyes were fixed on the velvet box inside the drawer—emblazoned with the logo of a top-tier jewelry brand.
Just yesterday, the TV reported that Nathan had bought a seven-figure necklace as a gift for "the most important person" in his life.
Today, that necklace was around Madeline’s neck.
And on our seventh anniversary, all I got was a five-peso hairpin.
I gripped it until its edges cut into my palm.
“Nathan, I got the cake. Where’s the dagger?”
His face darkened.
“Eva,” he said coldly, “do you really want that dagger so badly? Do you understand what will happen to me if your father’s case is overturned?”
“If that case is reopened, I’ll be accused of perjury! Your father’s old—if he pleads guilty, maybe he’ll be released in a few years. But I’m still young! I run this company! Why should I go down for something that happened years ago? Can’t you consider me for once?”
His voice was full of self-righteous frustration, as if I were the unreasonable one.
“Consider you?” I let out a hollow laugh, tears brimming in my eyes.
“You were kidnapped. My father risked his life with a fruit knife to save you. And when you woke up, you pointed to him and called him a murderer! That man—my father—rescued you from the orphanage. And this is how you repay him?”
I grabbed his collar, my voice rising into a scream.
When it first happened, Nathan was the one who eagerly insisted my father was the killer.
I returned from a business trip to find my father under arrest. I nearly fainted.
I never believed the accusation. I searched tirelessly for evidence—and finally found a clue: the dagger.
And now Nathan had gifted it to Madeline like some trinket.
My words hit him like a slap. He shoved me away and slammed the office door in my face.
The impact made my ears ring.
I stood outside, trembling, my voice hoarse with desperation. “Nathan! You promised! You said you'd give me the dagger—don't go back on your word!”
“Enough!” he shouted through the door. “That’s how it is now! Keep talking, and I won’t testify at your father’s hearing. He’ll never get a reduced sentence.”
His threat hit me like a knife to the gut.
I lowered my hand in numb defeat and turned away.
He was the only eyewitness. His testimony determined my father’s fate. I couldn't afford to lose that.
Just then, my phone buzzed violently in my pocket.
I picked it up with shaking hands.
A man’s voice came through, stern and urgent.
“Ms. Eva, the review for your father’s case has been moved up. You now have three days to submit the key evidence. If not... the verdict will be finalized.”
The phone slipped from my clammy hand and hit the carpet with a dull thud.
Three days.
My father’s weary face filled my mind.
Eva… don’t worry about me. Live your life well…
No. I couldn’t let him die carrying a crime he didn’t commit.
I clenched my teeth, turned around, and slammed the president’s office door open with my shoulder.
It crashed against the wall.
And froze.
Nathan was on the desk, holding Madeline in his arms. His shirt was half undone. The room reeked of lust and betrayal.
I took a step forward—and heard the sharp crack of glass.
Looking down, I saw a shattered wedding photo of us on the floor—discarded.
On the desk behind them, a new photo of Madeline, posed coyly, had taken its place.
“Ah!” Madeline shrank into Nathan’s arms, feigning panic, though her grip on him tightened.
Nathan’s face twisted. “Eva! What the hell are you doing?!”
I smirked and pulled out my phone.
“Nathan, once the photos of your little affair hit the press, your presidency will be history.”
I raised the phone, camera already open.
“Give me the dagger—or I’ll send these pictures to every employee in this building and every news outlet in the country.”
