To be with Faye Sinclair, my childhood friend drugged my milk and sent me to an old man’s bed.
They took nude photos of me and spread them everywhere, turning me into the city's disgrace—the woman everyone wanted to ruin.
My family's company crumbled overnight. Stocks plummeted, debts soared into billions, and ruin swallowed us whole. Unable to bear the shame and devastation, my parents jumped from the rooftop, leaving me an orphan in an instant.
When the creditors cornered me, fists raised, ready to end my life, a man stepped in—my best friend's brother.
He shielded me, knelt before me, and with tens of billions of betrothal gifts, he asked me to be his wife.
I thought he was my salvation. I thought heaven had finally given me a way out.
But two years later, I overheard a conversation that shattered my illusions.
"Mr. Sinclair, your wife is five months pregnant and can no longer take osteoporosis medicine. It will affect the efficacy of the umbilical cord blood."
"I don’t understand," the assistant hesitated. "You advised Wesley to destroy your wife's innocence, to ruin her family. And now, you're planning to take her child—just to save Faye? Aren't you afraid she'll find out and leave you?"
Tristan exhaled a slow ring of smoke, his voice indifferent.
"She won’t find out. And even if she does, I’ll pay her back with my life. As for the child... if she really wants one, I’ll give her another."
A chill ran down my spine. My salvation was never real. The man I trusted had orchestrated my downfall from the start.
——
The assistant still hesitated. "But Faye is only your adopted sister. She has no blood ties to you. Madam has given up everything for you—is it really worth this?"
Tristan’s eyes darkened.
"Of course, it’s worth it. Faye is the only woman I love. The world won’t allow us to be together, so I’ll give her happiness in the only way I can. A few lives—what do they matter?"
He said it without hesitation. Without remorse.
I covered my mouth, but the sobs broke through, spilling out like a dam bursting. I never imagined I would hear such words—from the man I loved most.
My hands trembled violently, my body overcome with emotion. The thermos slipped from my grasp, crashing onto the floor with a deafening clang. The sound sliced through the silence of the corridor like a knife.
Inside, Tristan’s expression shifted. He shot to his feet, striding toward the door. The moment he saw me, panic flashed in his eyes.
"Wife… why are you here? Did you hear what we just said?"
I had already wiped my tears away. My fingers curled tightly together to suppress the shaking. Lowering my gaze to the spilled chicken soup pooling on the cold tiles, I let out a sigh of regret.
"What could I have heard?" I smiled faintly. "My hands started shaking again the moment I got here, and I knocked over the thermos. Such a shame… I spent all morning making that soup."
Tristan glanced at my trembling hands and seemed to relax. He took them on his own, his grip was warm and reassuring—an illusion of tenderness.
"It’s my fault," he murmured, his voice filled with guilt. "I failed to protect you, and now you suffer from this hand tremor. From now on, let the servants handle these things. My wife only needs to enjoy life."
He spoke as if he cherished me. As if he cared.
But I knew better now.
My tremors had started after the brutal beating from the creditors. The damage had been so severe that I could no longer hold a scalpel, forcing me to abandon my career as a doctor. Over time, the tremors worsened, more persistent and uncontrollable than they should have been. Doubt had gnawed at me for years—no injury could cause this kind of lasting affliction. At times, I wondered if I had been poisoned, but that thought always seemed absurd.
After all, my meals were carefully prepared by the nutritionist Tristan hired. They knew my dietary restrictions, my allergies. How could anything have been wrong?
Now, the truth crashed over me like a tidal wave.
Osteoporosis medication.
Tristan had been feeding it to me all along, weaving weakness into my body, ensuring my hands would never be steady again. The falls, the trembling, the helplessness—he had orchestrated it all.
