He Sent Me to Prison to Marry Another Woman

"Ms. Conley, your sea burial procedures have been finalized. Please settle the remaining balance within 30 days. Once payment is confirmed, we will arrange the ceremony immediately."

Margarita stared at the text message on her old phone, momentarily dazed.

Six years in prison had stripped her of everything. Upon release, a routine physical examination delivered the final blow—Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis (ALS). The treatment was beyond what she could afford. Rather than struggle, she chose to accept death with dignity. A sea burial in Maldives after her passing.

Maldives…

Her gaze dropped to her left hand. Her ring finger was bare. Once, an engagement ring had sat there—placed by Wade Roe himself as he knelt on a Maldives beach, kissing the back of her hand. Together for life, he had promised.

Now, that ring was long gone, thrown off a cliff by the very man who once swore forever.

Margarita pinched herself, forcing her thoughts back to reality. She needed to raise 3,000 dollars to pay for the burial. But with a criminal record, even dishwasher jobs turned her away. Desperate, she stepped into a nightclub.

"You're lucky," the manager said, tossing her a black dress. "Lili's on leave, so we need a replacement. Just go in and move around—you don’t need skills, just a body."

In the cramped bathroom, Margarita changed into the dress when suddenly, faint gasps leaked from the next stall—low, intimate sounds she knew too well.

"Wade, be gentle! There's someone outside... Mm..."

A man chuckled darkly. "What are you afraid of? This is a nightclub. Weren't you the one begging for it just now? Hmm?"

Margarita’s blood ran cold. Her grip on the dress tightened.

Wade.

And the woman —Casey Goodwin.

The same Casey Margarita had protected and cared for like a sister for five years.

She pressed her lips together, swallowing the bitter sting in her throat, and waited until the noises stopped. Only after they left did she step out.

"Why are you so slow?" The manager grabbed her and shoved her toward the crowd. "Just follow what the others do!"

Margarita nodded numbly. When they twisted, she twisted. When they poured drinks, she poured drinks. But no matter how she moved, her mind remained trapped in that bathroom stall, replaying what she had just heard.

Even after six years, she still couldn't bear the sight—or sound—of Wade with another woman.

"Wade, you're so good to Casey!" someone gushed. "Twenty sets of wedding photos! Who does that for a wedding?"

"Not just that," another voice chimed in. "I heard he got her a full set of Lumière Royale’s luxury room packages. And at that auction, he even bought the 'Celestial Tide' jewelry set—just to spoil her!"

Margarita's fingers curled tightly around the tray she held.

Wade had once whispered the same promises to her. But now, all that remained were broken vows, an empty ring finger, and a debt she had to pay just to die.

Margarita never expected that the man she was serving tonight would be Wade.

Her hands trembled slightly as she poured the wine, the dim lighting barely concealing her unease. Hidden behind the curtain of her long hair, she mustered the courage to glance up.

Wade sat in the center of the sofa, leaning back lazily, his chiseled features indifferent. His long fingers twirled the stem of a wine glass, his lips curved into a faint, unreadable smirk. He looked at ease, as if the past had never happened.

Beside him, Casey nestled close, her cheeks still flushed.

Margarita’s heart clenched. So it wasn’t just an affair—Wade was going to marry Casey.

Six years ago, she almost became his wife.

Their story began in the sweltering summer after the college entrance exams. She hadn't even noticed the blood staining her pants that day.

Wade had.

With a teasing smile, he had taken off his school uniform jacket, wrapped it around her waist, and whispered, "Hey, you look a little cold. Let me help you warm up."

Her face had burned hotter than the sun above them. Despite the cramping in her abdomen, her heart pounded wildly.

That moment had been the start of everything.

He had set off custom fireworks for her at the beach, taken her to Tibet to cuddle baby lambs, and held her close when her mother was dying.

She had truly believed Wade was her forever.

But the night before their wedding, everything shattered.

His sister, Christine Roe, had died of an overdose.

The investigation pointed to Margarita—her medical license, her prescriptions, the cold medicine that had been found in Christine’s system.

It had been pouring the night of the operation.

Wade had knelt in the rain outside the crematorium, his voice raw, his fingers digging into Margarita’s wrist.

"Did you give it to her? Did you tell her how to use it?"

Margarita’s silent tears had mixed with the rain, but she hadn't spoken a word.

And so, Wade sent her to prison.

For six years, she had relived that moment, wondering—if she had lied, if she had fought for herself, would things have been different?

But the truth was, she couldn’t.

Because she knew what had really happened.

Christine had fallen in love with her head teacher—a man twenty years her senior, a man who would never leave his wife for her.

Despair had consumed her. She had refused to eat, to drink, to live.

Margarita had only wanted to help. She had brought a medical kit, hoping to bring down Christine’s fever. But when she had stepped out to buy her food, Christine had taken all the cold medicine in the kit.

She had died in Margarita’s arms, whispering her final plea:

"Don’t let them know… Let me die innocent."

If the truth had come out, if Wade had discovered what his sister had done… it would have destroyed him.

So Margarita had taken the blame.

And now, six years later, standing in a nightclub with a wine bottle in hand, she knew—none of it mattered anymore.

Wade had moved on. He had found happiness. And she… she had nothing left but an impending death sentence and an unpaid sea burial.

Margarita bowed her head, ready to retreat into the background. But then—

"Wine pourer, come here."

Wade’s voice sliced through the noise.

Margarita’s fingers tightened around the bottle.

She forced herself to move, stepping forward cautiously. The moment she reached him, she tilted the bottle, trying to steady her hands. But her body betrayed her—her muscles stiffened, and she poured too much.

Wine spilled over the rim of his glass.

"What the hell are you doing?!"

A sharp voice cut through the air before Margarita could react.

A woman yanked her backward with force. Her balance gave out.

She crashed into the edge of the glass table.

The impact sent wine glasses shattering onto the floor, red liquid seeping into the cracks like fresh blood.

A sharp pain lanced through her lower back, but Margarita barely registered it. She dropped to her knees, frantically gathering the broken shards with shaking hands.

The woman sneered. "Cheap woman, do you even know how much this table of wine costs? You couldn’t afford it even if you sold yourself!"

Margarita thought she had long since shed her dignity in prison. But now, kneeling on the floor, her fingertips bleeding, humiliation burned through her like acid.

Wade and Casey sat just a few feet away, untouched by the chaos, indifferent to the woman crouched in disgrace at their feet.

She just wanted to leave. To disappear.

Before she could rise, a mocking laugh filled the room.

"Alright, don’t be so harsh."

Robin Conway, one of Wade’s friends, leaned forward, amusement dancing in his eyes.

"Wade isn’t the kind of person who cares about a little spilled wine. Why not let this little sister make it up to me instead?"

The woman snorted, shoving Margarita toward him.

"You heard him. Hurry up and go over!"

Margarita barely caught herself from falling.

Then, a voice, sharp and disbelieving, cut through the air.

"Wait… You are… Margarita?"

2

Robin let out an exaggerated laugh. “Wow! You’re out of prison! And working as a hostess? What a coincidence.”

He stepped closer, his tone dripping with mockery. “You must be desperate for money. Tell you what—crawl over here, entertain us, and we’ll forget about the wine.”

Margarita felt Wade’s cold gaze cut through her like a blade, pressing her down, suffocating her.

She had no escape. No dignity left to protect.

Biting her lip, she forced herself onto her knees. The glass shards dug into her skin as she crawled forward, each movement a fresh wound, each breath a silent humiliation.

The air was sharp against her back, making her shiver.

The room held its breath. Then—

A splash.

The deep red liquid spilled over her skin, trickling down her spine in slow, sticky rivulets.

Margarita flinched, her shoulders curling inward on instinct.

The silence was deafening. No one knew what Wade was thinking. They exchanged uncertain glances, and, one by one, they found excuses to leave.

Wade smiled at Casey, his voice deceptively soft. “Be good. Wait outside with them.”

His tone left no room for argument.

Before stepping out, Casey cast a fleeting glance at Margarita. Her expression was unreadable.

The door clicked shut.

Without warning, Wade’s hand shot out, grabbing Margarita’s throat and shoving her onto the sofa.

"Margarita," he murmured, eyes dark and seething. "The moment you got out of prison, you became a hostess. What, dignity doesn’t matter to you anymore?"

She forced out a bitter laugh. “After all, I killed your sister. My family went bankrupt. I lost everything. I was locked away for six years… I have to survive somehow, don’t I?”

The truth was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it down, twisting her pain into mockery.

Wade’s fingers trailed down her damp back, slow, deliberate. Hatred burned in his gaze.

His grip on her wrist tightened, voice low and dangerous.

“No one in this nightclub has more money than me. If you’re so eager to sell yourself, then sell to me.” He leaned closer, his breath brushing against her skin. “Buy something for Casey and me tonight. Pick well, and I’ll pay you 1,500 dollars. That should be enough for someone like you, right?”

Margarita’s chest clenched, the pain suffocating.

This was revenge. He wanted to break her, humiliate her.

And he was succeeding.

—

That night, she watched as Casey slipped into the dress she had bought.

She stood there, silent, as Wade pulled Casey into a kiss, his hands roaming her body.

Margarita should have looked away.

But she didn’t.

Her empty gaze followed every movement, every touch. She knew his habits too well. She could predict where his lips would land before he even moved.

Every kiss, every caress—things that once belonged to her—were now given to another woman.

The edges of her vision blurred, dark spots creeping in. 

After it was over, Wade disappeared into the bathroom.

Casey took Margarita’s hand, her fingers light, almost affectionate. “After you disappeared, I stayed by Wade’s side.”

Margarita said nothing.

Casey lowered her voice, watching her carefully. “I never planned to love him, but I did. If you don’t want me to be with him—”

“I don’t mind.”

Her voice was eerily calm. “You can have him.”

Bang—

The bathroom door slammed open.

Wade stepped out, his damp hair dripping onto his shoulders, a towel wrapped loosely around his waist.

His furious gaze locked onto Margarita. Then, in a softer voice, he turned to Casey.

“I don’t need a criminal’s permission to be with you.” His tone was cold, mocking. “I keep her around so no one thinks I, Wade, am a pathetic man who lost everything after a single blow.”

3

After this incident, Wade did not let Margarita go.

As if granting her his "forgiveness," he assigned her a lowly assistant position—one designed to humiliate rather than employ.

During work hours, Margarita was forced to kneel on the office floor, scrubbing tiles while colleagues and visitors stepped around her, their amused or pitiful glances stripping away her last shreds of dignity.

At night, when Wade and Casey were together, Margarita had to anticipate their every need—so their pleasure would never be interrupted.

When they went shopping, she became nothing more than a living mannequin, slipping in and out of clothes for Casey’s amusement while Wade watched indifferently.

Every moment was a carefully orchestrated punishment. Margarita was forced to witness how tenderly Wade spoiled Casey, how cruelly he ensured she felt his hatred.

Wade tossed a designer bag to her—one that Casey had discarded. His tone carried the weight of disdainful charity.

"It's a reward for you."

Margarita lunged forward, catching the bag before it hit the ground, clutching it tightly.

If she sold it, she could make good money. And right now, money was all she needed.

She longed for an escape. The quiet waves of Maldives called to her—the promise of being lost in an endless ocean, where no one could reach her.

Let the sea take her. Let it wash away the remnants of Margarita.

On the day of Wade and Casey's engagement party, Margarita was stationed at the entrance—her task humiliatingly simple. She had to kneel and polish the shoes of every arriving guest, ensuring that the first thing they saw upon entering was her disgrace.

Meanwhile, Casey stood at the center of it all, resplendent. She wore the very wedding dress Wade had once commissioned for Margarita—now repurposed as an engagement gown. With every delicate thread, it mocked Margarita’s past.

She was radiant, dazzling like a princess under the golden chandeliers.

Wade stood beside her, his expression softened by adoration. Like a king before his court, he kissed the back of Casey's hand, sealing their union.

Margarita kept her head down, but her mind betrayed her, pulling her back to the past.

She and Wade had once dreamed of their wedding, nestled together in whispered promises.

She had told him she wanted a sea of flowers, every bloom adorned with jewels.

Wade had smiled and vowed to have the finest designer craft jewelry just for her, to make her the most beautiful bride, to give her a wedding so grand the world would remember.

And now, every single promise he had made was being fulfilled—just not for her.

What about marriage?

How magnificent a wedding would he give Casey?

"What are you daydreaming about? Polish my shoes!"

A man sneered, raising his chin as he pressed his leather shoe against Margarita’s face, smearing dirt across her cheek.

"Didn’t you fail to do your job and let Wade’s sister die? This is just karma, isn’t it? If you ask me, Wade is too kind for even letting you live—let alone giving you a job."

The weight of his shoe crushed against her skin, but Margarita didn’t resist. She simply lowered her head, wordlessly continuing to polish.

"I heard your parents are dead. No family, no future. A criminal record, no real job. What’s the point of even living?"

He twisted his shoe against her face, as if grinding her further into the filth, then strutted away on tiptoe.

Margarita smiled bitterly.

Wasn’t she going to die soon anyway?

Her right arm had gone numb again. Without thinking, she switched the rag to her left hand and kept working.

---

That night, Margarita helped Casey change clothes.

As she adjusted the gown, Casey suddenly spoke. "Sis, do you remember? I used to be the one helping you—just like this. I was your little flower girl, watching you put on that expensive white wedding dress."

Margarita’s fingers stilled for a brief second.

"Back then, I kept wondering—why were you born with everything while I could only watch from the sidelines?"

Her voice was soft, almost wistful, but an unmistakable bitterness seeped through.

"Why would a man as perfect as Wade love someone as dull as you? Why wasn’t it me? I’m younger. I’m prettier. I should have been the one he wanted."

Margarita said nothing. She only continued fastening Casey's gown, adjusting the fabric in silent surrender.

"You know, when you disappeared, Wade was devastated." Casey’s tone grew quieter, her dissatisfaction bubbling beneath the surface. "I took care of him. I saw him fall apart. I never thought he could cry like that—for you."

She let out a soft, humorless laugh.

"So I wondered... What if I could take your place? What if I could carve my way into his heart?"

Margarita felt her breath hitch.

"And I almost did."

Casey’s voice turned sharp, trembling with barely concealed rage. "I was so close. Then you come back. You ruined everything! Why did you come back after prison? Why couldn’t you just disappear?!"

Margarita had always seen Casey as a younger sister. She never imagined that all this time, beneath the affection and smiles, she had been harboring such deep resentment.

But what did it matter now?

She was already dying.

Casey suddenly raised her wrist and yanked at her charm bracelet, snapping the string. The beads scattered across the floor.

Then— "PAH!"

A sharp slap rang through the room.

Margarita barely had time to react before Casey staggered back, clutching her cheek. A vivid red palm print bloomed across her skin.

Her eyes welled with tears, her voice trembling. "Sis… why did you hit me?"

Margarita froze.

She hadn't even moved.

Before she could utter a single word, the door suddenly burst open.

4

"Margarita!"

Wade’s voice was cold as ice. Without hesitation, he strode forward and struck her across the face.

The slap sent Margarita’s head snapping to the side. A sharp sting spread across her cheek, her ears ringing from the impact.

"Wade, what should I do?" Casey knelt down, gathering the scattered charm bracelet with trembling hands, as if she didn’t care about the red imprint on her own face. Her voice quivered, soft and pitiful. "The beads you gave me… the ones blessed after climbing the mountain shrine’s winding path… my sister broke them."

Wade pulled her into his arms, his gaze burning into Margarita like a blade. "So this is your true face? You finally dropped the act." His voice was dangerously low. "Why did you hit Casey? Why did you destroy something so precious to me?"

His fury filled the room, but his eyes—beneath the storm—seemed to be waiting. Waiting for Margarita to say something. To deny it. To give him a reason.

Because she couldn’t bear it?

Because she was jealous?

Because deep down, she still cared?

But Margarita only let out a low laugh and whispered, "How could I dare offend you, Boss? That charm bracelet was valuable… if I really wanted to do something with it, I would’ve stolen it and sold it for money."

The brief flicker of light in Wade’s eyes extinguished.

His jaw tightened. In a slow, deliberate motion, he grabbed Margarita by the collar and enunciated every word:

"That charm bracelet meant everything to me and Casey. Go and beg for another one. It must be blessed again—for our wedding."

His fingers tightened before he finally released her. "You’ll kneel your way up the mountain. Step by step. Do you understand?"

Margarita had no right to refuse.

While Wade and Casey enjoyed the warmth of a resort hotel, sipping tea by the fireplace, Margarita was thrown at the foot of Foshan Mountain.

She wore only a thin coat against the biting cold. Snow blanketed the stone steps, but she did not hesitate.

She knelt.

Pressed her forehead to the icy ground.

Whispered, "May Wade find happiness in this life. May Christine be reborn into a good family and never suffer again."

Her voice was soft, swallowed by the howling wind. But her devotion remained unwavering.

With each step she climbed on her knees, bruises bloomed beneath the fabric of her clothes. Her forehead grew swollen from the repeated kneel. She could no longer tell if her limbs were numb from the cold—or from the ALS stealing her strength.

By the time she reached the peak, trembling, she handed the newly blessed beads to Wade.

She braced herself for his ridicule. For his sneer.

But instead, he silently removed his coat and tossed it over her head.

"I'm staying here tonight," he said coldly. "You keep watch."

And just like that, he turned away.

—

That night, the ground trembled.

The entire mountain quaked violently. Cries of panic filled the air as the guesthouse walls groaned and crumbled.

Margarita barely had time to react before Casey came running, tears streaking down her face.

"Wade—Wade is still inside!" She clutched Margarita’s hand in desperation. "He still has a fever—he hasn’t come out!"

Margarita’s breath hitched.

No wonder he had been quiet. Wade never took medicine—not since his sister, Christine, died from an allergic reaction to cold pills. He would rather endure it.

Her vision blurred with urgency. Ignoring the people fleeing for safety, she turned and ran.

Straight into the collapsing ruins.

At that moment, her legs suddenly gave out.

Margarita crashed to the ground, her knees slamming against the icy stone. A sharp, searing pain shot through her body, nearly knocking her unconscious.

She gasped, trembling. But when she tried to move—nothing.

Her legs refused to respond.

“No... not now…”

Tears welled up as she punched her unfeeling legs over and over, as if sheer force could bring them back to life. Desperation clawed at her throat, but she gritted her teeth and dragged herself forward.

One inch at a time.

By the time she reached Wade’s room, her vision swam with exhaustion. But before she could even catch her breath, the bookcase beside her collapsed—

Crack!

The heavy wood crashed against her waist, knocking the air from her lungs. A choked cry escaped her lips, but she had no time to process the pain.

Wade.

She forced herself up and stumbled toward him. His body burned with fever, unconscious on the bed.

No hesitation.

Margarita hauled him up with trembling arms, dragging him into the bathroom. She heaved him into the bathtub, her strength failing, her own body screaming in agony. But even then, doubt gnawed at her.

This wasn’t safe enough.

So she shielded him with her own body. If the house collapsed—if death came—she would be the first to take the hit.

Wade stirred in his fevered haze, his lips parting slightly as he murmured—

“…Margarita…”

Her heart clenched.

She buried her face against his burning forehead, her voice shaking. "Wade... you must live…"

Tears spilled down her cheeks, falling onto his face.

Then—silence.

The tremors finally ceased.

Rescue workers climbed up a ladder to the window, shouting for survivors. Margarita didn’t waste a second.

"Take him first!" she cried, pushing Wade toward them.

They carried him out to safety, Casey following closely behind. But before leaving, she hesitated, turning to Margarita with a complicated expression.

"Aren't you going to tell him that you saved him?"

Margarita exhaled shakily. Her body ached, every nerve screaming for relief, but she forced herself to look away.

"I didn’t do anything," she murmured.

No one needed to know.

—

Wade and Casey made it home safely.

Margarita, on the other hand, remained behind.

Through the open doorway, she watched as Wade reached for Casey's hand, placing the charm bracelet gently onto her wrist. His touch lingered, his gaze soft.

"Casey," he whispered, brushing a tender kiss against her cheek. "Thank you for staying with me."

Margarita stood there, frozen.

Something inside her twisted, but she forced herself to move. The house was still a mess. She needed to clean up.

But the moment she bent down, pain shot up her spine like a dagger. Her vision blurred, and she collapsed onto the sofa, struggling to breathe.

Then—

A hand yanked up her shirt.

A sharp gasp tore from her lips as pain flared across her waist. The wound had been left untreated for too long—her clothes had fused to the dried blood, ripping away at her skin.

Margarita barely had time to react before she saw it.

The look in Wade’s eyes.

Red. Burning.

Rage.

His voice was low, controlled—but barely.

"What happened to your waist?"

5

Margarita instinctively tried to pull down her clothes to cover the wound on her waist, but before she could, Wade seized her wrist.

His grip was firm—unyielding.

Bloodshot eyes bore into hers, laced with an emotion he couldn’t quite conceal. Worry.

Margarita’s heart clenched. A sudden, piercing heat spread through her chest, as if something had stabbed her. But she quickly masked it with a smirk, her voice turning light and mocking.

“What’s this, Wade? Do you actually care about me?” she taunted. “I got this wound when you sent me to get the charm bracelet. Hit a stone pretty hard. Shouldn’t you at least compensate me? Mental damages will do.”

Wade’s expression darkened instantly.

“You care about money that much?” His voice was cold, sharp as a blade. “So much that you didn’t even bother going to the hospital? What, did you think I’d save you a little cash on medical expenses?”

Margarita chuckled, but there was no warmth in it.

“Hospital bills don’t earn me money,” she drawled. “But working for you does. Just cleaning up your mess, sweeping the floor, running errands—I make thousands in no time. If I went to the hospital, think of how much I’d be losing.”

The darkness in Wade’s eyes deepened. Without warning, he pressed his fingers into the wound on her lower back.

Pain exploded through Margarita’s body. She gasped sharply, her hands clenching into fists, nails digging into her palms.

Then, he shoved her onto the sofa.

“You spent years in prison and came out only learning how to love money?” he spat, his voice laced with disgust.

Margarita’s waist slammed into the armrest. The impact sent a wave of pain crashing over her, making her vision blur. But she still managed a smile.

“What else should I love?” she whispered, her voice laced with mockery. “You? Wade, do you still have feelings for me? You seem so concerned about my injury. If you still like me, how about another 100,000? If the price is right, I can still be with you—”

“Shut up!”

Wade’s grip tightened suddenly, his fingers digging so deep into her skin it felt like her bones might shatter.

Margarita couldn’t hold back a cry of pain this time.

His next words, however, hurt far worse than his grip ever could.

“Who would love a murderer?” His voice dripped with disdain. “Margarita, just looking at you makes me sick.”

Margarita exhaled softly. A small, almost inaudible laugh escaped her lips.

“Of course. After all, I killed your sister.” She tilted her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “If I had known that giving her that medicine would cost me my rich son-in-law, maybe I should have been a little more careful.”

Wade’s fury vanished in an instant.

It was as if someone had poured ice water over a raging fire.

All that remained in his gaze was dead silence.

Then, without another word, he let go of her.

He stood up, his movements slow, deliberate, as if he was memorizing the moment—so he would never repeat it again.

"Margarita," he murmured, his voice eerily calm, "it's truly my shame that I loved you."

Then, as if severing the last tie between them, he reached for the string of charm bracelets around his wrist and yanked them off.

The beads scattered across the floor, rolling in every direction.

The crisp sound echoed in the silent room.

Margarita didn’t move.

She simply stared at the fallen beads, something inside her fracturing.

She had thought—no, she had assumed—that he had given those beads to Casey. But he hadn’t. He had worn them himself.

Why?

Why did that realization hurt more than anything else?

The silence in the room became suffocating.

Margarita sank to her knees, fingers trembling as she picked up the beads one by one. But her body was betraying her.

Her limbs grew heavy.

Her breath shallowed.

And then—she collapsed.

Motionless.

Tears slid silently down her face.

Why?

Why did it have to be ALS?

She would rather die tomorrow than endure this slow, torturous decay.

Her vision blurred. Her mind grew distant.

It would be over soon.

"Sis, I'm not feeling well. Can you check what medicine I should take?"

Margarita had just finished packing up, barely catching her breath, when Casey suddenly appeared, disrupting her thoughts.

Casey stood in front of her, clutching a medical box, her face pale, her eyes brimming with helplessness.

Margarita was about to ask what was wrong when, suddenly, Casey's expression twisted in agony. Her body convulsed, foam spilling from her mouth as she clutched at her throat.

"Sist… why…? I took the medicine… but I feel even worse…"

Her voice was barely a whisper before her body gave out, collapsing to the floor in violent spasms.

"Casey!"

Wade's panicked voice thundered through the room as he rushed down the stairs, scooping Casey into his arms. His entire body tensed with fear. "What happened?!"

Casey struggled to speak, her breath shallow. "Wade… I wasn’t feeling well… I asked Margarita to help… She told me to take four pills of this… I did… but… I feel worse…"

Her last words slipped into silence as her body went limp in his arms.

Wade's hands trembled violently. Casey’s pale face blurred in his vision, morphing into another—the fragile, fading image of Christine six years ago. His pupils shrank. His breathing grew erratic. The blood-red haze of fury drowned out all reason.

His gaze snapped at Margarita, sharp as a blade.

"Margarita!" His voice cracked with rage. "You're a disgrace to the medical field! If you can't save lives, you have no right to prescribe medicine! Wasn’t it enough that you killed my sister?!"

Margarita shook her head frantically. "No, I—"

But Wade wasn't listening.

Like a beast cornered, he lunged at her, slamming her against the wall. His fingers clamped around her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes—burning with raw, uncontrollable hatred.

"Feel it," he growled, his voice rough with fury. "Feel what it's like to be killed by the very medicine meant to save you!"

Margarita gasped as pain shot up her spine from the impact. She tried to struggle, but Wade's grip was merciless.

Then, before she could react, he grabbed the pills from the table, pried her lips open, and shoved them down her throat.

6

The bitterness of the pills coated her tongue, spreading like poison.

Margarita's vision blurred, her senses wavering. Through Wade’s twisted, rage-filled face, a ghost of the past emerged—an image of the man who once loved her.

"Our Margarita will become the most powerful doctor!"

She had been drowning in exhaustion back then, burdened by thick medical books, on the verge of giving up.

And yet, Wade had always been there. Encouraging her. Believing in her. Whispering promises of success when she doubted herself.

He never understood the complex medical terms, but he still sat beside her, tracing her profile with his gaze until she turned red. Then he’d chuckle and look away, pretending he hadn’t been staring.

But now… that warm, familiar smile had turned into something cold and unrecognizable.

Wade’s eyes burned with disgust, and his voice was like a blade slicing through her heart.

"Margarita, it's truly my shame to have ever loved you."

Margarita’s eyes flew open, her face already soaked with tears.

She lay alone in a hospital ward, the rhythmic beeping of the monitors the only sound in the sterile, empty room.

A nurse entered, speaking in a hushed voice. "You’ve had your stomach pumped. You’re stable now."

Margarita barely registered the words. It didn’t matter.

Because she could no longer feel her legs.

She clutched the nurse’s hand, her voice hoarse, almost pleading. "Can you… tell them I’m in a wheelchair because of the medicine’s side effects?"

The nurse hesitated, conflicted.

Margarita’s lips trembled in a faint, bitter smile. "It’s fine. They’re doctors. They won’t question it."

After a long pause, the nurse finally nodded. Perhaps it was sympathy. Or maybe it was guilt, knowing that Margarita had once been a bright, promising senior.

But Wade wasn’t interested in waiting for her recovery.

Without mercy, he dragged her to the graveyard, forcing her before Christine’s tombstone.

"Apologize," he ordered coldly. "Kneel and bow to her."

Margarita sat motionless in the wheelchair, her hands trembling.

Wade’s gaze swept over her legs, listening to the nurse’s explanation. A sneer curled on his lips, his voice dripping with mockery.

"You deserve it. If you ask me, you got off easy by staying alive."

Then, without warning, he yanked her from the wheelchair.

Margarita crashed onto the icy ground, her elbow slamming against the unforgiving stone. A sharp gasp escaped her lips, pain tearing through her body.

But Wade didn’t care.

He gripped the back of her head and forced it down—again and again—until the taste of blood filled her mouth.

"Christine, did you see that? The murderer who killed you is here to atone for her sins."

Wade's hand traced the cold tombstone, his touch almost reverent. His eyes were gentle as he gazed at the carved name, but when he turned to Margarita, all warmth disappeared—only ice remained.

Margarita's forehead was pressed against the dirt. In her heart, she whispered to the one beneath the stone.

"Christine, don’t worry. I’ll keep your secret safe."

"I’ll see you soon in heaven. Have you reincarnated yet? If not, wait for me, okay?"

"Next time, let’s be sisters. And I’ll be the older one. I’ll teach you not to fall for men twenty years older than you, not to love someone who already has a family."

"Ah, I know you’ll be mad at me for saying that. But Christine… was he really worth dying for?"

A small smile touched Margarita’s lips.

For a moment, she imagined Christine turning away, pouting in irritation, just like she used to.

But Wade saw that smile—and his fury ignited.

His face twisted with rage. In a flash, his hand shot out, grabbing Margarita by the collar and yanking her up.

"You're still laughing? You dare to laugh?!" His voice shook with fury. "Margarita, do you even have a heart? Christine is dead, and you can still smile?"

His grip tightened, his breathing ragged. "Do you have any idea how much she suffered? How I watched her life slip away, second by second, powerless to stop it? And you—her murderer—you laugh?"

Disgust burned in his eyes. "Do you think sitting in a wheelchair will make me pity you? That I’ll forgive you?"

A bitter sneer curled his lips. "Margarita, you’re dreaming. You can never atone for what you’ve done. Not in this life."

His fingers dug into her chin, forcing her to look at him. His hatred was suffocating. "Do you know how much I loathe you? I wish I could make you suffer the way Christine did. Why didn’t you just die yesterday?"

Margarita was dying.

Tears welled in her eyes, silent and heavy. She no longer had the strength to hide her sorrow.

But Wade didn’t see it. Or maybe he refused to. His gaze was empty of anything but contempt.

With a sharp shove, he pushed her wheelchair aside, leaving her stranded at the edge of the road.

Margarita watched as he walked back to the grave, taking Casey’s hand. Together, they stood before Christine’s tombstone, whispering sweet promises. Their voices were soft, their expressions gentle.

"Christine, don’t worry. We’ll be happy," Wade murmured, introducing Casey as if she were his future, his salvation.

Margarita felt something inside her break.

When everything was over, Wade turned to her with nothing but indifference.

"Stay here." His tone was distant. "When you’ve finally reflected on yourself, you can go back."

Then he took Casey’s hand and left.

He didn’t look back.

Margarita sat alone in the graveyard, the wind howling through the endless rows of tombstones. The cold seeped into her bones.

Her wheelchair wasn’t electric. She had to push it forward, inch by inch.

But fate was cruel.

The wheel snagged on a jagged stone.

There was a sharp snap.

The chair tipped.

Margarita fell.

Her body hit the frozen ground, rolling helplessly down a slope until she slammed into a stone pillar. Pain exploded through her, but no one was there to hear her cry.

No one was there at all.

Curled up beside the pillar, her breath came in short, uneven gasps. A numbing despair settled over her, heavier than the night itself.

It felt as if the whole world had abandoned her.

Her fingers trembled as she reached out, grasping at nothing.

"Wade... I'm really... dying..."

Her whisper was so faint, so fragile, that even the wind refused to carry it.

No one answered.

No one cared.

7

Margarita had no idea that Wade and Casey hadn’t truly left the cemetery.

Their car sat idle at the foot of the mountain, the engine silent, the atmosphere heavy with something unspoken.

Wade’s grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles turning pale. He had tried to start the car several times, but his foot refused to press the accelerator.

"Wade..."

Casey's voice was soft, careful, like a whisper meant to soothe a wounded beast. She reached over, her fingers resting lightly on the back of his hand.

Wade flinched, but he didn’t pull away.

"I know," Casey murmured. "You haven’t completely let go of Sister Margarita."

Her words cut like a slow, dull knife, peeling away the layers of denial he had built around himself.

Wade’s face stiffened. His voice, cold and sharp, snapped back, "That’s impossible."

Casey didn’t argue. She only sighed, her fingers intertwining with his in quiet patience.

"I don’t mind," she said gently. "It’s hard to forget someone you once loved deeply… I understand. I don’t expect you to love me right away. I don’t even expect you to completely erase her from your heart."

Her voice was steady, unwavering. "But I do know one thing—you won’t keep loving the woman who took your sister away. You just need time, and I’m willing to wait. Five years, ten years… however long it takes. As long as you give me a chance to walk into your heart."

Wade’s breath hitched. His gaze drifted toward the rain-streaked window, where the sky hung heavily, pressing down on the world like an impending storm.

And then, unbidden, Margarita’s face surfaced in his mind.

The face he had loved once. The face he had sworn to hate.

Six years. He had told himself he despised her. That he could forget her.

But every night, when the world was quiet, his dreams betrayed him.

He dreamed of their childhood, of her bright laughter, of the way she used to lean in close and whisper, "Wade, we’ll be together forever."

He had told himself she only made a mistake. That she hadn’t meant to kill his sister.

On his days off, he would find himself at the prison gates, watching from a distance, never daring to approach.

And on the day she was released, when the world expected him to rejoice in his hatred—his heart had surged with something else.

Relief.

Joy.

He had told himself he was keeping her close for revenge. But deep down, he knew the truth. He had been afraid. Afraid she wouldn’t survive on her own.

And he hated himself for it.

For still caring.

For betraying his dead sister.

For betraying his grieving parents.

For betraying Casey, who had always been by his side.

"Casey..." His voice came out hoarse. His fingers trembled as he clutched her hand. "I’m sorry."

Casey’s eyes shimmered, unshed tears glistening. "No need to apologize, Wade. As long as you’re willing to give me a chance… I’ll wait."

Wade said nothing. He inhaled deeply, started the car—this time, he pressed the accelerator.

---

Margarita was found hours later.

Curled up in the cemetery’s shadows, her body as cold as death.

Wade’s assistant lifted her into the car, brought her back to the villa. Someone changed her into warm clothes, wrapped her in a thick blanket, and pushed her wheelchair into the living room.

Wade stood before her, a stack of photos and letters in his hands.

Their photos. Her love letters. The rings they once bought together.

His voice was eerily light. "Margarita, these… shouldn’t exist anymore."

Then, without hesitation, he tossed them into the fireplace.

The flames devoured their past—charred paper curling into ash, memories dissolving into smoke.

Margarita watched, silent. But inside, it felt as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her heart, squeezing, crushing—until the pain was unbearable.

Their childhood. Their love. The years she had spent loving him.

All burned away in an instant.

Wade pulled out his phone, his fingers moving across the screen with practiced ease.

Then, he tossed it onto the table in front of her.

"Margarita." His voice was quiet, almost indifferent.

"After Casey and I get married, you can leave. Leave this city—go as far away from me as possible. From now on, we will never see each other again."

He paused, his tone tightening.

"Only this way… can I control myself. If I see you again, I’ll want to kill you—to avenge my sister."

Margarita lowered her gaze to the phone screen. The string of numbers glowed coldly in the dim light—enough to bury her at sea a dozen times over.

Her throat tightened, an unbearable weight pressing down on her chest. If she spoke now, she feared the sobs would escape.

After a long silence, she curled her lips into a smile—one that was more painful than crying.

"I didn't expect Mr. Roe to still be such a law-abiding man... Thank you for not killing me."

Wade's expression darkened. The corner of his mouth lifted in a self-deprecating smirk—mocking his own hesitation, his own weakness.

"Take the money. Get out of my sight. Go as far as you can."

Without another word, he turned and strode away. His back was rigid, his steps unwavering—cold, final.

Behind him, the flames in the brazier crackled and danced, their light flickering against his sharp profile. But no fire could burn away the darkness in his eyes.

Margarita clutched the phone, her fingers digging into its surface as she watched him disappear into the night.

A gust of wind carried her whisper into the void.

"Wade… goodbye."

8

Margarita finally settled all the expenses for the sea burial.

She glanced at the remaining balance in her account. Without a second thought, she donated every last cent to the Women's Foundation, leaving nothing for herself.

Money had lost its meaning. Her life was coming to an end, but her body—at least—could still serve one final purpose.

At the hospital, she signed the organ donation agreement.

The doctor hesitated. "Are you sure? This means your body will be completely dissected. It may not even be fully cremated."

Margarita smiled faintly. "It doesn’t matter. I’m dying anyway. If I can help someone… consider it my last atonement."

---

The wedding of Wade and Casey proceeded as planned, an extravagant spectacle that dominated the headlines.

The entire Everton buzzed with celebration. Fireworks exploded across the sky, their brilliance illuminating every corner of the metropolis.

People gazed up at the dazzling display, sighing at the perfect happiness of the newlyweds.

Meanwhile, in the shadows, Margarita sat in a wheelchair, hidden from sight—like a stray cat, forgotten by the world.

She watched as Wade held Casey’s hand and walked slowly down the red carpet.

She watched as he slipped an exquisite diamond ring onto Casey’s finger.

She listened as he spoke, his voice filled with devotion.

"Casey, for the rest of my life, I will love you with all my heart."

Margarita felt nothing. The pain had long since numbed her, even tears seemed like a luxury she could no longer afford.

Then, beneath the burning sky, as fireworks reached their peak, Wade leaned down and kissed Casey.

The crowd erupted in applause and cheers.

At that moment, Margarita quietly turned her wheelchair around and left, pushing against the tide of revelry.

The noise, the joy—it all had nothing to do with her anymore.

She forced her frail body forward, searching for a final resting place.

Breathing alone was exhausting.

Then, suddenly, a rush of people surged around her.

Her wheelchair was shoved left, then right—until, at last, it toppled over.

Margarita crashed onto the pavement, her elbows and knees slamming against the cold ground. A sharp, searing pain nearly stole her consciousness.

But she didn’t care.

Gritting her teeth, she crawled forward, inch by inch, reaching for the wheelchair that had been pushed away.

She finally pulled herself back into it—just as blinding headlights flooded her vision.

A large truck barreled toward her.

Margarita’s pupils shrank.

Too late.

Bang—

Margarita’s body was flung through the air, tracing a tragic arc before crashing onto the pavement.

At that same moment, the grand wedding of Wade and Casey had just concluded.

Casey lifted her glass, preparing to thank the guests. But before the words could leave her lips, a sharp tremor ran through her body. The champagne flute slipped from her grasp and shattered against the floor with a crisp, ringing sound.

"Casey!"

Wade caught her just in time, his heart clenching as he saw her face—pale as paper, her delicate fingers clutching his sleeve in desperation. Her voice was so weak, it was barely a whisper.

"Wade… I feel… so uncomfortable…"

Panic surged through Wade like a tidal wave. Without hesitation, he swept her into his arms and rushed out of the banquet hall. His voice trembled with urgency.

"Hold on, Casey! We’ll be at the hospital soon!"

His strides were fast, but his mind was blank.

He had lost too many people. His sister.

And Margarita—the woman he once loved.

He could not lose Casey, too. Never.

---

At the hospital, Casey was rushed into the emergency room.

Dr. Malcolm O'Connor frowned at the examination results. "Her condition is critical. She needs a heart transplant immediately… but there’s no suitable donor available."

Just then, an assistant burst in, a medical report in hand.

"Dr. O'Connor! We found a match! A patient from today’s car accident—she signed an organ donation agreement before her death. Her heart is a perfect fit!"

Malcolm grabbed the report but froze when she saw the name.

Before she could speak, the doors to the emergency room swung open, and Wade strode in, his expression dark and unreadable.

"I heard there’s a heart available," he said coldly.

Malcolm hesitated. "Yes, but the donor… she’s not confirmed dead yet." She swallowed hard. "Wade, the accident victim is—"

"Confirmed dead?" Wade cut her off. His voice was devoid of emotion. "That crash was fatal. What are the odds of survival? Instead of leaving her to suffer, it’s better for her heart to serve its final purpose."

His gaze sharpened. "I’ll compensate her family—enough to secure them a lifetime of comfort. You just need to proceed with the transplant. Don’t concern yourself with anything else."

Malcolm’s grip tightened around the report. "But… she still has a faint heartbeat—"

"Enough!" Wade’s voice was laced with fury. "Casey doesn’t have time to wait! Are you going to let her die?"

He took a step closer, his presence suffocating.

"Malcolm, I helped you climb to this position, step by step. Without me, would you have become an attending physician so young? Now, are you really willing to let Casey die for the sake of some irrelevant person?"

Malcolm’s lips parted, but no words came out.

---

The surgery began.

Under the cold, sterile lights, Malcolm stood over Margarita’s unconscious body, scalpel in hand.

He hesitated—just for a moment—before whispering under his breath, as if convincing himself.

"You killed Wade’s sister. This is justice. Don’t blame me. You were a doctor, too. You’d understand."

Just then—

BEEP! BEEP! BEEP!

The heart monitor beside Margarita shrieked in warning.

The assistant paled. "Dr. O'Connor! The patient… she’s still alive! But she’s fading fast—she’s… dying!"