Camille POV: "I am so sorry, Ms. Glenn. Uterine cancer, stage three. You have missed the optimal window for surgery..." I could not hear whatever the doctor said next. The roaring in my ears drowned it out entirely. I just kept thinking that today was my third wedding anniversary with Courtney Trevino. My fingers gripped the thin medical report so tightly my knuckles turned white. I stood rigid in the stark hospital corridor for a long time before finally pulling out my phone. I didn't dial Courtney's number—in three years of marriage, he had never once answered my calls. I could only dial his executive assistant, Arthur Hayes. It rang for an agonizingly long time before Arthur finally picked up, his tone as dismissive and aloof as ever. "Mrs. Trevino. Do you need something?" "Where is Courtney?" I asked, my fingers curling into a tight fist. "I have something very important to tell him. Right now." "Mr. Trevino is busy." "Just one minute... please. Just let him answer the phone." In three years, it was the first time I had ever used the word "please." Before Arthur could even respond, a soft, teasing woman's voice drifted through the receiver. "Courtney, what's the big surprise? You're being so secretive." "Look up." That low, magnetic timbre was a voice etched into my very bones. But that gentleness? I hadn't heard it a single time in three years. Click. Arthur hung up without hesitation. The very next second. Boom—! Across Boston Harbor, the first firework exploded. Then a second, a third... Cascades of fire lit up the ink-blue night, painting the sky before eventually forming two massive, glowing letters: "BR." Blair Romero. The massive flat screen in the hospital lobby was broadcasting the spectacle live. The camera zoomed in. Courtney, the ruthless captain of the Boston franchise, was clad in a dark, tailored overcoat. With one arm, he shielded the woman leaning into his chest, ducking his head to gently smooth her hair against the harsh harbor wind. "Unbelievable! This is a multi-million-dollar birthday surprise from the captain and heir to Trevino Sports & Entertainment!" the anchor gushed. "The lucky lady is Blair Romero, right? The Ivy League-educated pioneer in sports physical therapy. Beautiful, brilliant, and from a phenomenal background. They really are a match made in heaven!" "No wonder the captain spoils her like this. Put me in his skates, and I'd do the exact same!" I tilted my head back, staring at the screen. I remembered our first year of marriage. I had carefully, tentatively asked him if there would be fireworks at the harbor for New Year's Eve, and if he could take me to see them just once. He hadn't even looked up from his playbook. "Childish." It turned out fireworks weren't childish. I just wasn't worthy of them. My grip loosened. The medical report slipped through my fingers and fluttered to the hospital floor. People walking past stepped on it, leaving muddy footprints over the stark black-and-white print. I didn't bend down to pick it up. _ At 1:00 AM, the front door of the estate unlocked. When Courtney flipped on the lights, he paused, spotting me sitting alone in the pitch-black living room. On the dining table in front of me sat a spread of completely cold dishes and an untouched, unopened cake. He barely glanced at it, his brows drawing together in a slight frown, acting as if he hadn't the faintest memory of what day it was. "Why are you still awake?" I looked up at him. His suit jacket was draped casually over his arm. On the collar of his crisp dress shirt was a faint smudge of red lipstick. It glared at me like an open wound. "Couldn't sleep," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. Subconsciously, I pressed my hand against my lower abdomen, my lips pressed into a tight line as I fought a dull, radiating ache. "I went to the hospital today." "Yeah? What did the doctor say?" He asked it casually, his long legs already carrying him toward the grand staircase. I had been in agonizing pain for half a month. He had promised to take me to get it checked out. He promised five times, and he broke that promise five times. It was always a multi-million-dollar contract negotiation, or a crucial NHL playoff strategy meeting. But today was Blair's birthday. "Nothing." I lowered my eyes. "Why did you come back tonight?" Courtney's footsteps halted. He turned around, walked back down, and leaned over, caging me between his arms and the back of the chair. The man's hot breath brushed against the side of my neck, his voice dropping into a husky register. "It's your ovulation window." "Didn't you always want to give the Trevino family an heir? Every month on these days, I come back on schedule to do my job—what? Forgot the rules you set yourself?" The overwhelming scent of a high-end women's perfume clung to his clothes. It hit me like a slapshot straight to the chest, shattering the very last shred of my dignity. Three years. His grandmother had been relentlessly pressuring us for a great-grandchild, so he returned home a few days a month, executing it like a contractual obligation. Once he was done, he left. He never stayed the night. Have a baby? I thought of the words on that crumpled piece of paper at the hospital. Uterine cancer. I was never going to have a child. Not in this lifetime. And here he was, rushing back straight from the arms of another woman, demanding to make a baby with me. I had been obedient for three years. I had swallowed the pain and the humiliation for three years. But in this exact moment, I suddenly didn't want to swallow it anymore. I turned my head, dodging his lips. In the dim light, I looked up at him. My eyes burned, bright and unyielding. "Courtney, you just came back from Blair's side, and now you want to touch me—" "Aren't you afraid she'll get jealous?" Courtney's movements stopped completely. He straightened up, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over me. He stared at me in silence for a few long seconds. The temperature in his dark eyes plummeted to absolute zero, and finally, he let out a short, hollow laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "Jealous of what?" "Our marriage is strictly confidential. Camille, the one kept in the shadows, the one who can't see the light of day, has always been you." "You're the one who climbed into my bed and chose to be Mrs. Trevino. Since you made your choice, don't ask for things that aren't yours." It felt like a brutal hand had reached into my chest and crushed my heart. The central AC was set to a warm seventy-eight degrees, but I felt like I was sinking into an ice rink, inch by agonizing inch. Slowly, very slowly, a faint smile broke across my face. "Courtney." "Let's get a divorce."

Camille POV: The living room of our Boston penthouse was dead silent. Courtney looked at me like I had just told a joke. "Divorce?" He loosened his tie, his tone dripping with condescension. "Camille, what is it this time? How many times have you pulled this stunt over the last three years, and how did it end every single time?" I opened my mouth. I wanted to tell him that this wasn't a stunt. I was sick. So sick that I might not live past... "Blair's mother is in the late stages of cancer," Courtney cut in, his voice frigid. "Her only dying wish is to see her daughter have someone to rely on. Blair needs support right now. Just stay in your lane and don't make a mess of things." "You just be a good Mrs. Trevino. I won't touch your position." He made his infidelity sound so noble. I stood frozen for a second, and then a laugh slipped past my lips, my eyes burning red. Stage four cancer. Blair's mother had cancer, and it broke his heart so much that he spent every night by her side. His own wife had cancer, and he couldn't even spare a second to ask how I was doing. "What if..." I clenched my fingers, pressing down the dull ache in my abdomen, giving it one last try. "What if I was the one who was sick?" Courtney glanced at me, his brows furrowing in deep irritation. "Camille, faking an illness for sympathy is a cheap trick." "Don't try to copy Blair. You can't pull it off." The last shred of hope shattered into dust. I didn't say another word. I turned around, walked upstairs, and slammed the bedroom door shut. Minutes later, the roar of a V8 engine echoed from the driveway below. He left. I didn't even need to guess; he was heading straight to Blair's place. At two in the morning, my phone lit up. It was an Instagram update from Blair. We had followed each other back when she was handling some sports therapy protocols for the team—a detail I had completely forgotten about. The photo only showed a man's hand, knuckles distinct and prominent, tucking the blanket around someone in bed. On his wrist was the custom Patek Philippe I had given him for his birthday last year. The caption was just one line: Said he wouldn't come, but showed up at 2 AM anyway. I stared at that photo for a long time, long enough for the screen to go black on its own. Then, I forced myself up and went into the bathroom to splash cold water on my face. The woman in the mirror looked pale and exhausted, but her eyes were clearer than they had been in years. I opened my laptop and emailed a Boston lawyer I had saved in my contacts three years ago, asking him to draft a divorce agreement. The lawyer replied quickly: Ms. Glenn, do you have any specific requests regarding asset division? The house, the cars, the shares in the franchise... I kept my face perfectly still and typed back calmly: I don't want anything. I didn't even want Courtney anymore, so why would I want any of that? Besides, walking away with nothing was the fastest way out. I didn't have much time left, and I certainly didn't have the energy to play his games. At four in the morning, the PDF hit my inbox. I printed it out. My knuckles turned white from how hard I gripped the pen as I signed my name, stroke by stroke. Camille Glenn. Not Mrs. Trevino. I slipped the wedding band off my ring finger and set it on the empty dining table. Then, I scraped the cold, untouched dinner and the unopened cake into the trash. Finally, fighting through the gnawing pain in my stomach, I packed just one single suitcase. Standing at the front door, I took one last look at the penthouse I had meticulously managed for the past three years. Whatever. Without looking back, I walked out. The next morning, I took a leave of absence from the lab, booked a local courier, and had the divorce papers sent to the front desk of Trevino Sports & Entertainment. Courtney never opened his own mail, so I put Arthur Hayes as the recipient. After watching the courier drive off, I checked the time. 9:40 AM. My palms were sweating against the steering wheel—I was even more nervous than when I received my terminal diagnosis. Today, there was something far more important than my divorce. The state correctional facility. The man who had once sworn to marry me was getting out of prison today.

Camille POV: The heavy iron gates of the state correctional facility slowly swung open. I pushed the car door open, stepping out almost on pure instinct. I had brushed on an extra layer of blush today to hide my sickly pallor and swallowed an extra painkiller so he wouldn't notice anything if the cramps hit. A baseball cap and dark sunglasses completed the armor—I didn't want the first version of me he saw to be a miserable one. Jake Ashley. My father's ward, the boy I grew up with. In the ruthless, predatory environment of the Ashley family, he was the only one who had ever shielded me. In over a decade, he had never raised his voice at me. He once told me, "Cam, anyone in this world might let you down, but never me." He had even said, "I don't want the Ashley name. I don't want to be your brother. When you're older, marry me, okay?" The day he was locked up three years ago, I didn't even get the chance to say goodbye. And then... I married Courtney Trevino. A tall silhouette emerged from behind the gates. Dressed in all black, short hair, carrying a battered duffel bag. His features were sharper than they had been three years ago, carrying a reckless, dangerous edge. His gaze swept over the lot and seemed to land on me. My heart nearly stopped. My throat tightened, tears pricking my eyes, and my feet moved toward him before my brain could stop them. "Jake..." "Jake!" A cheerful female voice rang out from behind me. A woman in a red dress brushed right past my shoulder and literally threw herself into Jake's arms. Jake caught her flawlessly, letting her wrap herself around him. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for you? If you didn't get out soon, my dad was going to drag me off to marry some suit!" The woman framed his face and kissed him. Jake tipped his head down and kissed her back, completely oblivious to anyone else, a smirk playing on his lips. "In that much of a hurry? Then tell your driver to take a hike later. I'll personally deliver a big gift to your old man." "You're awful!" the woman teased, clinging to him and refusing to let go. "My dad said he wants to see you tonight, throw you a welcome back party..." My feet rooted themselves to the asphalt. I stood there, feeling like an entirely irrelevant bystander. The gentle, considerate Jake, the one who always put me first... was apparently just a decade-long fever dream. A sharp, twisting cramp flared in my lower abdomen. I instinctively pressed my fingers against my stomach, pressing my lips into a tight line. It felt as though a knife had slashed through three years of time just to gut me all over again. "Watch out!" Someone yelled sharply. I whipped my head around. A motorcycle had lost control and was barreling straight toward the three of us! In a split second, Jake yanked the woman in his arms backward, shielding her completely. He didn't spare me a single glance. Left to fend for myself, I lunged awkwardly out of the way. My ankle rolled violently as I hit the ground. My sunglasses went flying, and my cap tumbled off my head. The bike roared past, practically grazing the hem of my jacket. Only then did Jake look over. Our eyes met. His gaze was dark, unfathomable. There was a split second of scrutiny, and maybe a flicker of... panic? "You—" "I'm fine." Before the tears could fall, I scrambled up, turned, and ran. Behind me, I heard the woman ask curiously, "Who was that?" Jake fell silent for a long moment. Then, I heard the soft sound of him kissing her. "I don't know. Looks like someone I know." Someone I know. Over a decade of growing up together. The boy who once promised to marry me. Now, I was just someone he knew. I hid myself back inside my car, resting my forehead against the steering wheel as layer upon layer of cold sweat broke out across my skin. I couldn't tell what hurt more: the crushing ache in my chest, or the malignant tumor quietly growing inside my body. My phone rang sharply, shattering the silence. Two words flashed on the screen. Arthur Hayes. I took a deep, trembling breath. Did Courtney finally see the divorce papers?