The Price of His Late Regret

Introduction: In my past life, I loved Zachary for years, only to end up trapped in his never-ending cycle of penance. He married me, yet he was utterly convinced that I was the one who killed Claire. For three agonizing years, his coldness and relentless blame drove me completely out of my mind, until I finally slit my wrists in the bathtub and ended it all. When I opened my eyes again, I was right back to the night he announced his engagement to Claire. This time, I didn't cry. I didn't cause a scene. I just smiled, gave them my blessings, and told everyone in the room that my heart already belonged to someone else. I was going to walk out of Zachary's life and take my future back. Yet the moment I stopped running after him, he turned around and demanded to know why I had changed. Chloe's POV I was into Zachary. Everyone in our social circle knew it. But getting a second shot at life, I made up my mind to cross him out of my future entirely. Tonight was the family dinner. Claire walked through the door with her arm hooked through Zachary's, announcing to the entire room that they were engaged. Claire was my family's adopted daughter. Zachary stood beside her, not glancing my way once. He hadn't said a single word to me beforehand. Every pair of eyes at the table was glued to me, waiting for me to shatter my glass. Claire picked up the hem of her dress, walking over to me with a sugary, timid voice. "Chloe, you won't hold it against us, right? About Zachary and me?" The entire room fell dead silent. A few guests exchanged knowing glances. In a situation like this, anyone in my shoes would have thrown a massive tantrum. I looked up, looking at her, and then at Zachary beside her. Zachary was wearing a charcoal-gray suit, his brow slightly furrowed, his gaze resting on my face. I had stared at this face for so many years. In the past, every single glance would send my heart racing out of control. This time, looking at him, my heart was as flat as still water. "Congratulations. I wish you both the best." I lifted my glass and gently tapped the rim against Claire's. Claire froze. My mother leaned in close, catching my sleeve under the table and whispering, "Chloe, you're... you're not just acting out, are you?" "Mom, I'm totally fine." I took a sip of my wine. "That's good, then." Mom patted the back of my hand, but she still couldn't stop her eyes from darting over toward Zachary. In my previous life, it was this exact dining table, under this exact crystal chandelier. I had sat in this very chair, heard Claire drop the word 'engagement,' and smashed my silverware right onto the floor. With tear-filled eyes, I screamed at Zachary, reminding him how I had stayed by his side all night when he was blackout drunk, before flipping the table and storming out the door. Claire had chased after me. She ran three blocks before an out-of-control truck hit her at the intersection, killing her on the spot. Later on, Zachary married me anyway. It was a lavish, high-profile wedding. Everyone said I had finally gotten what I waited for. Yet behind closed doors, he pinned Claire's death entirely on me. He never touched me again. Every single night, he brought up what happened that evening, forcing me to repent right to his face. "If you hadn't run out that night, would she have died?" "Chloe, don't you dare ever forget that night!" "You owe her a debt you can never repay in this lifetime." He said those words so casually, his voice completely flat, without a single ripple of emotion. Year after year, I lived in remorse. By the third year, I completely lost the ability to sleep. The moment I closed my eyes, all I saw was Claire's body being thrown through the air. I actually began to believe that maybe it really was all my fault. In the end, I slit my wrists in the bathtub. As the blood poured over my skin, I stared at the ceiling and thought: if I ever got a second chance, I would never lay eyes on this man again. When I died, Zachary was away on a business trip. When he picked up the call, all he said was a flat "Okay." Then he asked, "Has it been handled?" Nothing more. The first person to burst into that bathroom was Liam. He had rushed back on a flight from abroad, dropping to his knees and pressing his hands fiercely against the cuts on my wrists, holding down as hard as he could for the longest time. My body grew colder and colder, yet he didn't make a single sound. Later, people said he sat beside my body through the entire night, refusing to leave no matter who tried to pull him away. In that past life, I cried, I screamed, I begged him to listen to me just once. All it got me was three years of torture and a bloody bathroom floor. This time, I wasn't walking down that road. Claire was still standing before me, batting her eyelashes. "Chloe, what's wrong? Are you still upset with me?" "Why would I be? I'm genuinely happy for you guys." I set down my glass. I paused, keeping my voice calm, yet clear enough for the entire room to hear. "Whatever happened in the past was just me being young and foolish. It's over." Dad looked up. Mom parted her lips, completely at a loss for words. "Actually, my heart belongs to someone else now." I smiled faintly, letting my gaze drift over Zachary's face. Murmurs broke out across the table. The smile on Claire's face began to slip. "Who is it?" "Liam. He's studying abroad, but we've stayed in touch the whole time," I said evenly. "Liam?" Claire forced a laugh. "Chloe, he isn't even in the country. You don't have to just throw a random name out there just to save face." "When he comes back, you can ask him yourself." I rested my glass on the table. The second those words left my mouth, Mom let out a huge sigh of relief, patting her chest twice. Dad nodded as well, raising his glass and taking a quiet sip. I knew how my parents viewed Liam. He was my childhood neighbor who used to follow me around everywhere when we were kids. He was genuinely upright, ten thousand times more dependable than Zachary. Whenever I mentioned him before, I had only ever thought of him as an older brother. Tonight, now that I had put his name out there, I had no intention of taking it back. Zachary's face darkened completely. He stared straight at me, his hand resting on the table slowly curling into a tight fist. I met his gaze head-on, without even blinking. In all these years, this was the very first time I dared to look at him like this. The dinner carried on. Claire sat back down next to Zachary, and Mom busied herself serving dishes to the two of them. The guests started eating again, every now and then leaning over to offer Claire their congratulations. I shifted my chair over slightly, clearing space for the newly engaged couple. Then, picking up my glass, I walked over and said to Claire, "Take good care of him from now on." "Of course I will." Claire linked her arm tightly around Zachary's, her eyes crinkling into sweet crescents. I turned toward Zachary. "Congratulations." Zachary didn't answer. He just stared at me, his fingers tightening hard around his wine glass. I backed away to my seat and quietly focused on my food. My phone vibrated in my pocket. Using the excuse of getting some fresh air, I slipped out onto the balcony. Liam's name was flashing on the screen. I answered, keeping my voice low. "Hey." "Chloe." The voice on the other end was clear and gentle, tinged with a slight rasp from the time difference. "Liam, as soon as I wrap up my classes this semester, I'm heading out to join you." I leaned back against the railing. There was a brief pause on the other end before he replied, "Alright. I'll wait for you." "Are things... okay on your end? Your mom mentioned there was a big dinner at your house tonight." "Everything's fine, honestly." I let out a soft laugh. The line went quiet for two seconds. "You don't sound like yourself." I looked down at my fingers. In my past life, it was these exact hands that went completely ice-cold the last time they touched this world. "I'm really okay. Just wait for me," I said. "Alright, I'll let you go. Don't carry everything on your own." "I won't." After hanging up, I lingered on the balcony for a little while. The wind had tousled my hair, and just as I lifted my hand to tuck it back, I froze mid-motion. I had no idea when Zachary had walked out, but he was standing right in the balcony doorway. He had one hand in his trouser pocket and held an unlit cigarette in the other, just watching me. When he spoke, his voice was dragged down low. "Liam?" He repeated the name once more, drawing it out slowly. "Chloe, since when did you get so close to him?"Chloe's POV It was just the two of us on the balcony. Zachary took two steps forward, biting down hard on every word. "Liam is a lie." I stayed silent. "You just couldn't handle the embarrassment, so you pulled a name out of thin air to save face. I get it. I can pretend I never heard any of that nonsense before. Just behave yourself." He pinned me with his stare. He spoke with utter composure, as if telling me that as long as I bowed my head, everything from the past would be wiped clean. I looked up at him, studied his face for two seconds, and simply nodded. "Okay." I agreed so quickly that Zachary was momentarily taken aback. "Did you hear me clearly? Behave, and stop acting out," he pressed again. "I heard you loud and clear," I said. In my previous life, hearing those words would have had me crying with red eyes, asking him what I had ever done that counted as acting out. Back then, all I wanted was for him to tell me himself, 'You're not acting out.' Now, I didn't care anymore. However he wanted to see me was fine by me. All I wanted was that plane ticket out of the country. "I'm going inside. It's cold out here." I slipped my phone back into my pocket and walked toward the door. After taking quite a few steps, I glanced back over my shoulder. Zachary was still standing on the balcony, the unlit cigarette clamped between his fingers, his eyes glued firmly to my back. The family dinner ran late. Afterward, Mom helped me load my luggage into the car, nagging the entire time. "Move back in with Zachary. It's more convenient, and it's closer to campus." I stood in the foyer, listening for a bit, before speaking up. "Mom, I want to stay in the dorms." "The dorms?" Mom paused, surprised. "Why live in a dorm out of nowhere? He has everything you need there." "The campus library stays open until midnight. It's easier for me to write my thesis." "You can't write a thesis at home?" Mom handed another bag over. "I'm not comfortable with you staying in a dorm all by yourself." "I've already handled things on the school's end," Zachary's voice drifted down from the top of the stairs. "She doesn't need to trouble herself over housing." I clenched my fingers and didn't say another word. What I wanted was so small—just a bed of my own, a door I could lock myself. Even something that basic required his approval. The second he opened his mouth, even my own mother took his side. "See? A place to stay is a place to stay," Mom mediated. "Zachary already sorted it out, so stop being so picky." Claire came over, linking her arm with mine and affectionately resting her head on my shoulder. "Chloe, I'm two years ahead of you at school. If we live together, I can help you out with your classes." "Thanks." I smiled faintly and pulled my arm away. Claire's hand hovered awkwardly in the air for a second, but she smoothly turned around to help Mom grab her bag, acting as if nothing had happened. The car pulled up outside their apartment building. I pushed the front door open, only to freeze right at the entryway. All the books I used to keep on the shelves were completely gone. The mug I always used had been shoved into the deepest corner of the cabinet. The shelves were now lined with rows of perfume bottles, and on the nightstand sat a pair of matching couple's picture frames. Inside the frames were photos of Zachary and Claire. I had picked that mug out myself the very first day I moved in. I had placed those books on the shelves one by one. I had lived in this apartment for years, yet wiping away every trace of me had taken them only two days. Turns out this place belonged to someone else all along. I was nothing more than a temporary guest. I bent down, dragged my suitcase inside, and leaned it against the wall without bothering to unpack. It wasn't like I was staying for long anyway. Over the next few days, I left early in the morning and didn't come back until it was pitch black outside. Whenever Zachary and Claire were chatting and laughing in the living room, I kept my head down and walked around them. Once, Claire half-playfully fed a peeled grape to Zachary's lips. I walked past them carrying a glass of water, not even bothering to lift my eyes. In my past life, a scene like that would have kept me crying all night long. This time, all I did was quietly count down the days until my flight. One evening, my period started, and the cramps were so severe I could barely stand up straight. I washed up early and went straight to bed. Later on, when I went looking for a pen, I pulled open the desk drawer only to find that everything had been rummaged through, completely out of order. I assumed whoever cleaned the place had messed with it, so I just pushed the drawer shut. A couple of days later, early in the morning, I slipped on my shoes and was just about to leave when I opened my bedroom door and spotted Zachary sitting on the sofa downstairs. There were seven or eight crushed cigarette butts in the ashtray. He had clearly been sitting there for hours. Hearing the door click, he stubbed out the cigarette in his fingers and looked up. "Chloe, have you been giving me the cold shoulder on purpose these past few days?" My grip on the doorknob tightened. "No," I said. "No?" He rose from the couch and walked over to me, step by step. "Then explain to me what this little act is supposed to be."Chloe's POV He closed the distance in two strides and seized my wrist. The grip wasn't overly forceful, but it locked down like an iron clamp. I glanced down at his hand wrapped around my wrist, not bothering to pull away. "What are you trying to do?" he asked, dropping his voice. "Once I graduate, I'm moving out. I won't bother you anymore," I told him, looking at him calmly. "Move?" He let out a cold chuckle, tightening his grip by another fraction. "Did I say you could move?" My wrist was turning white under his pressure, but I didn't try to wrench it back. I just stood there, completely silent. "You're staying right here in this city. After graduation, you'll join the family firm. I'll arrange it for you," he demanded, glaring down at me. "I'm not working for your family." "This isn't a negotiation." "Once I graduate, I can go wherever I want. Is your company really lacking one more person?" I asked. "Whether we lack people is up to me to decide," he cut in, letting go of my hand and turning to head down the stairs. "Where you move and where you end up is also my call." He took two steps down, stopped, and added without looking back, "Don't think bringing up Liam means I have no way to deal with you." I stood frozen in place, a faint red ring left behind on my wrist. I looked down and rubbed it gently. In my previous life, he used to grip me just as tightly. Back then, I foolishly thought it meant he cared. The more it hurt, the more I believed he couldn't bear to let me go. This time, I saw through it completely. What he wanted was for me to have nowhere else to run. My studies, where I lived, what firm I entered after graduation—he wanted to dictate every single piece of it. The moment I said no, I was considered a troublemaker. I pulled the door open and walked out. That evening, some classmates invited me out for a get-together. I accepted. Then I sent a text back to the apartment, telling them not to wait up on dinner for me. The hangout was at a local bar. By the time I arrived, the booth was already half full. Seeing me walk in, everyone started clamoring for me to sit in the middle. "You look so much better lately! You seemed in such a bad place before," the girl sitting next to me leaned over and whispered. "I've been sleeping better," I replied, taking a sip of my juice. "Hey, what about that guy you were chasing, Zach—" another guy started asking. "Don't bring him up," the girl beside me instantly stepped on his shoe. The group quickly shifted, begging me to tell them about Liam and asking when he was coming back. I smiled and steered the conversation away. In this room, I wasn't just someone's tagalong. Sitting here, I was just Chloe. Not the girl the entire social circle had laughed at twenty-seven times over. A little while later, the private room door suddenly swung open, and a guy walked in holding an enormous bouquet of red roses. It was the classmate who had been pursuing me for the past six months. Amidst a chorus of teasing and cheers, he squeezed his way over to me, bent down, and held the flowers right up to my face, his cheeks burning bright red. "Chloe, I've liked you for so long. Just say yes to—" The entire room erupted, people pounding on the tables and shouting for me to say yes. I was just about to turn him down when the door was kicked open with a loud bang. The noise abruptly died down. Zachary stood in the doorway. God knows how long he had been standing out there, his face thunderous. His eyes swept over the guy holding the flowers, swept over the bouquet, and finally locked onto my face. "Impressive, Chloe. You really line up men one after another, don't you?" He bit out every single syllable, his voice cutting clean through the lingering noise. The room plunged into utter silence. The boy's grip slipped, and the bouquet dropped to the floor, red petals scattering everywhere. He opened his mouth to explain, but not a single word came out. Before I could even speak, Zachary strode forward, hooked an arm around my waist, and swept me right off the chair into his arms. "Zachary, put me down! Everyone is watching!" I grabbed a fistful of his dress shirt. I shoved against his shoulder, but he didn't budge an inch. Instead, his arm locked around me even tighter. "Now you know how to be scared?" He looked down at me coldly. "Why weren't you scared when you were taking flowers from him?" As he walked past the bouquet on the floor, his shoe came down and crushed it, sending petals flying into the corner. Not a single person in the room dared to utter a word. I was just out having a casual dinner with friends, yet he had to control that, too. Tomorrow, when the people in this room saw me again, they would only remember me being carried out like a piece of property. In my mind, I bumped my departure date up even earlier. The car was waiting downstairs. Claire was standing by the door, a light cardigan draped over her shoulders. Seeing Zachary carry me out, she immediately hurried forward, wearing an impeccably practiced smile. "Oh my goodness, how did she drink this much? Chloe must be drunk, let me help her." Half-supporting and half-guiding, she shoved me into the back seat, dropping her voice. "You must feel so wronged, Chloe. Don't be mad at him. He was just worried about you. He really cares." I leaned against the car door, closing my eyes, and didn't respond. I had heard that line more times than I could count. Once upon a time, I actually believed it. I believed that the harsher his scolding, the more he cared about me. After driving half a block, Claire turned around from the passenger seat and said softly, "Chloe, don't blame him. That's just his temper. He can't stand seeing you get taken advantage of." I opened my eyes, caught a glimpse of her face in the rearview mirror, and closed them right back up. Early the next morning, Claire's assistant came to pick me up, saying Zachary wanted me to come along to the photo studio. The studio was ablaze with bright lights. Zachary was dressed in a sleek black suit, and Claire wore an elegant white dress, the two of them standing side by side in front of the backdrop. Whenever the photographer told them to get closer, they leaned into each other a little more. When he told them to smile, Claire rested her head softly against Zachary's shoulder. When changing for the second look, Claire deliberately picked a dress that matched the exact color of Zachary's tie. I sat on a folding chair in the far corner, holding a clipboard, jotting down every single request from the photographer. The photographer glanced over and asked, "Who's that?" Claire smiled and answered smoothly, "A friend of mine, just here to help out." During a break, Claire walked over carrying two cups of warm water and handed one to me. "Tired? Thanks for coming all this way. When we pick the photos later, help me see which set looks best. I trust your taste." I took it, murmured a quiet thank-you, set it down by my feet, and didn't drink a single drop. I sat in that studio all day long, playing the role of a helpful friend, holding a clipboard in my hands. It didn't hurt. I just wanted to record everything cleanly so this whole charade could end sooner. By dusk, the three of us stopped by a nearby restaurant to grab dinner. I headed back to the parking lot to grab a jacket I had left behind. When I walked back, I froze right outside the glass doors of the restaurant. Under the awning by the entrance, Zachary had a man pinned against the wall by his collar, slamming his fist straight into the man's face. The man stumbled back against the wall, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth, stammering frantically, "Mr. Walker, I swear I only said two words to Miss Evans..." Standing outside, I recognized the guy. He was the one who had stopped Claire outside the studio earlier this afternoon, talking to her for ages before Claire brushed him off with a sweet smile. Through the glass, I watched the man beg for mercy over and over. I watched the veins bulge violently on the back of Zachary's hand as he twisted the man's collar. Just because someone spoke a few extra words to Claire, he could beat a man half to death. My grip on the jacket tightened and tightened, crushing the fabric into an unyielding, permanent crease.Chloe's POV The man was doubled over from the beating, frantically begging for mercy. "Mr. Walker, I was wrong! I swear I'll never dare to do it again!" Zachary twisted his collar and threw another punch. "Again? You think you even deserve a next time?" he snapped coldly. Cowering in the corner with his arms over his head, the man kept pleading. "I'll cross the street whenever I see Miss Evans from now on..." Zachary didn't let go of his grip on the collar, yet there wasn't a trace of outward anger on his face. A crowd had already gathered around the restaurant entrance. Some craned their necks to watch, while others held up their phones to film. The restaurant staff wanted to step in but didn't dare, wringing their hands nervously on the sidelines. Claire rushed out of the restaurant, throwing her arms around Zachary's, her voice trembling. "Zachary, stop, please stop! What if you actually kill him?" After she pleaded a couple of times, Zachary finally released his hold. The man slumped to the ground, wiped a smear of blood from his lip, and suddenly snapped his head up. His gaze cut right through the crowd and landed dead on me. "It was her!" He pointed straight at me, his voice cracking hysterically. "It was Chloe! She was the one who put me up to harassing Miss Evans! She said as long as Miss Evans's reputation was ruined, she could take her place! Mr. Walker, I was played by her too!" The crowd instantly broke into hushed whispers. Claire's expression shifted immediately. Stepping forward, she blocked me behind her and snapped at the man, "What kind of nonsense are you spewing? Chloe would never do something like that!" Then she turned back, eyes welling with tears as she grabbed my arm. "Chloe, don't listen to him. I believe you." The onlookers were buzzing with gossip. "Wait, so she put him up to it?" "She looks so innocent, but she's got some nasty tricks." "Didn't she just walk in with Mr. Walker? That's messy." "They're already engaged, and she's still trying to squeeze her way in..." "Who even knows with these rich socialite circles." I stood by the entrance, my fingers slowly tightening. I parted my lips, wanting to defend myself, but swallowed the words right back down. At a moment like this, the more I explained, the more guilty everyone would think I was. Claire tugged lightly at my sleeve as if comforting me, but her fingernails dug sharply into my wrist. My phone was sitting right on the table near the restaurant entrance, its screen still glowing. I moved toward it, planning to hit record so every word spoken today would be saved. If I recorded it, I wouldn't have to wait around for anyone to speak up for me. When the police arrived, I could play it for them. And if anyone ever tried to use this against me in the future, I could play it again. I stepped forward and reached out for my phone. Just as my fingertips brushed the glass, a hand shot out from the side and clamped down on my wrist. It was Zachary. I hadn't even noticed when he walked back over. Without saying a single word, he slammed my hand down onto the tabletop, pinning my entire forearm flat against the surface, the force dragging half my body down with it. He stared at me, ratcheting up the pressure little by little. His face was completely devoid of emotion, just pressing down relentlessly. My outstretched fingers curled in, joint by joint. The phone my fingertips had been touching slid off the edge with a sharp clatter and smashed onto the ground. He kept bearing down, pressing until my entire wrist went completely numb, aching so badly I couldn't even lift it, before he finally pulled his hand away. I stood there, my arm hanging limp at my side. My wrist hung lifelessly, unable to muster an ounce of strength. I understood what he meant: swallow your words. In the past, when he told me to behave, I thought that even if Claire was first in his heart, I would at least be second. Today, I finally realized that the moment I tried to defend myself, he would personally choke the words right out of my mouth. Someone in the crowd gasped softly, then quickly clamped their mouth shut. Zachary turned toward Claire, his tone softening instantly. "Thank you for stepping in today. If you hadn't stopped me, who knows how far that guy would have taken things." He cast a fleeting glance my way, adding flatly, "Chloe is still immature. Please bear with her." "Zachary, don't talk about Chloe like that. She must feel awful too," Claire said, clutching his sleeve, her eyes darting toward my limp hand. Right at that moment, Claire's knees buckled, and she slid down against the doorframe. "Zachary—" she gasped out softly, her eyes fluttering shut as if passing out. Zachary's face changed completely. He scooped her up into his arms, turned on his heel, and rushed straight for the car. Claire leaned weakly against his chest, one hand still clutching his collar. As he reached the vehicle, he threw a line over his shoulder without looking back: "Stay here. Finish giving your statement to the police before you come back." The car sped away. Seeing that the drama was over, the crowd began scattering in twos and threes, though a few people still turned back to stare at me as they walked away. The police arrived, and the restaurant manager politely asked me to stay and cooperate. "Are you hurt?" the officer asked, glancing down at my limp hand. "No," I said, tugging my sleeve down. What difference would telling them make? All those people had watched him pin my hand down, yet not a single soul had asked how my wrist was doing. "That man claims you put him up to this. Is that true?" "I don't even know his name." "Is there anyone who can corroborate your statement?" I glanced down at the phone on the floor. The screen was shattered, completely black. I could have saved that audio. It was only a table's length away. Waves of numbness continued to shoot through my wrist, forcing me to switch the pen to my other hand. I scribbled down what had happened in crooked, shaky lines, the back of my hand soaked in cold sweat. The manager stood by with a polite, stiff smile, not asking a single unnecessary question. By the time I walked out of the restaurant, it was already past midnight. The lights inside were clicking off one by one. Standing on the steps, I glanced back at the dark building, then turned and walked away. The street was completely deserted, the streetlights stretching my shadow out long and thin. I walked back toward the apartment alone along the sidewalk, moving very slowly, my wrist throbbing in sharp, rhythmic pulses. I pulled my sleeve down further, hiding the deep red ring. Passing a convenience store that was still open, I went inside and bought a bottle of water. When I tried to twist the cap off, my right hand had no strength left. I had to clamp the bottle under my arm and wrench it open with my left hand. Even opening a bottle of water took two hands now. Standing outside the storefront, I suddenly let out a laugh, and the moment I stopped, my eyes stung with heat. A gust of night wind hit me, making me shiver violently. Stepping onto a patch of freshly sprayed asphalt, my shoe slipped. I pitched forward, my elbow and forehead slamming hard against the curb. Everything went black, and I lost consciousness.Chloe's POV I woke up to the smell of antiseptic. The ceiling was blindingly white. I tried moving my fingers, but every inch of my body ached, and there was a patch of gauze taped to my temple. Two people were sitting by the bed. Zachary was sitting in an armchair, and Claire was slumped in the chair beside him. The moment I opened my eyes, both of them stood up. "Chloe, you're finally awake! It's all my fault. If I had just stayed behind to wait for you last night, you wouldn't have had to walk back alone and take such a bad fall," Claire spoke first, her eyes rimmed with red. Zachary raised the head of the bed slightly. "The doctor said you hit your head. If it's late in the future, call someone to pick you up." "It really is my fault," Claire tugged at his sleeve. "Zachary, don't lecture her. It's just that my health is so poor... I panicked you so badly last night that you couldn't look after Chloe." "You were genuinely sick, it's not like you were faking it," Zachary patted her hand. "Just be more careful going forward." I watched them quietly. Last night, when I fell all alone on that empty street, the two of them were sitting in the exact same car. I didn't bother asking where they went. Asking would only make me miserable. Claire sat on the edge of the bed again, tucking the blanket around me. "Chloe, please don't be mad at us. We just didn't want you to worry." "I'm not worried. I'm just tired," I said, my voice barely a whisper. The doctor came in for rounds, flipping through the chart before suddenly pausing. "What happened to that ring of bruising around your wrist?" I lowered my eyes. The purple-and-blue finger marks were stark, showing no sign of fading. "I bumped it," I said. The doctor gave me a look, didn't press further, but jotted the bruising down into the medical report. Zachary hired a private nurse to look after me. He showed up twice himself, staying less than ten minutes each time before rushing off to take a phone call. Claire, on the other hand, came by every single day, holding my hand and asking if I was still in pain or if I was hungry. I answered her politely, not offering a single ounce of sincerity. On the day of my discharge, I went straight back to that apartment. I opened the closets in my room. Over the years, Zachary had bought countless things for this room—decorative trinkets, sets of dresses—stuffing the wardrobe full. In the past, every time something new was added, I took it as proof that he held a place for me in his heart. Now, all I wanted was to purge every single piece of it from my space. I packed them into boxes, hailed a delivery truck, and had everything sent directly to Zachary's corporate office. When the delivery arrived downstairs, the driver and the boxes were turned away right at the door by Zachary's orders. "What did he say?" I asked his assistant over the phone. The assistant let out an awkward cough. "Mr. Walker said that if you need anything, he'll buy more. There's... no need to send these back." "Were those his exact words?" "There was one more thing," the assistant hesitated, looking away. "Mr. Walker said that once you're done throwing your tantrum, just come home. He won't hold it against you." I let out a dry laugh. What I wanted to return were his things, yet he saw it as me throwing a fit. I turned right around, contacted a consignment shop, and sold off every single item from that closet. Every penny I made from the sale was donated to a local charity for runaway youth. Once that money was donated, there was one less debt tying me to him. The day the consignment truck hauled the last boxes away, I stood in the half-empty bedroom and stretched my arms out. A few days later, Claire hosted a gathering. Claire stood up with her wine glass in hand, smiling brightly. "Today, I also want to give a special thanks to Chloe. She gave me an incredible gift, and I'd love for everyone here to hear a piece of it." The guests leaned forward, full of enthusiastic anticipation. Claire shot a look toward someone behind her, and a server brought out a stack of manuscripts, laying them out across the table. I never imagined she would pull a stunt like this. That was the private manuscript I had hidden away at the very bottom of my drawer for years—a full-length novel I had poured my soul into. Over all these years, I had never shown it to anyone. I had only ever read a few passages aloud to Zachary. I spent every spare moment I had writing that book. My plan was to finish it, bring it to an editor, and build a career out of it so I could support myself. It was the one and only thing in my life that hadn't been tainted by anyone else. Sitting at the table, the blood rushed straight to my head. Claire cleared her throat, cast a warm smile my way, picked up the top page, and began reading it aloud to the whole room. Those were sentences I had revised over and over again. Now, they were being held in Claire's hands, read out with theatrical poise, page by page, to an audience of our peers. Claire was completely immersed, as if reading her very own masterpiece. Finishing a page, she deliberately looked up and asked me, "Chloe, you told me before that you wrote this stack yourself. But this is clearly the exact draft I lost a while ago. How do you explain that?" The table went dead silent at first, followed by a wave of hushed, hurried whispers. "Wait, she didn't write it?" "The writing actually sounded pretty good..." "Doing something like that is seriously dirty." I sat there, my fingernails digging brutally into my palms. Something I had guarded for years, tucked away at the very bottom of a drawer, and in the end, I couldn't even protect this.Chloe's POV The people around the table looked at each other, the quiet muttering completely impossible to suppress. "If it was really hers, how did Claire end up with it?" "How shameless." "She's so young, but she sure knows how to play dirty." "Claire was nice enough to treat her to dinner, and this is how she repays her." "Keep your voice down, don't let her hear you." Claire set the papers down, buried her face in her hands, and let her shoulders tremble. "Chloe," she choked out through tears, "if you liked the draft, you could have just told me. Why did you... why did you have to use me as a stepping stone? I've always treated you like family. How could you do this to me?" I snapped my head up, instantly remembering that night my drawer had been rummaged through. The person who slipped into my room that night was Claire. The draft I had hidden at the very bottom of the drawer was quietly stolen that very evening. That was the night my cramps were so bad I couldn't stand up, forcing me to fall asleep early. I shot to my feet, pointing straight at Claire. "You're the one who went into my room! I wrote those pages myself! You stole my work! Every single word in that stack you're holding came from nights I stayed up writing!" The table fell instantly silent. Claire's sobs only grew louder. She shook her head, keeping her face buried, refusing to say a word back—making it look as though I were publicly humiliating her. Someone nearby tried to mediate in a hushed tone. "Chloe, come on, let's just talk this through calmly." Zachary glanced up at me. Without saying a single word, he reached out, picked up Claire's untouched glass of wine, and pushed it right in front of me. "She's a guest. You caused this mess, you make it up to her," he said. "Make up for what? The manuscript is mine," I said, glaring at him. "Whether it's yours or not isn't up for debate today." I stared at the glass of wine, completely unmoving. "What?" Zachary's brow darkened. "Do I really need to spoon-feed you in front of all these people?" My hands balled into tight fists at my sides. I looked at the downcast faces around the table, then looked back at Zachary. He didn't even bother to ask a single question. He just pinned the blame straight on me. In this entire room, not a single person was going to speak up for me. I reached out to pick up the glass, but the moment my fingertips brushed the rim, Zachary's hand shot out and gripped my jaw. With a cruel burst of strength, he forced my head back, wrenching my mouth open. I tried twisting away, but his fingers clamped down, wrenching my face right back toward him. He grabbed the glass of wine and tipped the entire thing down my throat in one violent pour. The liquid choked my windpipe. I doubled over coughing violently, tears streaming down my face. Wine ran down my chin, soaking my shirt in an icy smear. "Fill it up." He gave the order to the server standing nearby. The server's hands shook as he filled another glass to the brim. Pinching my jaw again, he forced another full glass down my throat. The bottle on the table emptied bit by bit as he forced glass after glass into my mouth, not stopping until the bottle was completely drained. I couldn't hold it in anymore. Collapsing against the edge of the table, I gagged and threw up, coughing up a sour mix of wine and bile. He released my jaw and wiped his fingertips on my shirt with sheer disgust, as if touching me was dirty. Every single person at the table kept their heads down, none of them daring to make a sound. "Take her upstairs. Let her cool off on her own." Two servers helped me upstairs and led me into a guest room. I slumped over the edge of the bed, heaving so hard I couldn't straighten my back, cold sweat drenching my forehead. My stomach felt like it was on fire. It took me a long time just to catch a steady breath. All I wanted tonight was a shred of fairness, and all I got was an entire bottle forced down my throat. The people downstairs didn't even dare to look up, let alone speak for me. Outside the window, the sky gradually darkened. The lights in the room remained off. I thought I would be left alone for the rest of the night. Once it was completely pitch-black outside, the bedroom door clicked open. Claire walked in, locking the door behind her. There wasn't a trace of distress left on her face. A smirk played on her lips, looking entirely relaxed. "Chloe," she drew out my name, taking a seat in the chair beside the bed. "There's nobody else here, so I can drop the act. Do you have any idea how long I've had to put up with you?" I lifted my eyes to look at her. The faint light from the window illuminated her features. The delicate, fragile face from earlier today looked completely chilling and foreign now. "I was fostered out as a kid and only got to visit this family once a year. I'd stand downstairs watching you have the best bedroom, wear the prettiest clothes, and even have someone like Zachary trailing behind you. And me? I had nothing," Claire said slowly. She let out a soft laugh. "Everything you had, I watched it all, and piece by piece, I wanted to take it for myself." "Do you know how I felt the first time I slipped into your room?" Claire tilted her head. "Your novel was so good. I just grabbed a random page, and who knew you wrote so well? So well that I couldn't bear to put it down." She paused, her smile turning even sweeter. "Chloe, you have everything. What's the harm in letting me borrow one little thing?" All these years, I had treated Claire like real family, offering her the best of whatever I had. Turns out she had spent all that time waiting to rob me blind, even targeting the novel I wrote. "What you stole was just paper," I rasped out. "The hand that wrote it is still attached to my body." "Is that so?" Claire looked down at my right hand resting against the edge of the mattress and smiled. I slumped against the bedside, another wave of nausea washing through my stomach. I tried to push myself up, but my arms gave out, and I fell right back down. That manuscript was written word by word with this hand. Stolen pages could be written again. I still had this hand, and I still had the day I would leave. "I put up with this for over a decade," Claire stood up, sliding the chair back to its spot. "Today, we finally settle the score."