My Best Friend Tricked Me to Steal My Man

Ivy braced her hands against Gideon’s chest, panting softly. Slowly, she tilted her head up, surrendering to the scorching kiss of the man who did not belong to her—yet, at the same time, completely did. In the darkness, Sylvie stood frozen, watching the intimate entanglement unfold before her. Her vision blurred, her fingers clenched at her sides, yet her body refused to move. Until— Her heel brushed against the door. A faint sound, almost imperceptible, but enough. Gideon's movements halted instantly. His eyes flickered with vigilance as he turned toward the disturbance. "Who’s there?" His voice, low and sharp, sliced through the silence. Sylvie instinctively stepped back, pressing herself into the shadows. Gideon pushed open her bedroom door, peering into the darkness. Seeing nothing out of place, his gaze eventually landed on Sylvie, lying with her back to him, seemingly deep in sleep. His footsteps approached, slow and deliberate. Each rustling step against the floor felt like a hammer pounding against Sylvie’s chest. Her heart slammed against her ribs, but she forced herself to remain still, eyes shut, body steady. A gentle whisper ghosted against her ear. "Sylvie… I know you’re awake." Her eyelashes twitched involuntarily. Biting the inside of her cheek, she rolled over lazily, smacked her lips, and absentmindedly scratched her head—playing the role of someone lost in deep slumber. Gideon studied her face for a moment longer before pulling back with a satisfied chuckle. "You sleep so soundly," he murmured, as if reassuring himself. Stepping away, he turned to Ivy, who had been standing at the doorway, arms crossed, lips pursed. "Are you really that scared of Sylvie finding out?" she asked, dissatisfaction lacing her voice. Before he could respond, a rustling sound came from outside the window. Both turned their heads sharply—just in time to see a dark figure dart past. A stray cat. Gideon exhaled lightly, then cast Ivy a glance. "Don't overthink it. Sylvie is still my girlfriend, after all. I don’t want her to know… just yet." His tone was almost affectionate, but there was something cold beneath it. "Now, go to sleep." With that, he turned and left the room. Ivy watched his retreating figure, an exaggerated pout on her lips—but a glint of resentment flickered in her eyes. — The next morning, Sylvie sat across from Gideon at breakfast. Every time he looked at her, she averted her gaze, her fingers gripping her spoon a little too tightly. Sylvie hadn't been able to gather her thoughts since last night. The scene replayed in her mind like a cruel joke. How was she supposed to face Gideon now? A few years ago, he had been nothing more than an obscure gaming streamer. She still remembered his first live broadcast. The tiny, dimly lit rental house. The flickering screen. The deafening silence in the chatroom. There had only been three viewers. Knowing how much his pride meant to him, she had secretly asked her friends to join and support him. That night, he streamed for four hours, pouring everything he had into the game. By the end, he had earned a mere 10 dollars—more than 6 of which had come from her friends’ donations. She had been with him through every struggle, sacrificing everything to follow him—even to the remote Scottish Highlands region. And now, he could so easily hold another woman in his arms? A bitter taste rose in her throat, but she swallowed it down. She refused to let her emotions betray her. Silently, she turned back to her room and locked the door behind her. --- That afternoon, Gideon left for the chapel, and Ivy claimed she was going for a walk. Sylvie was left alone in the house. The silence felt heavier than usual. Then— A faint rustling sound. Sylvie stiffened. She turned toward the window, her pulse quickening. CRASH! A stone shattered the glass. Before she could react, a dark figure leaped through the broken window. A gust of cold air swept in as the intruder lunged at her. A rough hand clamped over her mouth, muffling her scream. “Where is she?” The voice was low, chilling—like a ghost demanding its sacrifice. Sylvie struggled, kicking wildly, but the strength difference was overwhelming. The man's piercing gaze raked over her, sharp and predatory. “You’re quite pretty,” he sneered. His fingers dug into her clothes, yanking at the fabric. Then—his breath, hot and vile, touched her neck. A sickening kiss. Disgust surged through Sylvie. She thrashed wildly, her desperation mounting. Tears welled in her eyes. No— Just as despair threatened to consume her, something shifted— A powerful grip yanked the intruder away.

Gideon grabbed the man in black by the shoulder and yanked him back, landing a powerful punch to his face. The intruder staggered but quickly regained his footing, and the two men locked into a fierce struggle. Sylvie’s hands trembled as she fumbled for her phone, her heart pounding in terror. She quickly dialed the police and pressed herself against the wall, watching helplessly as they fought. The man in black was tall and overpowering. Within moments, he forced Gideon to the ground, pinning him down with crushing strength. “You’re overconfident,” the intruder sneered, his cold eyes glinting with malice. He raised his fist, ready to deliver a devastating blow. CRACK! A vase shattered against the back of his head. Stunned, the man in black staggered, momentarily dazed. Gideon seized the opportunity. With a surge of strength, he pushed himself up, grabbing a shard of glass and plunging it into the intruder’s side. The man let out a strangled cry before collapsing to the floor, motionless. At that moment, the wail of sirens pierced the night air. The police burst in, weapons drawn. In seconds, they restrained the attacker, twisting his arms behind his back and hauling him toward the patrol car. Sylvie, still trembling, barely registered the voices around her. Gideon wrapped his arms around her. "It’s okay. Don’t be afraid," he murmured, his voice low and soothing. The warmth of his embrace broke through her frozen state, and the dam of emotions she had been holding back shattered. She sobbed uncontrollably. --- When they returned home, Ivy was already waiting, her face pale with worry. The moment she saw them, she rushed forward. "Sylvie! Are you okay? How did this happen? It’s my fault—I should’ve stayed home with you!" Sylvie looked at her, her expression unreadable. Something felt… off. Ivy's anxiety seemed genuine, but an unease gnawed at the back of Sylvie’s mind. That night, as the house fell silent, Sylvie lay awake, a lingering sense of suspicion keeping her on edge. Then— A faint creak of footsteps. Sylvie's eyes snapped open. She stayed perfectly still, listening as Ivy slipped out of bed and made her way to the balcony. Carefully, Sylvie pushed aside her blanket and crept toward the door, straining to hear. A flick of a lighter. The faint glow of a cigarette. Then— "Hey, are you out?" Ivy’s voice was low, almost a whisper. Sylvie’s breath hitched. "You were too careless," Ivy continued, exhaling a stream of smoke. "I gave you a chance, but you still messed it up. A weak woman, and you couldn't even handle her. Who do you think is to blame?" A pause. "Enough talking. We’re in this together. Don’t contact me again. Just wait for another opportunity—I’ll deal with Sylvie myself." Ivy flicked the cigarette to the ground and crushed it underfoot. When she turned around— She froze. Sylvie stood in the shadows, her eyes locked onto Ivy with an icy gaze. Ivy swallowed hard, forcing a nervous laugh. "Sylvie… why are you still awake?" Ivy's face flickered with panic for a brief moment, but she quickly masked it and turned toward the room. "You called that man earlier today, didn’t you?" Sylvie’s voice was cold, sharp as a blade. Ivy stopped in her tracks. "What? No—how could I?" "No?" Sylvie’s grip tightened around her phone, her body trembling. "That man… was your ex-boyfriend." Ivy’s breath hitched. "I was almost assaulted today. And you—" Sylvie took a step closer, her voice shaking with rage. "You ordered him to do it!" She held up her phone, her fingers white from the pressure. Displayed on the screen was an old photo—Ivy, smiling, pressed close to a man. The same man who attacked Sylvie that night. She had found it by digging through Ivy’s old social media. For a moment, silence stretched between them. Then— Ivy smirked. Gone was the pretense of panic. "So, you found it?" She let out a soft chuckle, shaking her head. "Then there's no point in hiding it." Her gaze turned mocking, filled with undisguised malice. "Yes. I ordered him to do it." Sylvie’s heart pounded. The sheer cruelty in Ivy’s voice made her stomach churn. "But what can you do to me?" Ivy tilted her head, her lips curling into a sneer. "He didn’t actually succeed, did he?" Sylvie’s entire body shook with fury. "Why?" she demanded, her voice hoarse with disbelief. Ivy’s expression darkened, a twisted smile still playing on her lips. "I just don’t want you to have an easy life." The final thread of restraint snapped. Sylvie lunged forward and struck her hard across the face. The sharp crack of the slap echoed through the room. Ivy staggered, clutching her cheek as she crumpled to the floor. Tears welled in her eyes, but Sylvie couldn’t tell if they were real or just another act. "Sylvie…" Ivy’s voice trembled, suddenly pitiful. "I’m sorry! Please don’t drive me away! I—I was a victim too! I didn’t know things would go this far!" Sylvie froze, momentarily thrown by the sudden shift. Was she lying again? Before she could react, a deep voice cut through the tension. "What’s going on?" Sylvie whipped around. Gideon stood in the doorway, his gaze shifting between them. His brows furrowed. "Why are you two still awake in the middle of the night?"

"Gideon, save me!" Ivy crawled to Gideon’s feet, her tear-streaked face tilted up at him, eyes filled with desperation. "Sylvie accused me of orchestrating today’s attack!" she cried, her voice trembling. "She said the man in black was my ex-boyfriend and that I told him to do it!" She clutched at Gideon’s pant leg, her entire body shaking. "But I swear—I didn’t! My ex-boyfriend has been threatening to kill me! That’s why I ran away from him!" Ivy sobbed harder. "I had no idea he would show up today! I didn’t know any of this would happen!" Her voice grew smaller, more pitiful. "But Sylvie threatened to call the police and throw me out…" She clung to Gideon’s arm. "Please, Gideon, help me! I’m terrified! If you make me leave, I don’t know what my crazy ex-boyfriend will do to me!" Gideon’s gaze flickered between the two women—Ivy, crumpled on the floor, drowning in tears, and Sylvie, standing frozen, her face drained of all color. After a long silence, he exhaled sharply. "Sylvie, let it go," he said at last. "This isn’t fully settled yet. Just be more careful next time." Sylvie’s breath caught. "What?" she whispered, her voice barely audible. "Forget it?" Her chest tightened, her fingers curling into fists. "She just admitted to sending that man after me! She wanted me—" her voice broke, "—she wanted me to be violated!" Gideon’s jaw tightened. "Didn’t Ivy explain? She’s a victim too. And you already slapped her—shouldn’t that be enough?" Sylvie’s body went cold. She watched in stunned silence as Gideon bent down, gently helping Ivy to her feet, his movements careful, protective. Without another word, he led her into the house. Sylvie stared at their retreating figures, laughter suddenly bubbling from her lips. But it wasn’t amusement. It was disbelief. It was bitterness, clawing its way up from the depths of her chest. Her vision blurred as memories came rushing back. Years ago, fresh out of college, Sylvie had barely earned enough to get by. She and Gideon had scraped together their wages to rent a tiny, windowless basement in New York for $200 a month. One night, a torrential downpour slammed against the city. Sylvie and Gideon lay squeezed together on a narrow bed, the only space they could afford. Half-asleep, she felt something splash against her cheek. Frowning, she opened her eyes to water dripping from the ceiling. And it was dripping directly onto Gideon’s side of the bed. That night, Sylvie had shaken Gideon awake, insisting they switch sides on the bed. The ceiling leaked, and she refused to let him sleep under the dripping water. "If you don’t move, I’ll break up with you!" she had threatened, arms crossed, lips pursed. Gideon had only rolled his eyes, grabbed his pillow, and swapped places with her. "You’re so dramatic," he muttered, but there was a faint smile tugging at his lips. Sylvie had hugged his arm, snuggling close. "This is what it means to go through hard times together," she had whispered before drifting off to sleep. That same man, the one she had trusted with her whole heart, now refused to believe her. Just a simple "forget it"—and everything was supposed to be over? Sylvie stood frozen, watching as Gideon carefully rolled an egg over Ivy’s bruised cheek. His touch was gentle, filled with concern. Her nails dug into her palms, her breath unsteady. The bitterness swelling in her chest finally spilled out. "Gideon… am I really so untrustworthy to you?" Gideon didn’t even glance up. "Sylvie, why are you still holding onto this?" he sighed, his voice tinged with impatience. "Ivy is a girl—it’s not easy for her. If we don’t help her, who will? You’re being unreasonable." Sylvie parted her lips as if to argue, but she stopped herself. A bitter smile flickered across her face. She said nothing. Turning away, she walked back to the room, each step heavier than the last. That night, she lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, her vision blurred by the tears that silently soaked her pillow. The next morning, Gideon took the initiative to invite her for a walk. Sylvie stood still, staring at him—the man she once knew, yet now felt like a stranger. Gideon approached with a smile, reaching out to hold her hand as if nothing had happened. They had barely reached the entrance of the scenic area when his phone rang. "Sylvie," he said, already turning away. "A fellow practitioner just asked for help sorting out some scriptures. I’ll go assist him first. You go ahead, I’ll catch up later." Without waiting for her reply, he walked off, his figure blending into the crowd. Sylvie stood motionless, watching his retreating back. She let out a soft, bitter laugh, then lowered her head and stepped into the scenic area alone. The Scottish Highlands landscape remained breathtaking, unchanged. But the people beside her were no longer the same.

Sylvie strolled around aimlessly, her interest fading as she stepped out. A sudden urge pulled her toward the chapel where Gideon practiced. "Excuse me, which prayer hall is Gideon in?" "He didn't come today." The chapel attendant looked at her with confusion. "Alright, I see." Sylvie nodded in thanks, but a sense of unease crept into her heart. A bad premonition took root, making her restless. She hurried back home, torn between rushing to confirm her suspicions and dreading the truth that might await her. Reaching her doorstep, she placed a trembling hand on the handle, ready to push it open. Then, a soft gasp came from inside. Her hand froze. Her heart pounded. Slowly, she leaned toward the door, peeking through the narrow gap. Her breath caught. Inside, Ivy lay atop Gideon, her delicate skin deliberately exposed. Her slender fingers traced lazy circles on his chest. "Don't you want this to happen too?" Ivy's voice was low, laced with temptation. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes smoldering with intent. Gideon chuckled, his tone deep and hoarse. "Isn't this what you wanted? It’s much easier without that nuisance around." Ivy said nothing, only offering a sly smile. She inched closer, her breath warm and sweet against his skin. Her lips hovered near his Adam’s apple, her gaze innocent yet filled with mischief. The air between them thickened with anticipation. Gideon grasped Ivy’s wrist, his Adam’s apple bobbing with a deep swallow. His breath came hot and heavy, the hunger in his eyes burning uncontrollably. With a low growl, he flipped her beneath him, pressing his lips to hers in a feverish kiss. The room filled with breathless sighs and hushed gasps—sounds that pierced Sylvie like a dagger. She stood frozen, eyes hollow, as if her soul had been wrenched from her body. Tears, long held back, finally spilled over, streaming down her cheeks, soaking into her clothes. But she remained unmoving. Then, as if the weight of her sorrow became too much to bear, her knees gave way, and she collapsed silently to the ground. Her fingers trembled as they clutched the hem of her shirt—a desperate attempt to hold onto something, anything. Curling in on herself, she buried her face in her arms, her sobs muffled but uncontainable. She wandered the streets like a ghost, her steps sluggish, her expression lifeless. Eyes dull, gaze unfocused, she looked as though she had been hollowed out, left as nothing more than a fragile shell. Only the tears staining her cheeks proved she was still alive. Then, she took a misstep. Her foot caught on a stray stone, sending her sprawling onto the pavement. Pain shot through her palms as her nails dug deep into her flesh, but it was nothing compared to the ache inside her chest. And then—memories came rushing back. ... Years ago... Sylvie was still in college, home for the summer. That night, just as she was preparing for bed, a knock sounded at the door. She opened it to find Ivy standing outside, alone. “There’s a power outage at my house,” Ivy said with a pitiful look. “Can I stay here for the night?” Sylvie’s parents had gone to the countryside, leaving her alone. Without hesitation, she agreed. In the middle of the night, a faint sound stirred her awake. She cracked open her door just in time to see Ivy slip into her father’s room. Curiosity gnawed at her, and she crept closer, peering through the narrow gap. Inside, Ivy stood with her back to the door, dressed in shorts and a camisole. “Uncle,” she cooed, her voice dripping with something Sylvie couldn’t quite place, “can I keep you company tonight?” Sylvie’s father turned, his face impassive. “Little girl, go back to sleep,” he said, his voice calm, dismissive. But Ivy didn’t move. Instead, she took a step closer, eyes locked onto him. “Uncle…” Her voice softened, almost pleading. “Haven’t you been lonely all these years without your wife?” Slowly, she reached out, her delicate fingers trailing over his shoulder. Her gaze shimmered with something unsettling—pitiful yet calculating.

The girl's faint fragrance drifted toward Jude Harrington, mingling with the stillness of the night. Ivy’s fair skin glowed under the dim light, an unspoken temptation lingering in the air. Since his wife left, Jude had dedicated his life to raising his daughter, never seeking another partner. To say he wasn’t lonely would have been a lie. When he didn’t push her away, Ivy took a bold step forward, settling herself onto his lap. Jude stiffened, frozen by the unexpected warmth in his arms. He dared not move, his breath hitching as he stared at the girl before him. Ivy’s eyes shimmered with something unreadable—love, mischief, desire. She wrapped her arms around his neck, tilting her face up, her lips mere inches from his. His Adam’s apple bobbed involuntarily. His breath grew heavy and warm. Slowly, his hands rose to her shoulders. Just as he was about to close the distance, the door burst open. Sylvie stood at the threshold. Silent. Unmoving. The air between them crackled with tension. No one spoke. The weight of unspoken words pressed down, suffocating, unbearable. Jude’s gaze darted away, his face paling with the panic of being caught. Ivy, however, remained calm. Without a word, she slid off Jude’s lap and strolled out, as if nothing had happened. Sylvie’s gaze lingered on her father, cold and unreadable, before she turned and left without a single word. From that day on, Jude never met Sylvie’s eyes again. He spoke to her only in hushed tones, his head perpetually bowed, shame weighing down on him like a heavy chain. And Ivy? She never spoke of that night. Never acknowledged it, as if it had never happened. One afternoon, after school, Sylvie returned home to an eerie silence. A silence so thick it pressed against her chest. Something felt wrong. She walked toward her father’s study, her fingers tightening around the doorknob before she slowly pushed it open and froze. A pair of feet hung lifelessly in front of her, swinging gently. Jude had hanged himself. A scream tore from Sylvie’s throat—a sound of anguish so raw it could break stone. But no amount of screaming could wake him. No amount of tears could bring him back. Jude had been on the verge of something great. A well-respected writer, sought after by publishing houses. His novels were already printed, ready to hit the shelves. A signing event had been arranged. He had a future. A name to make. A legacy to leave. But now— Now, he was gone. The police ruled it suicide. There was no evidence to suggest otherwise. No one was punished. And Ivy walked away, untouched by it all. From that day forward, Sylvie never spoke to Ivy again. Not once. Not ever. Ivy’s sudden reappearance shattered the fragile balance of Sylvie’s life. First, she had ruined her once. Now, she had stolen her boyfriend. Wasn’t it enough? Did Ivy intend to take everything from her? The thought ignited a fire in Sylvie’s chest—hot, raging, consuming. But no matter how fiercely it burned, it could never erase the deep, suffocating pain within her. It was late at night when Sylvie finally returned home. The moment she stepped through the door, a concerned voice greeted her. "Sylvie, where have you been? I couldn't reach you." Gideon. She barely lifted her gaze. "My phone died. I lost track of time while playing." Her voice was hoarse, drained of warmth. She lowered her head, pretending to fumble with her slippers. The air still carried the faint traces of laughter and sweetness. A home she once cherished now felt suffocating. Disgusting. Without another word, Sylvie walked past him and shut herself in her room. From that day on, something changed. Sylvie no longer looked Gideon in the eye. Her words became fewer, her touch colder. One evening, Gideon cornered her, his voice soft but laced with confusion. "Sylvie, what’s wrong? I feel like you’re avoiding me." She turned her face away, her tone indifferent. "It’s nothing. The staff at the nursing home informed me that my mom's blood pressure has been high recently. Her heart condition isn’t good. I’ve just been worried." "Then go spend time with her," he said gently, patting her shoulder. She nodded, but said nothing more. Days later, the phone rang. A trembling voice on the other end. "Sylvie! Hurry! Come to the hospital—your mother had a cerebral hemorrhage! The doctor says it’s serious!"

Sylvie's face turned deathly pale. Without a moment's hesitation, she grabbed her phone, booked the earliest ticket, and rushed to the hospital without stopping. Along the way, she clutched her phone tightly, her fingers trembling as she silently prayed. Please, let Mom be okay. But when she arrived and saw her mother lying motionless on the hospital bed, tubes attached to her frail body, tears spilled uncontrollably down her cheeks. "How… how did this happen?" Her voice cracked as she turned to her mother’s best friend, who stood anxiously by the bedside. "The nursing home said her blood pressure was stable! Why did she suddenly—?" The woman hesitated, her face pale with fear. "I… I don’t know! Rosalie was looking at her phone when she suddenly fainted! We struggled to carry her here in time!" Sylvie’s heart pounded. She spun around, frantically searching. Her mother’s phone—where was it? Finally, she spotted it amidst a pile of medicines. Her hands shook as she picked it up, her mind racing. The passcode. Her birthday. With a trembling breath, she unlocked the screen. A video was still playing. Sylvie hesitated, her pulse erratic, before pressing play. The moment the footage resumed, her entire body froze. The screen revealed that nightmare—the day she was assaulted. The man in black. The struggle. Her cries. A choked sob escaped her lips as her vision blurred with fresh tears. Her mother… had seen this? Had this been the reason for her collapse? Sylvie’s grip tightened around the phone, her nails digging into her palm. There was only one person who could have leaked this. Ivy. Blood rushed to her head. Her chest heaved as she let out a gut-wrenching scream, her pain echoing through the cold, sterile hospital walls. — After her mother’s condition stabilized, Sylvie returned home. But with every step closer, a searing pain tore through her chest. It hurt. Every breath, every movement felt like a blade slicing through her soul. By the time she reached her doorstep, her feet felt like lead. It took everything in her to move forward. Then, laughter drifted from inside. A familiar voice rang out, light and joyful, shattering what was left of her sanity. "Really? Am I really pregnant?" Gideon’s eyes shone with uncontainable excitement, like twin suns burning with joy. "It’s true! I just found out today," Ivy said softly, a faint blush tinting her cheeks. Gideon ran a hand through his hair, pacing back and forth, his thoughts racing. "I have to tell my parents. How should I even start?" His excitement was so overwhelming that he almost didn’t notice the figure standing in the doorway. Sylvie. "Sylvie, come in!" Gideon beamed, grabbing her hand as if eager to share his happiness. "Ivy is pregnant! I’m going to be a father!" His joy was radiant, infectious. But Sylvie didn’t feel warmth—only an unbearable cold creeping into her bones. She stared at him, numb, her fingers icy in his grip. After what felt like an eternity, she finally whispered, "Congratulations." The words tasted bitter on her tongue. Her vision blurred as tears welled up, yet all she saw was emptiness. She pressed a trembling hand to her chest, as if trying to contain the unbearable pain threatening to shatter her from within. That night, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, Ivy moved into Gideon’s bedroom. Sylvie lay alone in her cold, empty bed. Her lips were pale, her body curled tightly, and silent tears soaked into the pillow beneath her. She had lost. In the dead of night, a sharp knock shattered the silence. "Sylvie, are you awake? Get up!" Gideon’s urgent voice echoed through the door. Sylvie forced herself up, her body heavy with exhaustion, and dragged herself to open it. Before she could speak, Gideon cut in impatiently. "Ivy is hungry. She wants shrimp wontons. Go make some." Sylvie froze. She looked at him, disbelief flickering in her weary eyes. "It’s the middle of the night," she murmured, her voice hoarse. "Where am I supposed to find shrimp wontons at this hour?"

"If you don’t have them, go buy them! Hurry up!" Gideon's voice was sharp with impatience, his irritation barely concealed. Without waiting for Sylvie’s response, he grabbed her wrist and half-dragged, half-shoved her out the door—still in her thin pajamas. The door slammed shut behind her with a resounding bang. Sylvie stood there, staring at the closed door, her expression unreadable. She lowered her gaze, her thoughts a tangled mess. The Scottish Highlands winter was unforgiving, its icy winds slicing through her thin clothing, but nothing was colder than the hollow ache inside her. Shivering, she wrapped her arms around herself and stepped into the darkness. Fortunately, Sylvie had always been kind to those around her. The local farmers, moved by her past kindness, welcomed her and sold her the ingredients she needed. When she returned home, the kitchen was silent except for the steady rhythm of her knife against the chopping board. She was chopping shrimp, her hands moving mechanically. In the pot, a big bone soup simmered, filling the air with warmth she couldn't feel. She stood there, motionless apart from her hands, staring at the minced shrimp paste with empty eyes. There was no crying. No anger. Just silence. When the wontons were ready, she carried them to Ivy’s bedside. Gideon immediately took the bowl, scooped up a dumpling, blew on it gently, and brought it to Ivy’s lips with the utmost care. Ivy, wrapped in the quilt, had tears glistening in her eyes, her lips pushed into a pout like a child who had been wronged. She took a tiny bite, then instantly frowned. "It’s not delicious! I don’t want it!" she whined, her voice sharp with dissatisfaction, her tears threatening to spill over. "Ivy, just have a bite. It’s the middle of the night—there’s nothing else to eat," Gideon coaxed, his voice soft, his patience boundless. But Ivy refused to yield. Her emotions flared, and in a burst of petulance, she knocked the bowl from Gideon’s hands. The bowl shattered against the floor with a loud crack, its pieces scattering in the silence of the night. The steaming soup splattered across the floor—some of it landing on Sylvie. She flinched slightly at the sudden heat against her skin. Sylvie stood motionless, as if she no longer felt pain—the scalding soup on her skin, the sharp ceramic shards beneath her feet. She was like a hollow shell, drained of emotions, staring blankly ahead. Then, suddenly, Ivy covered her mouth, her face twisting in discomfort. "Ivy, are you okay?" Gideon immediately stepped forward, his voice filled with concern. "Gideon, I feel dizzy… and nauseous. Could there be something wrong with the food?" Ivy hesitated, her gaze flickering between the spilled wontons and Sylvie. Gideon's expression darkened. In an instant, he turned, his sharp, accusing eyes locking onto Sylvie. "I know you don’t like Ivy. But if anything happens to her, I will never forgive you!" Without waiting for a response, he scooped Ivy into his arms and strode out. As they passed, Ivy tilted her head slightly, just enough for Sylvie to see the smug, contemptuous smirk on her lips. Hidden in Gideon’s embrace, she subtly raised her middle finger—mocking, victorious. Sylvie clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She bit her lip so hard she tasted blood, trying to suppress the pain welling up inside her. But no matter how much she tried to hold it in, tears slipped past her defenses, streaming down her face uncontrollably. Just because of her words, you doubt me? After everything… am I really so worthless in your heart? Her silent cries soaked her clothes, and the crushing weight in her chest made it hard to breathe. Every beat of her heart felt like it was being torn apart. That night, Gideon didn’t come back. Sylvie lay alone in bed, her sleep restless. She dreamed of suffocating darkness, of something gnawing at her insides, twisting and grinding like rusted gears. As her consciousness sharpened, the pain in her body intensified. A searing, wrenching agony gripped her chest. Her limbs spasmed involuntarily, cold sweat drenching her back. It felt as if every last ounce of strength was draining from her, leaving her barely able to move. By morning, the pain had dulled into a numb, empty ache. Gideon finally returned, Ivy nestled beside him. He walked in to find Sylvie sitting by the window, her figure bathed in the pale morning light. She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t screaming. She simply sat there, staring into the distance, her eyes hollow and unreadable. For the first time, a flicker of guilt crossed Gideon’s face. Maybe… what he said last night had been too harsh.

A flicker of guilt crossed Gideon’s heart as he cautiously approached Sylvie. "Sylvie, I'm sorry. I was too harsh last night. I was just worried about the baby in Ivy’s belly. Don’t take it to heart." Sylvie turned to look at him, her gaze light and indifferent. Her voice was as soft as the wind. "Forget it. No matter how much I suffer, in your eyes, it's just hypocrisy." But instead of remorse, her words only seemed to ignite Gideon’s anger. "What suffering?" His voice sharpened. "I just asked you to make a bowl of wontons! Was it really that serious? You're just being petty!" Sylvie stared at him in disbelief. The man in front of her… was he really the same person she had once loved? Something inside her cracked. A storm of emotions—hatred, grief, and disbelief—rose in her eyes. Then, after a long pause, she forced out a smile. A smile more painful than crying. It felt as if a thousand shards of glass had pierced her fragile heart all at once. Gideon’s expression darkened further. "What’s with that look? If you don’t want to stay, then get out!" His voice was laced with impatience, his anger seething just beneath the surface. Just as he was about to explode again, his phone rang. "Gideon! When are you bringing that girl back? Your dad and I can start discussing the marriage proposal. Your grandma even bought her a big golden bowl! That’s money she saved from her teeth!" Naomi Clarke’s excited voice boomed through the speaker. Gideon’s brows furrowed. "Mom, I told you—" Before he could finish, Ivy snatched the phone and spoke sweetly, her voice filled with obedience. "Auntie, I’ll discuss it with Gideon first. Mm-hmm… Thank you for your concern!" Sylvie’s body trembled violently. Her lips curled into a miserable, bitter smile. "So… you’re going to marry her?" Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her gaze bore into Gideon, searching—begging—for a different answer. A simple no would have been enough. Even if he just turned around and looked at her, she might still have had hope. But— "I can't let the child in Ivy’s belly be without a father, so..." Gideon lowered his eyes, his tone unnervingly calm, as if he were talking about something ordinary. But to Sylvie, his words were like a thunderclap. A deafening buzz filled her ears. Her mind went blank. It was as if the world had suddenly collapsed around her. Her face turned deathly pale. Her entire body began to tremble. "Okay… okay… congratulations, Mr. Clarke." Her voice was so weak, so fragile, it was almost inaudible. She closed her eyes, trying to suppress the overwhelming grief surging through her. But her lashes wouldn’t stop quivering, and her chest felt as if it were being crushed. She could hardly breathe. Three years ago, she had brought up marriage to Gideon so many times. After all… she wasn’t young anymore. Every time she brought up marriage, Gideon would always change the subject, hiding behind his so-called faith. With unwavering confidence, he had once told her, "Sylvie, when my spiritual practice bears fruit, it won’t be too late for us to talk about it. You’ll support me, right?" But now, those words felt like a cruel joke. It was as if a sharp blade had carved countless scars into Sylvie’s heart, each one deeper than the last. She allowed herself to drown in the pain, unable to resist, unable to escape. Her entire being—her soul—plunged into an endless abyss of darkness, swallowing her whole. Gideon opened his mouth as if to say something, but before he could— "Gideon, aren’t we going for a prenatal check-up later? Let’s go now," Ivy interrupted sweetly. Without hesitation, she took his hand and led him out. Sylvie’s world turned deathly still. All the color drained from her face in an instant. It felt as if a bucket of ice water had been poured over her, freezing her to the core. Her fingertips trembled. She instinctively raised her hand—just a little—wanting to reach out, wanting to stop him. But all she could do was watch his back disappear from her sight. The swaying trees outside the window seemed to mock her, their rustling leaves whispering tales of her helplessness and cowardice. At that moment, the last shred of hope she had been holding onto vanished. Sylvie stared blankly at the open door, her eyes empty, her body motionless—like a lifeless husk, a shell abandoned by its soul. She had no idea how long she stood there until the sharp ring of her phone jolted her back to reality. "Ms. Harrington, don’t forget to arrive at the operating room on the third floor of the hospital at 2 o’clock this afternoon," the doctor’s voice from the plastic surgery hospital reminded her. "Okay," she replied without hesitation. Without a second thought, Sylvie booked her ticket, packed her things, and left. She chose a sleeper train. The journey from the Scottish Highlands region to Westport took over ten hours. Outside the window, the scenery transformed—majestic, snow-capped mountains giving way to endless rolling grasslands, rivers weaving through valleys, and the world shifting before her eyes. But Sylvie barely noticed. Memories of the past eight years—of meeting, of falling in love, of everything—played in her mind like an old, faded film. Her tears had long since dried. She sat still, watching the ever-changing landscape blur past, her gaze empty. "It doesn’t matter anymore… Forget it." After countless hours and a restless journey, Sylvie finally arrived at the entrance of the plastic surgery hospital. She took a firm step, as if walking toward a new life… Meanwhile, Gideon returned home with Ivy, assuming Sylvie had gone to work. After settling Ivy down, he made his way to the chapel, seeking solace in chanting. Midway through his prayers, a fellow practitioner approached him. "I saw your girlfriend at the station today. Where is she going?" The rhythmic tapping of the wooden fish stopped abruptly. Gideon sat frozen, his back rigid. Then—snap. The string of the rosary in his hand suddenly broke.