Lies, Love, And Letting Go

"Given your current condition, we strongly recommend sticking to conservative treatment. You might want to inform your family without delay."

Caroline Cooper drifted out of the hospital like someone moving through fog. The doctor's voice kept looping in her head, each word hammering deeper into her chest. Her fingers clenched the diagnosis report so tightly that the paper had gone soft and wrinkled.

Hearing the words conservative treatment felt like being handed her own death warrant. A fresh wave of pain knifed through her abdomen, twisting her insides until her knees nearly buckled. The agony radiated along every nerve, cold and relentless, burrowing into her bones and stripping away what little strength she had left.

Suddenly, a sharp blast of a horn split through the noise of the street.

Caroline's head jerked up just in time to see a car hurtling toward her.

The driver yanked the steering wheel at the last second, tires screeching as the vehicle skimmed past her shoulder. The rush of wind whipped her hair back, the near miss snapping her mind into brutal clarity.

She stumbled backward, but her foot caught at a bad angle, sending a sharp bolt of pain up her leg as she collapsed onto the rough pavement. A fierce throb pulsed through her ankle, forcing a wince as she tilted her head toward the car.

The driver shoved his window down and barked viciously, "Hey, are you fucking blind? You got a death wish or something? If you're so eager to die, pick another street. Just my damn luck!"

With a final curse, the car lurched away, leaving the air reeking faintly of exhaust.

A brittle laugh slipped from Caroline's lips as she sat there, palms scraping the cold ground. She was indeed teetering on the edge of death. The word "cancer" still echoed mercilessly in her head. She hadn't expected a diagnosis like that, yet looking back, the signs had always been there. Years of scarfing down cold meals at odd hours, pushing through endless shifts without rest, dragging herself through each day-her body had been quietly unraveling under the weight of exhaustion and heartache.

For someone who'd always forced herself to stand tall, the sudden awareness of her fragility cracked something open inside her. In that moment, the strength she'd clung to for years felt paper-thin.

A bitter heat prickled behind her eyes, but she clenched her jaw and forced the tears back. With trembling fingers, she pulled up the number of her husband, Vincent Cooper, and hit call.

If death truly waited just around the corner, the only thing she wanted was to hear his voice one last time.

The line rang until it automatically disconnected. She dialed again. And again. Still, no one answered.

Each unanswered call dragged her deeper into the cold pit of despair.

Even so, she tried to cling to a sliver of hope-maybe Vincent was tied up at work, stuck in another endless meeting.

Swallowing hard, Caroline steadied her breathing and typed out a message to Vincent with deliberate care. "I got hurt today. Will you be home later?"

Five minutes crawled by before his reply arrived. "Yeah."

That single word sent warmth surging through her chest, softening the ache in her ankle and loosening the weight crushing her heart. For the first time that night, the pain had felt a little more bearable.

...

At eight that evening, Caroline stepped through the gates of Luna Villa, her pulse unsteady with a mix of nervousness and fragile hope.

This house had been their shared sanctuary after the wedding-her most familiar and cherished place.

Crossing the threshold of their bedroom, she lingered for a moment, fingers brushing the edge of the folded medical report. Vincent was rarely home these days; the last thing she wanted was for tonight to be tainted by anything heavy.

She slipped to the wardrobe and rose onto her toes, sliding the report toward the top drawer.

Just as she was about to close it, a flash of color snagged her attention. Wedged in the pocket of one of Vincent's tailored jackets was something pink. Not just pink-lace.

A chill crept up her spine as her hand, suddenly clumsy, reached for it. Between her fingers emerged a delicate scrap of lace underwear, soft and damning against her skin.

The air seemed to drain from the room. In that shattering instant, it felt as if she'd been dropped into an icy abyss, the ground beneath her heart giving way.

The invisible blow slammed into her chest like a sledgehammer, and a bitter surge climbed the back of her throat. Vincent... had betrayed her?

For three years, she had walked a tightrope between career and home, constantly yielding to Vincent's needs. She'd convinced herself that hard work and gentle patience would win his heart, that one day he might finally choose to spend more of his nights at home.

But life had slammed that fragile hope to the ground. Every sacrifice, every moment spent pleasing him and his family, had been rewarded with cold, shameless betrayal. She hadn't even gone yet, and his infidelity was already sneering at her in the open.

A sharp spasm tore through her gut. Caroline hurled the offending lace to the floor, stumbled into the bathroom, and bent over the toilet.

What rose from her throat wasn't bile but a horrifying streak of dark red.

Tears spilled down her cheeks, blurring the blood against the porcelain in a cruel, vivid smear.

Her knees nearly buckled as strength bled out of her limbs. The tiled wall was the only thing keeping her upright as a high-pitched ringing filled her ears, her vision tunneling at the edges.

Just as she fought to steady herself, the unmistakable sound of Vincent's footsteps echoed from the hallway.

Her entire body went rigid. She slammed her trembling palm against the flush button, heart hammering against her ribs, eyes locked on the fading swirl of crimson.

A second later, the door burst open with a hard, jarring crack.

Vincent leaned against the doorway in a tailored dark-blue suit that sharpened the lines of his elegant, aristocratic frame. The flawless planes of his face only heightened the commanding air he carried, and the sheer height of him made the narrow hall feel even smaller. His gaze slid down to Caroline, laced with open contempt. "Go clean yourself up."

The words hit like a blow to the gut. Caroline froze, breath catching in her chest as she forced her frantic heartbeat to steady, though her face stayed ghost-white.

"What's that supposed to mean?" she demanded, bitterness roughening her voice. "You disappear for an entire month, and this is the first thing you say to me?"

His eyes turned glacial as he studied her pale features. A razor-edged sneer curved his lips. "What else? Isn't this exactly what you begged me for?"

As he spoke, his fingers moved with deliberate slowness-loosening the knot of his tie, then easing open each button of his shirt. The smooth reveal of his lean, sculpted chest only made his indifference more cutting.

Caroline pieced together the pattern in Vincent's behavior, and the realization struck her like a blow-he hadn't returned out of concern for her injury. He was back because it was her ovulation period.

The Cooper family carried a pattern: only one heir each generation. From the moment Caroline married into the family, the burden of bearing a child had been nailed onto her shoulders.

Yet, Vincent had never loved Caroline. Not once. He hadn't even touched her on their wedding night.

It took his grandmother's icy ultimatum-backed by the threat of controlling shares in the Cooper Group-to shove him into her bed.

Vincent, however, had found his own quiet way of defying the marriage. He would only come home when Caroline's fertile days rolled around, having sex with her in a mechanical and detached manner. His touch was always rough, as if the act itself disgusted him.

Bitterness rose in Caroline's throat, the image of that pink lace underwear flashing through her mind like a slap. Her stomach knotted with nausea. With a hollow ache tightening her chest, she finally lifted her gaze to Vincent, sadness weighing down every breath. "These few years must have been unpleasant for you."

Vincent's brows drew together, the muscle ticking along his jaw as impatience darkened his face.

Caroline let out a sharp, bitter laugh. "Keeping a mistress and still clocking in here on schedule to 'fulfill your duty as a husband'-that must be exhausting."

For a fraction of a second, something flickered across Vincent's expression, but he smoothed it over almost immediately, his tone cutting and cold. "Since you're already aware, let's not waste any more words. Just the sight of you makes me sick."

Without another word, he closed the distance between them in long, deliberate strides. His hands clamped onto her shoulders, forcing her toward the sink with cold precision.

A jolt of panic shot through Caroline. She twisted against his grip, her voice rising. "What the hell are you doing? Let go of me!"

"Taking you," Vincent growled near her ear, his breath brushing her ear as his long, precise fingers tugged up the hem of her skirt and stripped away her underwear in one smooth, merciless motion.

A sharp chill swept over Caroline's exposed skin, and her body trembled against the sink as hot tears slipped down her cheeks. "No... Vincent, please don't do this to me..." she begged, her voice raw and trembling.

The sound of her broken plea only scraped at something inside him, stirring a flash of irritation he couldn't name. That foreign sensation coiled tight in his chest, and to smother it, a raw, reckless urge seized control of him.

"It'd be better if you didn't say anything now," he muttered, voice edged with a cold sneer. "Just moan."

With practiced, brutal impatience, he yanked at his belt and shoved forward, taking her from behind with deliberate, humiliating force.

A jagged cry tore through Caroline's throat as agony burned through her, despair swallowing what little strength she had left. "Vincent, I fucking hate you!"

His hips faltered for a split second. A shadow crossed his face before his expression hardened again. One hand clamped over her mouth, the other forcing her chin up toward the mirror. Her tear-streaked reflection stared back at her-helpless, violated.

"Hate me? Tell me-do you really hate me, or do you love me?" he hissed.

The words slithered over her skin like a taunt, and his thrusts grew harsher with every second, his movements rougher, more punishing.

For three long years, their intimacy had been reduced to a ritual bound to her ovulation cycle-a mechanical act neither tender nor warm.

And yet, their bodies had grown too accustomed to each other, every inch mapped through repetition.

Even through the sting of humiliation, a traitorous flicker of pleasure threaded through the pain, twisting deep in Caroline's gut. Her muffled sobs slipped past his fingers, turning soft and breathy, the sound achingly seductive against her will.

Self-loathing clawed at her chest as she squeezed her eyes shut, letting hot tears streak down her cheeks, powerless to stop any of it.

The sex itself felt like a brutal invasion-an assault on both her flesh and her soul.

By the time Vincent had taken his fill, dragging her from the bathroom to the bed, her skin bloomed with red marks etched like a cruel brand of ownership.

Yet, lying there beneath the weight of everything, something inside Caroline quietly snapped free. She no longer wanted to build her life around this man. Whatever little time she had left belonged to her alone.

Caroline slowly lifted her gaze to Vincent, who stood at the foot of the bed, now polished and composed as if nothing had happened. Her voice steadied, each word sharp with resolve. "Vincent, I can't do this anymore-I want a divorce."

"Divorce?" Vincent let out a cold, cutting laugh as he lingered at the foot of the bed, looming over Caroline like a dark shadow. "You clawed your way into the Cooper family with every trick you had, and now you're asking for a divorce?"

"Believe what you want, but I'm dead serious." Caroline's tone stayed cool, all emotion spent and nothing left to argue with.

She lifted her eyes to him, taking in the perfectly tailored suit and immaculate tie that once drew her in. Now, every polished detail only made him look like a stranger. It all suddenly felt too hollow to be worth the heartache.

With composed indifference, Vincent adjusted his tie, his fingers moving in smooth, practiced motions. "Do you honestly think I care?"

He didn't give her a chance to answer. Turning on his heel, he strode for the door, not sparing her a backward glance, as though staying a second longer might stain him.

Caroline's expression hardened into ice as she watched his back recede. "Vincent, even if you couldn't care less, I'm walking away from this marriage."

He walked out without a word, his silence cutting deeper than anything he could have said.

Outside, a thick ceiling of clouds loomed overhead, the air heavy with the promise of rain.

Jerald Carter, Vincent's assistant, stood beside the sleek black car, posture straight despite the damp chill. The moment Vincent emerged, Jerald moved forward without hesitation, opening the car door in a smooth, practiced motion.

"Mr. Cooper, this just arrived today," Jerald announced, extending a small velvet box in the shade of midnight blue.

Vincent arched a brow, making no move to accept it.

Catching the cue, Jerald flipped the lid open. Nestled on the soft lining lay a porcelain leaf, flawlessly crafted-its delicate veins etched with meticulous precision, fragile enough to shatter at a breath.

"It came from the same place as before. Same sender. Same timing," Jerald said quietly. "Every year, right around now, it shows up."

Only then did Vincent lower his gaze, taking the box with a measured hand. His thumb brushed the porcelain's cool edge, and for a fleeting heartbeat, something unguarded flickered in his eyes. He'd been well aware that Caroline's birthday was just around the corner. For three years straight, this porcelain leaf had appeared right on cue, like clockwork. It could only be a birthday gift from the man she'd once loved.

Vincent had never questioned Caroline about it. He knew she would act clueless.

Jerald shifted uneasily before adding in a low voice, "And... that person's coming back to the country."

Vincent froze mid-movement, a shadow sweeping across his features. "You're certain?"

"Yes."

A cold, humorless laugh slipped from Vincent's throat. That explained Caroline's sudden, unshakable decision to end their marriage. She was ready to bolt straight into that man's arms. Her old flame was back, and she couldn't even be bothered to hide it.

Vincent's icy chuckle held no warmth as he issued the order, his voice slicing through the air like a blade. "Keep a close eye on her."

"Got it."

The car rolled out of the villa district just as the skies split open, sheets of rain hammering the windshield in a relentless downpour.

...

By morning, the storm had eased into a steady drizzle, but the early winter air still bit sharply at the skin.

Caroline gripped the steering wheel and guided her car toward Ezrocsa Broadcasting Station.

She wasn't just another face on screen-she was the network's anchor, a seasoned journalist with degrees in both journalism and finance, six hard-won years cementing her place as the station's backbone.

In the past few years, her days had blurred into frenzied coverage of breaking stories, nights dissolved into an exhausting juggle of family obligations. Every hour had been claimed by something, leaving little space for herself. Without this constant hustle, she might've had a longer life ahead of her.

Caroline let out a faint, bitter laugh, fishing the small blister pack from her purse and popping a pill past her lips. She'd swung by a pharmacy earlier. Since Vincent hadn't bothered with protection the night before, she couldn't afford to take risks.

For three long years, she'd ached to have a child with Vincent, but fate had never allowed it. Maybe that was the universe's way of telling her they were never meant to be. Now that she was determined to end the marriage, she needed to cut off every last thread tying her to him.

With no water on hand, Caroline forced the pill down dry. It caught halfway, scraping a raw path down her throat, leaving behind a burn that spread like fire to her stomach. Her face tightened at the sharp, throbbing sting.

She braced an elbow against the driver's seat, drew in several steadying breaths, and then slipped on her high heels with deliberate precision. The moment she stepped out of the car, the biting chill sliced against her skin.

She'd barely made it to the lobby when Jase Walsh, the deputy director of Ezrocsa Broadcasting Station, came hurrying toward her. He didn't bother with pleasantries, seizing her lightly by the arm and steering her straight into his office. "Caroline, what happened?" he demanded, worry creasing his brow.

Her expression tightened, a faint frown forming. "What's going on?"

"Keystone Group's ad contract was practically wrapped up," Jase blurted, voice tinged with agitation. "Then out of nowhere, they say they need to 'reconsider.' Come on-doesn't that scream they're pulling out?" He leaned forward, his voice rising. "You were the one managing this deal. Where the hell did it go sideways?"

The blood drained from Caroline's face, and she fell silent.

Her silence only made Jase more frantic. "Don't tell me you pissed off someone in their upper ranks. Our entire quarterly revenue hinges on that contract, and now they're hiding behind some 'internal review' excuse? No one's buying that."

Caroline's lips pressed into a thin line, her expression blank. She didn't need anyone to spell it out. Vincent's hand must be all over this mess. As the CEO of the Keystone Group, he could easily pull that off with just one word. She just hadn't expected him to mix personal grudges with business.

Jase slapped a hand on his desk, frustration crackling in the air. "For God's sake, say something! The year is almost over. If this tanks, we're all screwed."

Caroline drew in a steadying breath, the tension in her jaw betraying the storm beneath. "I'll take care of it," she bit out.