Chapter 3: The Lie Beneath the Love

Five years. All for a fifteen-second pause. That’s what I got.

Even with anesthesia, the surgery was hell. It felt like my soul was being scraped away, piece by piece. Every second dragged me further from myself.

When the nurse wheeled me to my room, her eyes were full of pity. I must’ve looked like a warning sign—don’t fall in love, kids, or you’ll end up like me.

My mind was a mess. I drifted off to sleep, the world fading to gray. I let myself go under, just to get away from it all.

Someone held my hand, dipped a cotton swab in water, gently wiped my lips. The touch was soft, almost loving. But I was too tired to care.

I forced my eyes open. In the moonlight, I saw a tall figure sitting beside me, fingertips brushing the corner of my eye. I wanted to reach out, ask if any of this was real, but sleep dragged me back down.

And I drifted off again. The darkness was a comfort—blanketing everything I didn’t want to feel.

When I woke again, it was broad daylight. Aside from a dozing caregiver, the room was empty. The silence pressed in, thick and heavy.

I felt exhausted. The caregiver wheeled me outside for some air. The sun was bright, the air crisp, but none of it touched me.

Weak and dizzy, I barely noticed when the wheelchair turned. Looking back, I saw Ethan standing in the shade. Tall, sharp-featured—his face backlit, unreadable. Just a shadow, really.

I hadn’t expected him to actually show. For a second, hope sparked in my chest, but I snuffed it out quick. Not making that mistake again.

He pushed me for a while, then suddenly spoke. “I’m sorry, Chris. I owe you.”

He really did owe me—a walking debt sheet. Just looking at it would bankrupt anyone. I’d just made a bad investment, poured my heart into a black hole.

“Let’s get engaged. I’ll take responsibility for you.”

I opened my eyes wide. Seriously? He was already in the red, and now he wanted to mortgage himself? The absurdity almost made me laugh.

“But I hope you can apologize to Mason.”

“Because you pulled him, his finger was injured, and he missed his most important piano competition.”

“He’s been upset lately, and has already cried himself unconscious several times.”

“He tripped me.” My fingertips trembled. The injustice burned, hot and sharp.

“And I have to apologize to him?”

“Fine, fine.”

But Ethan just pressed, “Will you agree?”

“Of course.” I laughed, brittle and echoing in the empty courtyard.

“As long as you give me a billion and then get out of here, I’ll apologize to him right away!”

Ethan stared at me for a long moment, then turned and left. The silence he left behind was deafening.

And I was left in the courtyard. The miscarriage had left me weak, the anesthesia was long gone. Even moving the wheelchair made my wounds ache, sweat soaking my face.

But a thousand cuts in my abdomen couldn’t compare to the crack in my heart. That pain ran deeper, lasted longer, refused to numb.

I don’t know how long it took to finally get through to my dad. “I agree to your terms. I’ll get engaged to the eldest son of the Lawson family in two months.”

“How long are you going to keep making trouble?” His voice was tired, worn out. Like he’d already given up on me.

A week later, Ethan sent another message. “I know you’ve almost recovered. Is it really that hard to apologize?”

I didn’t reply. Just blocked him. The finality felt good—a little spark of control in a world I couldn’t fix.

When I was discharged, Ethan didn’t show. Instead, my best friend Taylor came for me. She brought coffee and a smile, her presence a balm on my battered soul.

Back at Ethan’s place, I piled up everything he gave me and everything I’d given him in the backyard and burned it all to ashes. Anything valuable, I sent to a consignment shop. The flames ate our memories, turning them to smoke and dust.

I packed a few things and moved into a new apartment. The next day, I went to Pierce Corp to resign. The office felt foreign, every corner a reminder of what I was leaving behind.

After finishing the paperwork, I asked HR not to tell Ethan. She nodded. “I understand. You want to surprise Mr. Pierce since you’re returning to the family.”

I couldn’t help but laugh. Nobody knew I was already done with Ethan. The irony was almost too much.

Even though I checked with his assistant to make sure he wasn’t in, I ran into him as soon as I got off the elevator. The universe has a twisted sense of humor.

He still looked as good as ever. I looked pale and drawn—a ghost in the elevator’s reflection.

I kept my eyes straight ahead, like he was a stranger, and headed for the side door. But Ethan—who never wanted to talk to me at work—chased after me.

“Chris.” He grabbed my wrist, chest heaving. The desperation in his eyes almost made me pause.

“Are you going on a business trip?” My voice was cold. “What’s it to you?”

He glanced at his watch, called to cancel a meeting, tried to take my suitcase. “I’ve canceled everything. I’ll drive you to the airport.”

I shook him off. “No need.”

“I know you’re in a bad mood.” He paused. “Since you were hurt, let’s forget about the apology.”

“But there’s something I want to tell you. Recently, someone’s been harassing Mason.” He hesitated, searching my face for a reaction.

“I’ll pretend to be his boyfriend and attend his upcoming concerts as his shield.”

“I hope—” Ethan stared at me, both hands gripping my shoulders, “you don’t mind.”

I looked at him. His eyes caught the light, dazzling like a mirage—so bright, so sincere. I just smiled. “Of course I don’t mind.”

I pulled his hands away. “We’re just messing around. Why would Mr. Pierce need to report to me?”

Ethan’s face darkened, like he wanted to bite something. He closed his eyes, calmed himself, then looked tired. “Chris, does saying these things help? I know your whereabouts too well.”

“If you can’t accept Mason as my friend, then there’s no way we can get married.”

“Perfect.” I raised my brows, indifferent. If my engagement announcement wasn’t about to affect business, I’d have thrown the invite in his face.

But Ethan didn’t hear. Someone called him—Mason, running a fever, asking Ethan to come over. He left in a hurry, as always.

He forgot his promise to drive me to the airport. That was Ethan—always running after someone else, always leaving me behind.

I grabbed a cab, but didn’t want to go home. Instead, I stopped at a gothic-style bar I passed and went inside. Neon lights glowed soft, the air thick with whiskey and possibility.

Drinking alone, my mood slowly settled. The burn of bourbon was grounding—a reminder I was still here, still breathing.

Piano music drifted through the air. A guy in a wheelchair played quietly under minty lights. His fingers moved with practiced grace, each note crisp and clear.

His profile was striking, lips delicate as a flower petal. The music was Liszt’s “Liebestraum”—each note sharp, slicing through the room like cracks in ice. The melody wrapped around me, sweet and bitter.

The bar offered flowers for guests to give the performers. An Omega nearby wanted to send some, but his date stopped him.

“A cripple, and you want to give him flowers?” The sneer was sharp, ugly. People snickered, their laughter mean and small. I felt my jaw clench.

I snapped my fingers for the bartender, ordered the most extravagant flower basket package, and nodded for him to send it to the pianist. The bartender grinned, gold tooth flashing, and set to work.

When the man was surrounded by flowers, he looked at me. Like a jewel set in black velvet, his eyes were especially bright in the dim light. He smiled—a slow, private thing—and for a moment, the world felt lighter.

Right then, my phone rang. An unfamiliar number. The sound was jarring, pulling me out of the music’s spell.

I answered. Ethan, flustered and annoyed. “Where are you? Why did you move? Why did you quit?”