Riding my rusty little food cart, loaded with steaming braised pork trotters, I suddenly realized the brakes had gone out. Before I could react, the cart careened straight into a gleaming Rolls-Royce parked by the curb. I sighed, already bracing for the fallout. Reaching into my pocket for my bank card, I figured I’d just throw some money at the problem and hope for the best. But then the car door swung open, and out stepped someone I hadn’t expected to see in a million years—my ex-fiancée. Her expression was a wild rollercoaster of emotions: shock, disbelief, and finally, a smirk of pure satisfaction. Before I could even think about hopping back on the cart and making a getaway, she moved faster than I thought humanly possible. In the blink of an eye, she was in front of me, aiming a sharp kick straight at my stomach. “Well, well,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “The guy who ghosted me right before our wedding. You just had to chase your dreams and disappear to God knows where. What happened? Did your big plans crash and burn? Now you’re back selling pork trotters, huh?” …
Emma’s kick was no joke—it was like getting hit by a freight train. I landed flat on my back, the impact rattling the food cart behind me, sending the insulated container of steaming pork trotters wobbling precariously. Groaning, I clutched my stomach, trying to rub away the pain. Cold sweat trickled down my back as I lay there, too dazed to even glance in her direction. But Emma wasn’t done. Arms crossed, she strode toward me in her high heels, each step deliberate and menacing. She stopped just inches from me, her silhouette towering over my crumpled form. With an air of unsettling calm, she reached down, her icy fingers gripping my chin and forcing me to look up at her. “Liam,” she said, dragging my name out like a taunt, her voice sweet but laced with venom. “Seven years… and here you are again, right back in my hands. So tell me, you hit my Rolls-Royce—how exactly are you planning to pay for it?” Her palm came down in slow, deliberate pats against my cheek, mockingly gentle. I stayed on the ground, staring up at her. My eyes involuntarily traced the way her hair fell over her shoulder, catching the light. She was still as beautiful as ever, though thinner now—like she hadn’t been eating properly. Her voice had a slight rasp, her nose and cheeks tinged red from the cold. And in this freezing weather, she was only wearing a coat, nothing warm underneath. The sight of her made something twist painfully in my chest. Even as she slapped my cheek with that look of pure hate, I couldn’t help but feel like I was dreaming. That is, until she delivered another sharp smack to the back of my head, snapping me out of my daze. “Don’t you dare look at me with that fake, lovesick expression!” she snapped, her voice sharp enough to cut glass. “Seven years ago, you vanished like a coward before our wedding. And now, you’re a broke loser crashing into my car. What? You think you can weasel your way out of this by playing the ‘long-lost lover’ card?” Her words hit harder than the kick. I scrambled to pull out my bank card, fumbling with my pocket as a sharp ache spread through my chest. It wasn’t just the guilt—it was the bitterness of seeing how much she despised me now. Seven years ago, she’d cry if I so much as nicked my finger. Now, she didn’t hesitate to slap me like I was nothing. But as I clutched the card, my mind wandered back to the moment that had changed everything. Seven years ago, I disappeared three days before our wedding—not because I wanted to leave her, but because I had no choice. I was working undercover, trying to save my team leader in a high-stakes drug bust. The operation went sideways, and we were caught in an explosion. I woke up three months later in a hospital bed, my body scarred and my life in shambles. I had every intention of going back to Emma, to beg for her forgiveness and explain everything. But life had other plans. A diagnosis of terminal cancer landed in my lap like a cruel joke. I couldn’t drag Emma into the wreckage of my life—not when I had no future to offer her. So I let her go, thinking it was the right thing to do. And now, here I was. All I’d wanted was to spend my last days chasing a simple dream of becoming a chef, living a quiet life. Yet fate had thrown me back into her orbit in the most humiliating way possible. Swallowing the lump in my throat, I forced myself to stay composed. My fingers tightened around the card as I tried to hand it to her, choking back the tears threatening to spill. “It’s not like that,” I blurted, my voice cracking under the weight of everything I couldn’t say. “I can pay for the car, I swear. Just let me—” Before I could even get the words out, Emma smirked, already one step ahead of me. With a dramatic toss of her long hair, she reached into her designer handbag and pulled out a neatly folded stack of papers. A contract. She waved it in front of me with a triumphant grin. “Ha! Forget the money. Just sign this!”
Before I could even recover from my shock or process what was happening, Emma crouched down, grabbed my hand, and sank her teeth into it—hard. The sharp pain shot through me as blood trickled from the bite. Emma, unfazed, pressed my bleeding hand onto the contract, smearing the paper with red. “Ha! I knew you couldn’t afford to pay for my car! So, here’s the deal—you’ve signed your life away. This is a servitude contract, Liam, and I now have the right to do whatever I want with you!” I howled in pain, springing to my feet like a startled cat, shaking my injured hand to stop the bleeding. “Emma, what the hell is wrong with you—” Before I could finish, her hand came flying at me again, slapping me clean across the face. “Shut up!” she barked, her eyes blazing with fury. “Look at you—broke, pathetic, and still trying to act like some tough guy. You can’t pay for the car, so don’t even think about strutting around like you’re someone important!” Her voice dripped with scorn as she jabbed a finger into my chest. “Here are your options, Liam. Either you go to jail for wrecking my car, or you stay here and suffer through every punishment I see fit. And trust me, I’m going to make you regret every single decision you’ve ever made—especially the one where you left me standing at the altar!” She leaned closer, her voice colder than ice. “Seven years ago, I must’ve been blind to even consider marrying a loser like you. But starting today, I’ll make you wish you’d never been born.” Her finger jabbed me so hard that I nearly stumbled backward. I stood there, stunned, staring at the fiery, vengeful woman in front of me. My hand, still clutching the bank card in my pocket, suddenly froze. Why bother pulling it out? What was the point? I only had a month left to live anyway. The cancer was eating me alive, and I knew my time was running out. If I spent these last few weeks being dragged around by her, at least I’d get to see her every day. Maybe, selfishly, I could allow myself that small comfort before the end. Emma didn’t even glance back as she turned on her heel and walked away, her voice sharp as she barked another order. “Hurry up, Liam! Quit standing there like an idiot and move!” I hesitated, glancing back at my food cart. The pork trotters inside had taken me hours to perfect. The glossy, caramelized skin, the tender meat, the fragrant sauce—I’d been so proud of them. But all I could do now was sigh and abandon the cart as I jogged after her. Emma led me to her mansion—a sprawling, 5,000-square-foot luxury home. She assigned me to a tiny, 100-square-foot room, barely bigger than a closet. It was clear she wasn’t going to make this easy for me. Her hatred for me was written in every detail of my new “job.” The house was spotless, and she had a full-time cleaning service on staff, but that didn’t stop her from making me scrub every tile on my hands and knees until it gleamed. She had a fleet of luxury cars at her disposal, but instead of using them, she made me pedal her $3,800 designer bicycle, carting her around for miles like a human chauffeur. It felt like she was actively trying to kill me. By the time I collapsed in the corner of the kitchen after another grueling day of chores, my hands were raw, covered in blisters and cuts. I stared at my trembling fingers, unable to hold back the wave of exhaustion and despair creeping over me. “Liam!” One of her assistants barked as they burst into the room. “Miss Emma wants coffee. And not just any coffee—she wants Louis XVI coffee at exactly 46 degrees. Got it? Not 45, not 47. If you screw this up, you’ll be in for it!” I groaned, dragging myself off the floor. “Got it,” I muttered under my breath, shuffling toward the door like a zombie. As I stumbled around the corner, I didn’t realize Emma was walking straight toward me. Before I could stop myself, I bumped into her. Her body was soft and warm as she fell lightly against my chest. Her scent—faintly floral, clean, and familiar—flooded my senses, and for a moment, my heart felt like it was about to explode. I panicked, afraid she’d push me away in disgust. My hands instinctively moved to steady her before I quickly backed off, trying to be respectful. “Emma, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—” I stammered, stepping back. But then she turned around, surprising me. Her small fists pressed against my chest as she looked up at me with wide, tear-filled eyes. “Liam…” she whispered, her voice trembling.
Her voice was soft, almost a whisper, stripped of all the anger and venom I’d grown used to over the past few days. It reminded me of the Emma I used to know, the one who would laugh and blush whenever I looked at her. My chest tightened, my nose stinging as if I was on the verge of tears. I gazed at her, my voice equally gentle as I asked, “What’s wrong?” Emma tilted her head slightly, her cheeks flushed, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something—but no words came out. Then, without warning, her hands started moving. She tugged at my shirt, her soft fingers brushing against my skin, wandering across my chest with no regard for personal boundaries. Her face rested delicately against my chest, as if she belonged there. I froze, my body heating up like a furnace. Every instinct screamed that this wasn’t right, that something was off, but I couldn’t bring myself to push her away. Then I heard her murmur, her voice slurred and faint, “You jerk… leaving me like that… If I tie you to my side, will you finally see how much I care? Will you regret abandoning me…?” Her words trailed off as her body suddenly went limp. She collapsed completely into my arms. Panic gripped me as I caught her, my heart pounding. I touched her forehead, only to realize it was burning up—she was running a dangerously high fever. “Damn it, Emma,” I muttered under my breath, my throat tightening as I fought back tears. She must’ve been delirious, and that’s why she’d let slip everything she was feeling. Without wasting another second, I scooped her up in my arms and ran like my life depended on it, faster than any car on the road. I carried her up the stairs to her bedroom, called a doctor, and stayed by her side as they gave her fluids and medication. For three days and nights, I didn’t leave her bedside. I didn’t sleep, barely ate, and spent every second tending to her—wiping her sweat, adjusting her blanket, and making sure she was comfortable. By the third night, exhaustion got the better of me, and I nodded off for just a moment. I woke up to the faint sound of coughing. My eyes shot open, and I saw Emma stirring in bed, her body curling slightly as if she wanted to sit up. “I’ll get you some water!” I blurted out, scrambling to my feet. I didn’t notice her staring at me, her expression soft and filled with something I hadn’t seen before. When I turned back with the water, I met her gaze—those big, hopeful eyes brimming with an emotion that made my chest ache. “Liam,” she said softly, her voice still raspy. “You were worried about me, weren’t you? That’s why you stayed… you didn’t rest at all, did you?” She didn’t realize it, but her fingers were nervously fidgeting with the blanket, and she bit her lip as she waited for my answer. It was like she was afraid of what I might say, yet silently praying I’d confirm what she already suspected. The truth was on the tip of my tongue. I wanted to tell her, Yes, Emma. I was worried sick about you. I couldn’t bear to leave your side. But then I remembered the words she’d mumbled before fainting, her vulnerability, and the cruel reality of my terminal cancer. How could I let her hope for a future with me when I didn’t even have one? So instead, I forced a laugh, plastering on a fake grin. “Worried about you? Don’t be ridiculous. If I cared, I wouldn’t have left you seven years ago, would I? I just didn’t want you dying and leaving no one to pay me back for all the trouble you’ve caused!” I laughed loudly, hoping it would mask the way my heart was breaking. Her expression fell instantly, her hopeful gaze turning into one of quiet disappointment. She lowered her eyes, her fingers stilling as the weight of my words sank in. She didn’t say anything, but the hurt was written all over her face. I could’ve stopped there, but I knew that wasn’t enough to push her away completely. I needed to make her hate me, to sever whatever lingering feelings she might have had. So I forced myself to say the one thing I knew would break her. “And you know why I left you back then? It wasn’t because of some noble reason. It was because…” I paused, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Because I’m into men.” Her head shot up, her eyes widening in shock. I forced another laugh, scratching the back of my neck like it was no big deal. “Yeah, that’s right. I’ve always liked guys. Guess I was just too scared to admit it back then.” The room fell into a suffocating silence, the kind that made even the air feel heavy. Then came the slap. “SMACK!” Her hand struck my face with enough force to rattle the windows. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she glared at me with a mix of anger and heartbreak. She didn’t say another word. She simply tossed a bank card at me, pointed to the door, and spat out one final command. “Get out.” I clenched my fists, my head hanging low as I bit my lip to keep from crying. This was for the best, I told myself. This was how it had to be. Without another word, I turned and walked away, leaving her behind. Days passed, and I threw myself into my food cart business, selling pork trotters to anyone who’d buy them. It was the only thing keeping me sane. One afternoon, as I sat on the curb, lost in thought about Emma, someone called out to me. “Liam?” I turned to see Thomas, an old friend from my time in the police force. He grinned when he saw me, his eyes lighting up at the sight of my pork trotters. “Man, those smell amazing,” he said, but instead of digging in like he usually would, he hesitated, looking at me with a strange expression. “Thomas, what’s up?” I asked. He scratched the back of his head, avoiding my gaze. “There’s something I need to tell you. It’s about… your diagnosis.” I froze. “What about it?” He sighed. “Turns out the doctor messed up. The cancer diagnosis? It wasn’t yours. It belonged to some old guy who died 13 years ago. The idiot mixed up the records because you have the same name.” My mind went blank. “What… what did you say?” I asked, my voice barely a whisper. Thomas nodded quickly, trying to reassure me. “You’re fine, Liam. You’re not dying. The doctor’s been fired for screwing up so many cases, and—” I didn’t wait for him to finish. I was alive. I wasn’t going to die. And that meant… I could still be with Emma. Without thinking, I took off running, darting through the crowded streets like a man possessed. I had to tell her. I had to fix everything. I reached her house, breathless and trembling with anticipation. Knocking on the door, I called out, “Emma, I—” The door opened, and before I could say anything, she sprayed me in the face with a garden hose. Blinking through the water, I saw him. A tall, handsome man sat on her bed, casually eating an apple she’d peeled for him, his legs crossed like he owned the place.
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