The day I stood by Ethan Quinn as he claimed his inheritance from the Quinn family, he made the entire city of Riverton stop and watch. Ethan had bought out every major ad space in the city to propose to me, declaring to the world that I was the only woman he would ever love. People envied me. They said I had married for love. And for a while, I believed it too. But less than a year later, Ethan swallowed up my family’s wealth and waltzed in with his “true love,” Lydia, by his side. He locked me in a basement, leaving me at the mercy of Lydia’s endless humiliation. It wasn’t until the moment I died in that cold, damp darkness that I realized—the love Ethan had proclaimed for me was nothing but a lie. A carefully planned deception from the start. When I opened my eyes again, I was back on the day of Ethan’s grand proposal. “Willow,” Ethan said, kneeling before me. I was surrounded by a sea of flowers, our closest friends, and nearly every influential figure in Riverton. The proposal was nothing short of extravagant. Ethan had spared no expense. This wasn’t just a private moment; it was a city-wide broadcast. Every screen in Riverton was tuned into this “romantic spectacle.” I looked at Ethan, my chest tightening as memories flooded back—memories of suffocating darkness, the metallic stench of damp air, and Lydia’s cruel laughter. The pain from that nightmare felt all too real. My body trembled at the memory, and I couldn’t stop myself from shivering. Ethan’s voice broke through my thoughts, his eyes red with emotion as he spoke. “Willow, I’ve loved you my entire life. You’ve been my light, my only salvation. You stayed with me through the darkest times, when no one else would. You are my happiness, my everything. Please, marry me.” My past and present collided in that instant. I snapped back to reality, stepping away from him as he stared at me in shock. “Ethan,” I said, cutting him off mid-sentence. The surprise on his face was evident as I continued, “We’re not right for each other.” I turned to the lighting technician and signaled for them to stop the romantic effects. Then, I bowed slightly to the gathered crowd, apologizing for the disruption. Facing the live broadcast, I smiled politely and said, “Ethan, I’ve always thought of you as a friend. I’ve never felt anything romantic toward you.” Ethan Quinn wasn’t just any man. He was the illegitimate son of Harold Quinn, the patriarch of the powerful Quinn family. His mother had clawed her way into a life of luxury by giving birth to Ethan after a single night with Harold. But she was never satisfied, always scheming for a way to replace Harold’s wife and claim the family’s fortune. When we were children, Ethan’s mother orchestrated a fake kidnapping to force the Quinn family to acknowledge her son. But her plan backfired. The criminals she hired turned on her, cutting her out of the deal and planning to kill Ethan to keep the ransom money for themselves. It was my father who saved Ethan that day. Risking his own life, my father pulled Ethan out of that nightmare. My parents and I stayed by Ethan’s side, nursing him back to health. For two weeks, we barely left his bedside. Out of pity, my father intervened and convinced the Quinn family to take Ethan in. That’s how Ethan and I grew up together. I thought the bond we formed through those harrowing events would last a lifetime. I stood by Ethan as he fought his way into the Quinn family, earning their respect and ultimately inheriting the family fortune. I believed our love was inevitable, forged through shared struggles and strengthened by time. But I was wrong. Ethan wasn’t my soulmate. He was a wolf in sheep’s clothing. The man I gave my heart to would later destroy my family and claim everything we owned. I still remember that day, one year after our marriage, when Ethan revealed his true colors. He had seized control of both the Quinn and Linwood family assets, solidifying himself as the most powerful man in Riverton. Standing beside him was Lydia, the woman he truly loved. “Willow,” he said, cold and detached. “If your parents hadn’t meddled in my life, I wouldn’t have suffered all those years in the Quinn family.” His words were like knives, cutting into my heart. “To get back at you, I’ve been planning this for years. Look at you now—you’re no longer the Linwood heiress. You’re nothing more than a useless pawn under my control. Do you regret saving me back then?” He gripped my chin, forcing me to meet his venomous gaze. “And just so you know,” he added, his voice dripping with malice, “it was me who set your parents up. The charges that sent them to prison? All my doing. They’ll live out the rest of their days rotting behind bars. You can thank me for that.”
Ethan’s eyes glinted with malice, like a snake tightening around my neck, suffocating me. Beside him, Lydia twisted the knife deeper into my wounds. “I’m already carrying Ethan’s child,” she said, her voice dripping with smugness. “The two of you have been married for years, and yet… no baby, Willow.” “Oh, don’t worry. I’ll let you in on a little secret.” Lydia’s grin widened, her tone as sweet as arsenic. “It’s because Ethan’s been drugging your food. You’re barren now. A hen that can’t lay eggs. Isn’t that hilarious?” I stared at Ethan—the man I used to share my life with, whose every touch once felt tender—and then at Lydia, whose flat stomach now carried his child. Hate surged through me, so fierce and hot that I thought it might burn me alive. I clenched my teeth so hard I thought they might shatter. “I’ll make sure you both pay for this,” I spat, my voice trembling with rage. But Ethan only laughed as if my words were a joke. Without another word, he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me like a ragdoll to the basement. Ethan knew I was scared of the dark. And so, he locked me in a pitch-black basement, where the damp air clung to my skin and the silence was broken only by the occasional drip of water. Standing in the doorway, he sneered down at me. “From now on, this is where you’ll stay. Take your time reflecting on all the terrible things you’ve done to me.” I’ve been afraid of the dark for as long as I can remember. The moment the door slammed shut, the fear wrapped around me like a suffocating blanket. My chest heaved, and I clawed at the walls, desperate to find something—anything—to hold on to. When the door opened again, I rushed forward, throwing myself at Ethan’s feet. “Please,” I sobbed, clutching at the hem of his pants. “Don’t leave me here. I’ll do anything. Just don’t leave me in the dark.” I begged with every ounce of dignity I had left, lowering myself to a level I never thought possible. Ethan’s only response was laughter—cold, heartless laughter that echoed off the damp walls. “Oh, did I forget to mention something?” he said, crouching down so his face was level with mine. The dim light from the hallway cast shadows over his sharp features, making him look almost inhuman. “Willow,” he drawled, his voice sickeningly soft, “do you remember that time you were locked in the equipment room overnight as a child?” My entire body froze. “That was me,” he said casually. Ice shot through my veins as he continued, his tone almost conversational. “I planned it all. Timed it down to the minute. And then, when I showed up the next morning to ‘rescue’ you…” He smiled, as if savoring the memory. “You thought I was your savior. You fell for me completely after that, didn’t you?” I couldn’t breathe. “You were so easy to manipulate,” he said, his voice dripping with mockery. “And look at you now. Everything you are, everything you’ve done—it’s all because I made you believe in me. I’ve had you wrapped around my finger this whole time.” The weight of his words crushed me, like a boulder pressing down on my chest. I let go of his pants and scrambled backward, away from him, as though the darkness behind me was less terrifying than the man in front of me. He straightened, his shadow stretching long against the walls. “To me, you’ve always been nothing more than a toy. Something I could control, something I could break,” he said. And then, he turned and left, slamming the door behind him. Now, back in the present, I stood in front of Ethan as he tried desperately to save face. His expression shifted between anger and forced composure, the weight of the crowd’s murmurs pressing down on him. People in the audience were whispering to one another, casting glances at me and then back at Ethan. “Did he do something to upset her?” “Why would she humiliate him like this? He’s nothing without her family’s support.” “Isn’t her family the most powerful in Riverton? If she’s mad at him, he’s finished.” The Linwood name carried weight in this city. As the only daughter of the Linwood family, I had been spoiled and protected my entire life. Everyone in Riverton knew that Ethan’s rise to power had been made possible only because of me. Without the Linwoods, he was nothing. Ethan must have realized this as well. Though his face had darkened, he quickly plastered on a smile and stepped forward, reaching for my hand. “Willow,” he said, his voice soft and full of concern. “What’s wrong? Are you feeling unwell?” I stepped back, dodging his touch. “I don’t understand,” Ethan said, his forced smile faltering. “You told me once that if I ever proposed, you wanted the whole world to witness it. You wanted everyone to see how happy you were. That’s all I wanted to do—make you happy.” He paused, his voice growing quieter. “If I did something wrong… tell me. I’ll fix it.”
Ethan Quinn remained every bit the perfect boyfriend—patient, charming, and composed. Even after I publicly humiliated him, he kept his head low and tried to appease me, his voice soft and apologetic. The murmurs in the crowd grew louder, and it didn’t take long for people to start blaming me. “Willow really doesn’t know how good she has it. Ethan’s proposal was so heartfelt—what more could she possibly want? If I had someone like Ethan, I’d cherish him forever.” “Exactly! Ethan treats her like a queen. Everyone knows he’d do anything for her. And on top of that, they’ve been childhood friends! Honestly, Willow’s just lucky to have him.” “Maybe she’s fallen for someone else? Why else would she reject him?” “Last week, I saw them on a date. They looked so happy—what could’ve happened?” “Look at Ethan! He’s about to cry. I think Willow’s being completely unreasonable.” The whispers surrounded me like a swarm of bees, but one voice, in particular, cut through the noise. It was a voice I could never forget, one that was burned into my soul after years of torment. I turned, scanning the crowd, and found her—Lydia Wright. She stood quietly among the onlookers, her appearance modest and unassuming. But the jealousy in her eyes was unmistakable, burning so fiercely that it nearly betrayed her facade of innocence. Ignoring Ethan, I walked straight past him and stopped in front of Lydia. Under the confused stares of the crowd, I slipped the engagement ring off my finger and tossed it at her feet. “If you think Ethan is so perfect, then why don’t you take him? You two seem like a match made in heaven.” The diamond caught the sunlight as it arced through the air, landing with a sharp clink on the ground. Lydia’s face flushed bright red, her composure cracking under the weight of my words. I smiled at her, a sharp, knowing smile. In my previous life, Lydia had boasted endlessly about her “unbreakable bond” with Ethan. She once told me, with a smirk on her face: “I’ve loved Ethan since high school.” “I wrote him 99 love letters, each one carefully written by hand. And do you know what he did with them? He kept every single one. He carried them with him everywhere, tucked safely in his briefcase. You never even noticed, did you?” “On the back of the letters, Ethan marked the dates. He always planned to marry me—on the day your family fell from grace.” Now, I looked her dead in the eye and asked, loud enough for everyone to hear, “Didn’t you say you’ve loved Ethan since high school?” Lydia’s face paled. “And didn’t you write him 99 love letters?” I continued, my tone dripping with mockery. “How many was it again? 99, right?” Lydia’s embarrassment turned to rage. She pointed a trembling finger at me and shouted, “Don’t think you can just throw around your status as the Linwood heiress to bully people!” Someone from the crowd stepped forward, touching my arm lightly. “Willow, is there some kind of misunderstanding here?” Ethan rushed over as well, his expression frantic. “Willow, are you rejecting me because of these baseless rumors? That’s all they are—rumors!” He turned toward the crowd, desperate to clear his name. “I don’t even know her! She’s lying. Don’t believe a word she says.” Ethan’s devotion to me was no secret. Everyone in Riverton knew the stories. When I had a high fever that wouldn’t break, Ethan stayed by my bedside for days, barely sleeping until I recovered. When I woke up and casually mentioned craving a bowl of clam chowder from a restaurant in a distant city, Ethan chartered a plane that very day to bring it to me, still warm. On my 18th birthday, someone had made an inappropriate comment toward me at the party. Ethan didn’t hesitate to start a fight right then and there, risking not only his place in the Quinn family but also nearly getting arrested. He told me once, “Willow, I would give my life for you.” To him, I was more important than anything—even himself. Or so he said. But what the world didn’t know, what I hadn’t known until it was too late, was that Ethan’s love was a lie. And so, on the day he proposed, the day he claimed to love me in front of the entire city, I didn’t just reject him—I humiliated him. When he tried to explain himself, insisting that he and Lydia had no connection, I responded by slapping him across the face. The sharp crack of my palm against his cheek silenced the crowd. I didn’t hold back—I put every ounce of anger, betrayal, and hatred into that slap. But even that wasn’t enough. Not compared to the pain he had inflicted on me and my family in my previous life. “You say you have nothing to do with her?” I said, my voice cold and unwavering.
I shook my stinging hand, the sharp pain grounding me as I walked to an unassuming corner of the floral stage. There, I picked up Ethan’s plain, seemingly ordinary briefcase. The live broadcast of this entire debacle was still rolling. Ethan didn’t understand what I was doing. Instead, he hurried after me, his face swollen red from the slap but still managing to look concerned. “Willow, does your hand hurt?” he asked, his tone soft and full of worry. “If I’ve upset you, just tell me,” he continued, his voice trembling with sincerity. “Honestly, if one slap makes you feel better, it’s worth it.” Even now, he kept up his act. But in the next moment, I unzipped his briefcase. Guided by the memory of Lydia’s smug boasts, I found the hidden compartment. Inside, just as she’d described, I pulled out dozens of folded letters. And then I turned to face Ethan. The change in his expression was instant. His ever-gentle, composed mask cracked, his features twisting into something stiff and unnatural. He reached out instinctively, his hand moving toward mine, desperate to snatch the letters away. I sidestepped, and with a single look, my security team stepped forward, forming a wall between us. They pushed Ethan back, keeping him out of reach. Calmly, I unfolded the first letter, holding it up for everyone to see. And then, I read it aloud. “‘Sunny today. I saw you having breakfast with that tramp again. You even took out the trash for her. Ethan, you’re so much better than that. You’re a king, so why lower yourself to be with someone like her? You belong with me.’” The crowd gasped. This was one of Lydia Wright’s so-called love letters. I moved on to the next one. My voice rang clear, cutting through the silence. “‘Ethan, it’s been 1,000 days since I fell in love with you. I dreamed about you again last night. Don’t think it’s improper—how could it be, when it’s you? Please, leave that worthless woman and come to me.’” The words were raw, obsessive, every sentence dripping with malice toward me and longing for Ethan. By the tenth letter, the tone had shifted. “‘Ethan, you kissed me today. I couldn’t believe it. Even if you didn’t say you love me, I’ll take it as a sign that you do.’” The truth was unraveling before everyone’s eyes. Lydia had once bragged to me about their college affair, about how they’d been inseparable. And now, as I read these letters, the puzzle pieces fell into place. The signs had always been there. I had just been too blind in my so-called love to see them. Lydia, unable to hold back anymore, lunged toward me like a wild animal, her hand outstretched to grab the letters. But the crowd recoiled from her, parting like the sea, leaving her isolated and exposed. Ethan’s face had gone pale, his lips pressed into a thin line. I flipped to the back of one of the letters, revealing more incriminating words scrawled in Ethan’s handwriting. “‘Day one with Lydia. For the first time, I feel like I understand what love is. Lydia, wait for me. I’ll take down the Quinn family and the Linwood family. The countdown to marrying you has begun.’” The crowd gasped again, louder this time. I didn’t stop. I read the next one. “‘Lydia, I drugged Willow today. She’ll never be able to have my child. Don’t worry—her body isn’t worthy of carrying my bloodline.’” Even now, my nerves, dulled by hatred and determination, trembled with cold fury. I let the stack of letters fall from my hands, scattering them at Ethan’s feet. The crowd whispered in disbelief. I stared at him, my voice icy and sharp. “Well, Ethan? Do you have anything to say for yourself?” Ethan’s eyes locked on mine, wide with shock and disbelief. For the first time, his mask of calm was completely shattered. “Willow,” he stammered, his voice cracking. “It’s not what it looks like.” He stepped forward, his expression carefully shifting into one of pain and remorse. “Please, believe me,” he said, his voice low and shaky. “It’s really not what you think.” He paused dramatically, taking a deep breath. “I admit it,” he said, his voice trembling just enough to sound sincere. “I made a mistake—a mistake that any man could make.” The crowd murmured again, some buying into his act, others still horrified by the letters. “I don’t love her,” Ethan continued, casting a quick glance at Lydia, whose face was now beet-red with humiliation. “She pursued me relentlessly, and I… I was weak. I gave in. But it didn’t mean anything—it never did.” The man who once told me he loved Lydia more than life itself, the man who spent years plotting his rise to power for her, now discarded her in the face of public scrutiny. She was nothing more than collateral damage to him. “It was her,” Ethan said, his voice growing firmer. “She seduced me.”
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