The night my family’s company collapsed and the loan sharks cornered us with nowhere left to run, I quietly signed the marriage contract with Naomi Albright, the eldest daughter of the Albright empire. I didn’t say a single word. Outside the Albright estate, Cynthia stood in the pouring rain, her eyes glued to the breaking news on her phone—headlines flashing pictures of Naomi and me together, side by side. Years later, Cynthia tore down every obstacle in her path, built her own corporate empire from the ashes, and used the most ruthless leverage imaginable to force me to become her husband. Everyone in our circle mocked me. They whispered that Jesse Edmund was nothing but a spineless gold-digger riding on his good looks, that Cynthia’s desperate obsession with claiming me was merely a craving for my pretty face. But I knew the truth better than anyone. She hated me. She hated me for choosing wealth over her, for what she saw as a cold, calculating betrayal. From the moment I moved into her cavernous, freezing mansion, she surrounded herself with a revolving door of young, beautiful boys. I never reacted. In fact, every morning before dawn, I would slip out to run my humble breakfast cart on the corner of the old district, simply to give her and those boys their space. Yet, my indifference only made Cynthia more volatile. Once, she pinned me hard against the narrow kitchen sink, her eyes bloodshot, her teeth gritted as she hissed, “Jesse, is that heart of yours made of stone?” I only managed a numb, hollow smile. Cynthia didn’t know that my time was running out. While she spent every day plotting new ways to watch me break, I was using every ounce of my remaining strength just to see another sunrise. … I met Tyler for the first time at the gala celebrating the third anniversary of Cynthia’s conglomerate going public. He was wearing an ill-fitting, cheap suit, clumsily balancing a champagne flute, looking entirely out of place in a room packed with the city’s elite. I noticed him instantly. Not because he looked ridiculous, but because of the stubborn pride and raw innocence radiating from him—a look I recognized too well. It was the exact quality Cynthia had fallen in love with when we were young. I let out a dry laugh, adjusting my tie. No wonder Cynthia had demanded my presence tonight. I wasn’t the guest of honor; I was just the spectator. I watched Tyler “accidentally” spill champagne onto Cynthia’s custom Dior coat. They locked eyes, a charged, teasing gaze passing between them. Claiming a sudden stomach ache, I took it as my cue to slip away, leaving them to their quiet, simmering space. But Cynthia’s secretary blocked me in the hallway, her expression icy. “Mr. Edmund, I should warn you. Tyler has been with Ms. Shaw for over six months now. She never brought the other boys to public events. This time, she might actually be serious.” “Mr. Edmund! You… you’re bleeding! Your nose…” Her strictly professional facade crumbled in an instant, her hands shaking as she fumbled in her purse for a tissue. I slowly touched my upper lip. My hand came away smeared with dark crimson. A bitter wave washed over me; the body of a dying man is a ruin that refuses to be hidden. I took the tissue, pressing it hard against my nose, and offered her a reassuring, weary smile. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about me.” “Honestly, I hope Cynthia finds a few more boys like him. Maybe if she’s in a good mood, she’ll throw some extra allowance my way.” I tilted my head back, letting the metallic taste of blood seep into my throat. Severely anemic as I was, I couldn’t afford to lose this much blood. Ignoring the secretary’s mix of disgust and bewilderment, I turned toward the VIP lounge. Tonight was a rare opportunity to ask for money. Cynthia was pleased, softened by her new favorite. Maybe to get rid of me, she’d blindly sign a check without a second thought. Compared to Cynthia’s ghost of an affection, money was the only thing that mattered to me now. Only money could afford the imported pain pump—the only thing that could offer a shred of relief when the agony clawed at my bones in the dead of night, leaving me writhing on the floor. I wasn’t afraid of dying, but I was terrified of the pain. The feeling of my bones being slowly chiseled open, piece by piece, haunted my very nightmares. My oncologist had already delivered the final verdict: even with the most expensive targeted therapies, I wouldn’t survive past winter. I wanted to leave this world with some dignity, but I couldn’t even afford the medication to keep the pain at bay. So, tonight, I had to swallow what little pride I had left and beg Cynthia. … Standing outside the slightly ajar door of the private lounge, I heard Tyler’s bright, unrestrained laughter. I could easily picture the smug expression on his face. Just as I raised my hand to knock, Tyler’s voice carried through the gap, talking to someone inside. “Honestly, why does Jesse always look so miserable and washed out? He dresses like a cheap street vendor. What does Cynthia even see in him?” “When I first joined the company, people told me my profile looked like Mr. Edmund’s. I thought he’d be some legendary figure. Seeing him today? What a joke. If I ever ended up that pathetic and useless, I’d throw myself off a bridge. No wonder Cynthia only has eyes for me now.” A male assistant lowered his voice, cautioning him, “Tyler, shut up. Mr. Edmund is still her legal husband. Besides, back in the day, Cynthia almost died for him. Don’t let this go to your head.” “So what if they’re married?” Tyler scoffed. “Just watch. Cynthia’s going to kick him to the curb sooner or later.” Listening to the chatter, I realized I’d come to the wrong room. It was only Tyler changing clothes with his assistant; Cynthia wasn’t even there. “What are you doing lurking outside my door?” An icy voice sliced through the air behind me. I turned around and met Cynthia’s eyes, cold and thick with disgust. Swallowing the bitter taste rising in my throat, I spoke calmly. “I need some money.” Before the words could fully settle, Tyler stepped out of the lounge and let out a sharp sneer. “How direct, Mr. Edmund. Begging for scraps right outside the dressing room? Anyone would think Cynthia was starving you.” Tyler looked at me defiantly, leaning familiarly into Cynthia’s space, his eyes alight with the smug confidence of a favorite toy. Sensing the shift in the air, the young assistant kept his head down and quickly slipped away. I kept my eyes lowered, ignoring Tyler’s performance entirely. “You really have grown spineless over the years,” Cynthia said, her words dripping with malice, her gaze cutting into me like glass. “Years ago, you crawled like a dog to lick Naomi Albright’s boots for a check. Now you’ve learned to play the begging husband with me? Tell me, how much is your dignity worth this time?” I met her gaze, a self-deprecating smile gracing my lips. “As much as you can spare, of course. With a net worth in the billions, surely Ms. Shaw won’t miss a few crumbs.” The temperature in Cynthia’s eyes plummeted to absolute zero. She lunged forward, grabbing the collar of my faded, worn shirt, her voice vibrating with quiet fury. “When you sold yourself to the Albrights, did they not toss you enough bones? Or are you just born this pathetic?” A sudden spasm gripped my chest. My vision blurred into blackness, and my knees buckled slightly. I took a ragged breath, my face draining of what little color it had, and spoke the quiet truth: “She never gave me a single dime.” Cynthia let out a harsh laugh, her disgust deepening. “Then what makes you think I would waste a single cent on an absolute piece of trash like you? Jesse, you’re lower than dirt.” As if looking at me made her physically ill, she released my collar with a shove and turned to leave. I dug my fingernails hard into my thigh to keep from collapsing, the image of the empty pill bottles in my dingy apartment flashing before my eyes. Digging deep for any shred of humility, I whispered, “Cynthia… please.” My voice was so faint it barely carried through the hallway. She didn’t even slow down. But Tyler heard it. He stepped up to me, his face glowing with a victor’s smugness. “Save your breath, Mr. Edmund. Look in a mirror. Look at what a wreck you are. How do you expect to compete with me?” “The senior staff at the office told me how Cynthia used to worship the ground you walked on, holding you like you were made of glass. I thought you were some kind of god. Turns out, you’re just a desperate street beggar.” “You know, Cynthia is incredibly generous.” Tyler raised his wrist, angling a blinding Patek Philippe toward me. “See this? She gave it to me tonight.” “A guy who slings cheap breakfast sandwiches on a street corner couldn’t afford this in ten lifetimes. The money you beg for on your knees? I get it just by asking nicely.” “To think people actually compare my looks to yours. It’s an insult.” Tyler turned his wrist again, the polished gold catching the light and stinging my eyes. I genuinely envied him. The value of that single watch was enough to secure my remaining days, to save me from curling up like a dying dog in the dark, shivering in agony. Cynthia was indeed generous with him. The other boys before him had been mere distractions, but Tyler was different. She brought him to high-profile events and stood by, allowing him to mock me to my face. But what did any of that matter to a man with one foot in the grave? “You’re right, it is an insult,” I said, a faint, tired smile on my lips. “You only care about how much she spends on you. But tell me—if she actually valued you, why hasn’t she ever taken you home? You’re a passing distraction, Tyler. Nothing more. Do you really think you have the right to look down on me?” “My dear boy, instead of barking at me, why don’t you beg her to divorce me first? Once you have a marriage certificate with your name on it, then you can talk to me about status.” My voice was weak, but I watched as Tyler’s face flushed red, then drained into an angry, bruised purple. “What do you know, you half-dead relic!” Tyler spat. “Cynthia loves me! You think a line on a marriage certificate makes you special? If you hadn’t gotten lucky and met her first, she wouldn’t even look at a pathetic wreck like you!” I gave him a hollow, pitying look. “Why do you think she chose you? When you throw a tantrum, the way the corner of your eyes flares up is identical to mine when I was twenty. Without me, you wouldn’t even be worth a second glance. Learn your place.” I had said enough. I didn’t want to waste another ounce of energy on him, so I turned to walk away. The truth tore right through Tyler’s fragile ego. He snapped, lunging at me like a wild animal. “I’m nobody’s replacement! I’ll tear that dead-eyed look right off your face!” He shoved me with all his weight. I stepped aside, and with no traction on the polished floor, he tripped over the thick edge of the rug, crashing headfirst into a heavy marble display pedestal. With a dull thud, Tyler hit the floor, clutching his forehead. Dark red blood began to ooze between his fingers. Cynthia, who hadn’t walked far, rushed back at the sound of the impact. She shoved me out of the way, dropping to her knees, cradling Tyler’s face. She pressed an expensive silk handkerchief to his wound, her eyes wide with frantic worry. She never once looked at me, completely ignoring how my body swayed on the verge of collapsing. Only when she was sure Tyler wasn’t severely injured did she slowly rise, her eyes fixing on me with absolute, murderous coldness. “Jesse. Did you push him?” I let out a long, exhausted breath. I didn’t even have the strength to defend myself. “Think whatever you want. He lunged at me and tripped.” Before Cynthia could erupt, Tyler began to sob from the floor. “Cynthia… don’t blame Mr. Edmund. It was my fault, I was careless. I just… I love you so much. I don’t care about a title, I just want to be with you. Even if he hits me, even if he hates me, I won’t leave…” His crying was soft and performative, tears mixing with the blood on his cheek. He looked up at her with big, watery eyes, his hands desperately clutching the hem of her coat. I watched Cynthia’s expression soften. The absolute, fragile devotion Tyler was displaying was the exact thing she had once begged from me and never received. “Don’t worry, Tyler,” she murmured, her voice steadying. “I won’t let anyone hurt you again.” In those words, I heard her final decision. She was ready to throw me out to make room for him. I looked down at my scuffed, worn-out leather shoes. There wasn’t even a ripple of emotion in my heart. My lack of reaction only seemed to fuel Cynthia’s rage. “You’d stoop this low for money, Jesse? Fine. You hurt Tyler. How do you plan to pay for his medical bills and his distress?” “I don’t have any money,” I said, stating a simple fact. I barely knew where my next meal was coming from. “Then let me offer you a way out. Get on your knees. Bow to Tyler three times, apologize, and admit what a pathetic, miserable coward you are. The moment he forgives you, I’ll transfer three million dollars into your account.” “Three bows for three million. You won’t find a better bargain in this world. And if you’re worried I’ll go back on my word, I can pay you a deposit right now.” Cynthia reached down and unclasped a diamond tennis bracelet from her wrist, letting it drop carelessly at my feet. “Consider this the down payment. Don’t bother standing back up once you pick it up. Just stay down and bow.” I stared at the glittering piece of jewelry resting on the carpet. A quiet, breathy laugh escaped my lips—laughing at her arrogance, laughing at the utter absurdity of my life. “Keep your money, Cynthia. It’s too dirty for me.” I turned away, dragging my heavy, protesting legs step by step toward the exit. As I rounded the corner, I caught a glimpse of Cynthia lifting Tyler into her arms. I wondered, when I was nothing but a pile of ash, if she ever found out that the bracelet she threw on the floor could have bought me a few extra days free from the agonizing pain that made me wish for death… would she feel victorious? Or would she feel a sliver of regret? But that was a question for after I was gone. I wouldn’t be around to see it. I was reaching my limit. The last dose of pain medication had completely worn off. Cold sweat soaked through my clothes, and every step sent a violent spasm through my chest. … Back in my drafty, single-room apartment, I spent the longest night of my life. I writhed on the narrow twin bed, too weak to even scream. Caught between fever dreams and pure agony, my mind drifted, slipping back to when I was twenty. In the dream, Cynthia was still that bright-eyed, hardworking student, her forehead beaded with sweat. Back then, her eyes held nothing but gentle tenderness and fierce, protective love for me. I reached out blindly, trying to grasp the fading illusion, as if those long-dead memories could somehow numb the raw pain tearing through my flesh. “Cynthia… where’s the red string bracelet you made me?” As the whisper left my lips, I realized why I had stared so hard at Tyler’s wrist tonight. The design of that luxury watch was strikingly similar to the cheap digital watch Cynthia had bought me for my twentieth birthday. That year, my family had been pressuring me into arranged dates, and I was miserable. To cheer me up, Cynthia had spent an entire month hauling bricks at a scorching construction site in the dead of summer. Her skin had peeled, and her hands were covered in bloody blisters, all just to buy me a halfway decent digital watch. I remembered crying as I applied ointment to her raw hands, calling her a fool. She had just grinned, her teeth white against her sunburnt face, promising me that as long as we were together, she would build a beautiful life for us. She swore she’d never let me suffer. When we were twenty, I believed her promises would last a lifetime. The physical pain clawed at my nerves again, forcing tears and sweat onto my mildewed pillow. “Cynthia… I saw you give that watch to someone else tonight. It hurts so much…” “Jesse, don’t cry.” The Cynthia in my dream panicked, gently wiping away my tears as if I were made of porcelain. “I promise, I’ll never let you cry again.” I sobbed, holding onto that warm shadow with everything I had, because in my heart, I knew that this dying dream was the only place I would ever see that girl again. When morning came, I woke to the same broken, decaying body. I didn’t know how long I’d been unconscious. When I opened my eyes, my throat felt like dry sand. I reached instinctively for the cracked glass on my nightstand. “Jesse, here. Drink some water.” Through the haze, a familiar yet distant face came into focus. Cynthia was sitting there, the icy, arrogant mask she usually wore completely gone. There was a soft, aching warmth in her eyes, reminiscent of the girl she was at twenty. Believing I was still trapped in my fever dream, I leaned forward and let her guide the glass, swallowing the cool water. “Jesse, look,” she whispered, pushing a velvet box into my hands. “I found your old digital watch. And Tyler’s Patek Philippe—it’s in here too. Let’s stop fighting, okay? Let’s just go back to how we were.” I stared down at the yellowed, cheap plastic watch resting beside the dazzling diamond timepiece. The water I had just swallowed felt like liquid nitrogen, freezing my throat and stabbing into my lungs. There was no going back. The three years of systematic humiliation, the way she had trampled my remaining pride outside the lounge last night—every single blow was permanently etched into my bones. With a sudden burst of energy, I slapped the velvet box out of her hand, sending it flying across the room. “Are you insane, Cynthia?” I rasped, laughing coldly. “I mailed that piece of garbage back to you the exact day I signed the contract with Naomi Albright. Why on earth are you digging up my trash now?” The room went dead silent. The fragile warmth in Cynthia’s eyes shattered, replaced by a dark, bloodshot rage. She lunged, grabbing my shirt collar and pinning me hard against the mold-stained wall. “You’re playing with me?” she hissed, her voice shaking. “Last night, you were burning up, crying for this watch, begging through your tears… and it was all a goddamn act?” It took me a second to realize that last night hadn’t been a dream after all. But to a dying man, what difference did it make? I curled my lips into a mocking smile. “Of course, Ms. Shaw. I just wanted to see how far I could string along a powerful, ruthless executive like you. Do you see how pathetic you look right now?” We had been entangled for seven years; I knew exactly where to twist the knife to cause the most pain. Cynthia was a proud woman. She could never tolerate being played for a fool. “Shut up!” She lost all control, crashing her mouth against mine in a desperate, punishing kiss. She bit down hard, and the sharp, metallic taste of blood instantly bloomed between us. I had no strength to fight her off, letting the iron-like taste wash over my tongue. When she finally pulled away, her chest was heaving, her eyes wild. “Three years, Jesse. Do you even have a heart left in there?” “I paraded all those boys in front of you. Why didn’t you get jealous? Why didn’t you scream at me?” “Would it kill you to just bend a little? To admit that you still care about me?” “Do you have any idea how happy I was when I heard you crying for that cheap watch last night…” “How dare you lie to me, Jesse!” Her voice cracked on my name, thin and laced with a suffocating, desperate sorrow. Even though I was determined to take my secrets to the grave, my chest throbbed with a dull, heavy ache that left me speechless. In the stifling silence of our standoff, Tyler’s voice suddenly drifted from the hallway. “Cynthia? Are you in there? Why did you change the door code? My wrist hurts… are you mad at me?” The vulnerability in Cynthia’s eyes vanished instantly, locked away behind her familiar wall of ice. “I’m done wasting my time on you,” she said coldly. “Starting today, Tyler is moving into the estate. He’s taking your place.” She let go of my collar and turned toward the door. “You actually gave him the door code…” Before I could finish the sentence, a sudden, hot rush surged from the back of my throat. I coughed violently, and a spray of dark crimson blood splattered across the faded linoleum. Cynthia stopped dead in her tracks. She turned around, her brow furrowing as she stared at me with a cold sneer. “You missed your calling, Jesse. You should have been an actor. Did you actually prepare a fake blood pack? You’ll do anything for money, won’t you? Did you put on this kind of show for Naomi Albright, too?” She thought it was a trick. But I knew the reality: my fragile body couldn’t handle the strain of these emotional storms. That single fit had drained what little life I had left. Clawing my way onto the edge of the mattress, I managed to stand, gripping the bed frame for support. I snatched the velvet box from the floor and hurled it at her. “Get your trash out of here! You and Tyler can both rot! I’m still breathing—don’t you dare ruin my home!” Cynthia let out a dark, mocking laugh. “You think you still have a home? Tomorrow, I’m having Tyler set up right across from your breakfast cart. The more miserable you are, the happier I’ll be!” A blinding wave of fury washed over me, and another deep cough tore a fresh mouthful of blood from my lips. My vision began to dim. “Cynthia… you don’t know the first thing about love. Did you ever bother to look into why I went to the Albrights? Do you honestly believe those loan sharks hounding your father just magically grew a conscience and walked away?!” “You’ve spent years treating me like dirt… Cynthia, you are going to regret this for the rest of your life!” Crimson stained my shirt front, pooling fast. The sneer wiped clean off Cynthia’s face. Panic took hold of her, her body trembling violently as she lunged forward to catch my collapsing frame. Her voice cracked, barely recognizable. “Jesse! Jesse, look at me! Don’t close your eyes, please… I’m taking you to the hospital right now!”
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