The day I learned I was terminally ill with stomach cancer, Kieran was in Paris attending a ballet with his old flame, Nadia. Three years ago, he promised me with a ring, “We’ll face everything together.” Now, he’s oblivious to the fact that I’ll be gone in three months. Or maybe he’s not so unaware. Just last night, he broke into my lab, stole the core data for the anti-cancer drug, and called Nadia with glee: “We’ll own all the patents soon.” “And then, I’ll ensure she’s out of the picture.” At the Charity Gala, I confronted Nadia and demanded the data back. Kieran tightened his grip on my chin and warned, “Don’t push me.” After I fainted, I called my lawyer: “I want to amend my will—all my assets, donate to the Cancer Center.” And I sent the FBI the surveillance footage: him stealing sensitive data and poisoning me. If I can’t survive, I’ll make sure these two scoundrels pay for it behind bars. The word “terminal” on the diagnosis hit me like a dagger to the heart. The doctor’s words faded into a blur, leaving only “three months” clearly imprinted in my mind. I wiped the blood from my mouth mechanically. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Kieran: “There’s an international conference tonight, don’t wait up.” His assistant’s text followed: “Mr. Kieran has arrived at the Paris Opera House with Miss Nadia.” In the photo, he was gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. The scent of Edelweiss Perfume suddenly filled the air. I turned sharply to see his black suit jacket casually draped over the sofa. It still carried that faint scent—the exclusive perfume, with only a hundred bottles in existence. How absurd. For our anniversary last month, he gifted me a sample of the very same perfume. He said, “You rarely use perfume, try this sample.” In retrospect, it feels like a mockery. Is this how he dismisses me? A sharp pain twisted in my stomach. I staggered to the bathroom, vomiting blood mixed with bile. When I looked up, my reflection was ghastly pale, with blood still lingering at the corners of my mouth. Apollo was crouched at the door, his amber eyes silently watching me. He was a birthday gift from Kieran last year, meant to keep me company when he was away. Now I realize, it was just to make his absences more convenient. I petted the scar behind its ear—a mark from protecting its previous owner in an accident. Even a dog knows loyalty, what about people? The phone buzzed again. It was an encrypted file from the private investigator. After decompressing it, a surveillance video appeared. Late last night, Kieran broke into my lab, used my access to log into the system, and copied the core data of the anti-cancer drug onto a USB drive. The video froze on him saying into the phone: “Nadia, we’ll soon have all the patents.” “And then, I’ll ensure she’s out of the picture.” A flash of lightning outside illuminated our wedding photo on the bedside table. Once, he knelt and told me, “Meeting you was the luckiest thing in my life.” Thunder roared, I wiped the mirror clean of blood splatters, and suddenly I laughed. “Alright,” I whispered to the void, “let’s see who falls in the end.”
Apollo’s claws scratched the floor noisily as I followed him into the study, discovering the safe door ajar. The microchip backup card, supposed to be locked inside, lay on the ground with a blurred fingerprint on its edge. I inserted it into the computer with trembling hands. The system immediately flashed a red warning: [Microchip data anomaly, last modified: yesterday 23:47]. He was supposed to be on a flight to Paris then. A metallic taste churned in my stomach, and I forced it down. A new email notification suddenly popped up, a compressed package from the private investigator. After unpacking, the photos showed him with Nadia in the corridor of a private hospital. The date was the same afternoon I first fainted from stomach pain. The electronic screen in the photo corner showed a 14:30 timestamp, piercing my eyes. That day he claimed to be in a board meeting, yet he appeared at a private hospital fifteen kilometers away. Apollo suddenly perked up his ears, growling towards downstairs. The garage engine roared to life, earlier than expected by two whole days. I quickly deleted the records, just as the study door opened. “Why is it dark in here?” His voice was cold. The scent of Edelweiss Perfume grew stronger as he approached. I pretended to tidy the desk, avoiding his reaching hand: “Project finished early?” “Yeah.” He loosened his tie, a red mark faintly visible on his neck. “You don’t look well.” My nails dug into my palm as I suddenly burst into laughter: “Maybe it’s the stomach acting up again.” His gaze swept over the computer, lingering on my tightly gripped right hand: “How’s the lab lately?” “Same as always.” I turned to the medicine cabinet, swallowing two stomach pills with my back to him. “The phase three clinical data of the new drug looks promising.” The air hung still for a few seconds. Apollo nestled at my feet, his tail brushing my ankle. “There’s a charity gala tomorrow,” he suddenly said, “you don’t have to go if you’re not feeling well.” My grip on the medicine bottle tightened. The detective had just informed me this morning that Nadia would be attending the gala as a special guest. “Alright.” I heard myself agree obediently. He visibly relaxed, bending down to pat Apollo, who evaded him. The dog bared its teeth, a low growl rumbling in its throat. “What’s wrong with this beast lately?” He frowned. “Maybe it’s in heat.” I crouched down, hugging Apollo, and discreetly slipped the microchip card into the collar’s pocket. “I’m taking it to the vet clinic tomorrow.” As he turned towards the bathroom, I caught a glimpse of the USB drive peeking from his suit’s inner pocket—it was the encryption model from my lab. The bathroom’s glass door reflected his blurred figure. I gently stroked Apollo’s ears: “Tomorrow, we’ll buy a dress.” The dog looked up at me, its wet nose nudging my palm.
The next day, the Charity Gala.
I stood in the corner of the banquet hall, watching Nadia enter on his arm.
Her snow-white gown swept the carpet, the “Starry” brooch on her chest gleaming under the lights—an item I had personally designed, which he claimed was for an important client.
Apollo suddenly stirred in the bag; I gently pressed it down.
“Hold on,” I sipped the red wine, “the show is just starting.”
As they approached, I clearly saw his pupils contract in an instant.
“Eloise?”
He released Nadia’s arm.
“I thought you weren’t coming.”
I waved the invitation: “Mr. Johnson sent it personally.”
I turned to the woman beside him: “And you are?”
Nadia extended her hand first: “Nadia, I’ve heard about you, Mrs. Kieran.”
“Mr. Kieran often mentions you.”
I stared at the initials engraved inside her brooch—our names’ initials.
The red wine swirled in the glass, and I suddenly raised my hand, splashing the entire glass onto her face.
The dark red liquid dripped down her exquisite makeup, dimming the sapphire on the brooch.
The room fell silent, all eyes on us.
“Are you out of your mind?”
He gripped my wrist.
I shook off his hand and pulled out the photos from my clutch, tossing them onto the champagne tower.
The surveillance screenshots showed them kissing in my lab, with him holding the encrypted USB drive.
“Your data-stealing skills,” I whispered in Nadia’s ear, “are far worse than your man-stealing tactics.”
She staggered back, knocking over the champagne tower. Amidst the shattering glass, I turned to leave.
He shouted my name angrily behind me, but I didn’t look back.
Apollo emerged from the bag, holding my coat at the door.
As I got into the car, my phone buzzed with a message from the lawyer: [The funds have been traced; all $38 million Mr. Kieran transferred went into Nadia’s overseas account.]
I drove straight to the suburban laboratory.
As I unlocked it with my fingerprint, the system suddenly alerted: [Warning! Core data has been copied].
The surveillance footage showed that last night he brought Nadia here, using my access to copy all research files.
The screen’s blue light reflected my pale face.
I pulled up the hidden folder, activating the blockchain backup program.
The system prompted: [Scheduled release program activated, auto-upload in 72 hours].
Apollo suddenly barked loudly.
Footsteps approached the back door; I quickly pulled out the USB drive and slipped it into his collar.
“So you are here.”
He pushed the door open, his suit stained with wine from the gala.
“Hand over the original data.”
I leaned against the console, smiling: “What, stealing the backup wasn’t enough?”
He grabbed my chin: “Don’t push me.”
Sharp pain stabbed my stomach as I struggled to open the phone.
The screen displayed the live gala surveillance—Detective questioning Nadia, the brooch on her chest taken as evidence.
“Do you know what’s hidden in the brooch?”
I coughed up blood.
“The data you stole is fake; the real research is hidden in the gem’s clasp.”
His face turned ashen instantly.
The sirens wailed from afar, drawing near. I wiped the blood from my mouth: “Now, she’s accused of stealing sensitive information.”
Apollo charged towards the door.
When Detective burst in, I collapsed softly, my last consciousness hearing him roar: “Eloise! You set me up!”
Before darkness fell, I patted Apollo’s head.
The USB drive in the collar was warm and steady against its skin.
I opened my eyes to find myself in a hospital, receiving an IV.
The sky outside had darkened.
“You only stole fake data. The real research results have been safely hidden away for a long time.”
His face went ashen.
Outside, the sirens grew louder. I wiped the blood from my mouth.
“Now, she’s under suspicion for stealing national secrets.”
Apollo suddenly sprang toward the door.
The Detective burst in just as I collapsed, my last conscious thought catching his angry shout:
“Eloise! You set me up!”
Before blacking out, I reached out to touch Apollo’s head.
The USB drive in his collar was warm and secure against his skin.
I opened my eyes to find myself in a hospital, hooked up to an IV.
It was dark outside.
Apollo leaped off the chair, his wet nose nudging my fingers.
I tried to move, but a sharp pain shot through my stomach.
“Stay still.”
Dr. Beckett held my shoulder.
“The gastric hemorrhage was severe. If you had arrived half an hour later, it would have been critical.”
I opened my mouth, but my throat was too dry to make a sound.
Dr. Beckett sighed and handed me a smartphone:
“While you were unconscious, he kept holding this at the emergency room door.”
The screen showed unread messages:
[Nadia taken by FBI for investigation]
[Wen Corporation suspected of industrial espionage, stock plummets].
At the bottom was a notification that the encrypted file transfer was complete—the data from the USB drive in Apollo’s collar had automatically uploaded to cloud storage.
The hospital room door suddenly opened.
Kieran stood there, his suit wrinkled and eyes bloodshot.
“You planned this all along.”
His voice was frightfully hoarse.
“When did it start?”
I gestured for Dr. Beckett to leave and slowly sat up.
“From the first time you logged into her email on my computer.”
His pupils contracted sharply.
Three months ago, late at night, I caught him secretly checking my research emails on cancer drugs and forwarding them to an unknown account.
Back then, I naively thought he was just worried about my health.
“That data was fake.”
I coughed, the metallic taste of blood spreading in my mouth.
“I had already secured a military patent for the real formula.”
His smartphone suddenly rang.
After he answered, the lawyer’s panicked voice came through clearly in the quiet room:
“Mr. Johnson, Swiss Bank just froze all your overseas accounts!”
I watched him stagger back against the wall, my mind flashing back to the day he proposed.
He was so nervous he knocked over the coffee, yet he stubbornly knelt on one knee among the shards, asking me to marry him.
“Why?”
He clenched his fists.
“Just because I fell in love with someone else?”
“No.”
I pulled out the needle, blood droplets rolling from the pinhole.
“Because the cancer drug formula you stole was meant to save my dad’s life.”
His face went ashen.
Five years ago, my dad’s stomach cancer surgery failed due to the lack of a crucial drug.
I never told anyone about this secret.
Apollo suddenly barked wildly at the door.
Two officers walked in, flashing an arrest warrant.
“Mr. Johnson, you’re under investigation for industrial espionage and attempted murder.”
As he was taken away, he looked back at me with an expression that was a mix of emotions, impossible to decipher.
I lifted my smartphone to show him the last photo—
Me, unconscious on the hospital bed, with a hint of blue sediment in the IV tube.
“Remember that glass of water you gave me last night?”
I said softly.
“What a coincidence, the lab surveillance captured it perfectly.”
The sunset outside was as red as blood. I petted Apollo’s head, watching the police cars speed away.
The smartphone vibrated, and a new message popped up:
[Mrs. Wen, the ultrasound shows you’re 8 weeks pregnant].
I stared at the blurry little dot in the ultrasound photo, suddenly laughing through tears.
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