# At the company’s annual gala, Luke Thatcher’s young assistant suddenly got down on one knee and proposed to him. A slideshow lit up the big screen, showing photos of the two of them skiing, watching the sunrise, and bungee jumping together. The crowd erupted in cheers: “Say yes! Say yes!” The camera panned to Luke, his brows furrowed, face clouded with a dark expression. I sat beside him, blending in with the crowd as I joined in their chant: “Say yes, honey.” As soon as the words left my mouth, Luke’s already tense expression darkened even further. But with the camera trained on him, he had no choice but to rise from his seat. As he leaned toward me, his voice was low and venomous: “Emma, don’t even think about divorce.” Then, straightening his suit, he ascended the stage. Luke’s assistant, Maddie, lit up the moment she saw him approach. This proposal wasn’t spontaneous—it was carefully planned. I’d known about it for a while. For a moment, I thought this girl might actually matter to Luke, that she might hold some weight in his heart. But yet again, he proved me wrong. Luke reached for the ring box in Maddie’s trembling hands, his expression unreadable. He glanced over his shoulder at the slideshow on the screen—images of them together, warm and idyllic. With a subtle gesture, the screen went black. Maddie’s eyes filled with tears as she gazed at him, hope shining in her expression. “Luke, will you marry me?” Luke let out a soft chuckle, but his words were cutting, devoid of warmth. “Maddie, you shouldn’t have done this.” “I’ve told you before, there’s no future for us.” Maddie’s gaze snapped toward me, panic flashing in her eyes. Luke shifted slightly, blocking her view. Tears streamed down Maddie’s face as she began to sob uncontrollably. Luke gently pulled her into an embrace, whispering something in her ear that made her stop crying and break into a soft, nervous laugh. She playfully hit him on the chest, and he led her off the stage. The gala continued, but the proposal-turned-drama had already become the night’s hot topic. I could hear whispers behind me: “Why didn’t Luke accept? They seemed perfect together.” “I thought she was going to secure her place tonight. Still, gotta hand it to her—takes guts to propose in front of everyone.” “Maybe he’s already married? I heard from some of the old staff that he used to wear a wedding ring.” The speculation grew louder until someone tapped the back of my chair. “Emma, you’ve been with the company for years. You must know Luke better than anyone, right?” I forced a faint smile, one that didn’t quite reach my eyes. “I don’t know him at all.” 2 Once, I thought I did. But that was before I stumbled upon the photos Luke kept hidden in his study—pictures of his late sister. That’s when I realized the truth: I wasn’t special to him. I was just a convenient stand-in, a face that reminded him of someone he’d lost. We had fought bitterly that night. Overcome with anger and heartbreak, I’d grabbed a knife and threatened to scar my own face. Luke’s response was chillingly calm. “If you’re not afraid of the pain, go ahead. I can always pay to have it fixed.” He knew me too well. He knew I feared pain more than anything. Even now, the memory of that knife slicing into my thigh years ago—of the kidnappers taking their time, carving inch by inch—still haunted me. It was a pain I could never forget, one that lingered even now. Ignoring the curious glances from the younger women behind me, I grabbed my bag and quietly slipped out of the hall. As I turned a corner, faint sounds of heavy breathing reached my ears. Embarrassed, I hesitated, debating whether to take another route. That’s when I heard his voice—the voice I knew so well. “Who told you to pull a stunt like that tonight?” Luke’s tone was ice-cold, almost cruel. Maddie’s shaky reply came next, her voice trembling with fear. “I just… I just wanted an answer. Mrs. Thatcher said she’d step aside for me.” Luke let out a sharp, mocking laugh. Gripping Maddie’s chin, he tilted her face up, studying her with a detached gaze. “I’ve warned you before—there’s no outcome here where you win.” “You shouldn’t have been so greedy.” Maddie shrank under his scrutiny, her voice barely a whisper. “I thought… I thought Mrs. Thatcher was the one refusing to divorce you. I just wanted to try convincing her…” “I didn’t expect her to agree so easily.” Luke’s laugh was sharp and biting. “Do you know why she’s Mrs. Thatcher?” he asked, his tone dripping with disdain. “It’s because she knows how to be generous.” Maddie blinked, confused, clearly not understanding. Luke had no patience for her anymore. Turning on his heel, he started to walk away—only to stop abruptly when his eyes locked with mine. I hadn’t had time to hide. He closed the distance between us in a few quick strides, stopping just in front of me. “Emma,” he said, his voice low and steady. “Enjoyed the show tonight?” “Leaving already? Couldn’t wait to make your exit?” I nodded blankly and replied, “Mr. Thatcher.” At work, Luke Thatcher and I always addressed each other this way, strictly professional. So, despite being married for years, no one ever associated the two of us as a couple. Maddie, standing nearby, glanced at me with her usual pitiful expression. She tugged at Luke’s sleeve and said softly, “If you won’t say yes to my proposal, can you at least wear the ring?” “I spent so long picking it out.” Luke took the ring box from her hand, opened it, and inspected the contents. “It’s beautiful,” he said flatly. Then, turning his head slightly, he asked, “Wouldn’t you agree, Ms. Miller?” I cursed silently under my breath, wanting nothing more than to leave. Luke took the ring from the box and, with a flick of his wrist, tossed it into a nearby trash can. The ring clattered as it landed. His move was identical to what I’d done years ago. Maddie’s already pale face turned ghostly white. Her lips trembled, and tears welled up in her eyes as she began to shake. “The ring will be reimbursed,” Luke said coldly. “And starting tomorrow, you don’t need to come to work anymore.” With that, he turned and walked away, leaving Maddie standing there, frozen in shock. 4 As I turned to leave, Maddie suddenly grabbed my arm. The pitiful, teary-eyed act was gone. Now, her face was filled with anger and resentment. “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?” she hissed. “You knew he’d never divorce you, but you still let me humiliate myself by proposing.” “Now he’s fired me. That was your plan all along, wasn’t it?” I pried her hand off my arm and said calmly, “I would’ve been thrilled if your proposal had worked. At least then, I’d finally be free.” By the time I stepped outside, rain had started to fall. I hadn’t brought an umbrella. The cold wind carried the rain against my bare legs, sending chills through me even though I had a coat on. I pulled out my phone to call for a ride but stopped when a message popped up. [At the corner.] I looked toward the nearby intersection and, sure enough, Luke’s car was parked there. Pulling my coat tighter, I began walking toward the car. In the early days of our marriage, Luke’s car would always be waiting for me at the corner. Back then, I would walk this short distance with a heart full of joy. Now, the same walk felt like marching toward my own doom. As soon as I opened the car door, a hand shot out and yanked me inside. Caught off guard, I stumbled straight into Luke’s chest. Before I could even steady myself, that same hand wrapped around my neck—not tight enough to hurt, but enough to make me feel trapped. Luke’s voice was low, cold, and sharp. “Mrs. Thatcher, don’t try pulling stunts like Maddie did.” “With that face of yours, no one can threaten your position.” I let out a bitter laugh, my voice full of disdain. “You think I care about this position?” Once upon a time, maybe I did. After all, who wouldn’t want to marry the person they loved? But now, being Mrs. Thatcher felt nothing short of humiliating. My words seemed to ignite something in Luke. He shoved me against the car window, leaning in so close that his breath brushed against my ear. “You don’t care? So you’d just give it to someone else?” “Don’t even think about it. Stop trying to push other women my way.” He reached into the glove compartment and pulled out a small box. Opening it, he revealed a ring—a perfect replica of the one I’d thrown away years ago. Without hesitation, Luke grabbed my hand and tried to slide the ring onto my finger. I yanked my hand back, kicking and punching in protest. But the difference in strength was undeniable. In the end, the ring went on. “If you take it off, I’ll just put it back on. Unless you plan to cut off your hand, don’t bother.” Hearing that, I stopped struggling. I leaned back against the farthest corner of the seat, as far away from Luke as I could get, and stared out the window at the passing city lights. “Your parents called,” Luke said after a moment of silence. His voice was calm, almost casual. “They’re spending the New Year in the mountains with your sister. I’ll go with them. You don’t need to come.” I didn’t react. “Okay,” I replied flatly. Spending the holiday alone sounded fine to me. At least it would be better than sitting with a family drowning in sadness. 5 Years ago, my sister and I were kidnapped. The kidnappers filmed a video of them cutting into my thigh with a knife, using it to threaten our family. My sister fought back to protect me, but she was stabbed in the stomach. We were deep in the mountains, far from any medical help. She didn’t survive. By the time the police found us, I was too scared to react, frozen in shock. All I remember is seeing them carry her body away, covered by a white sheet. For a long time, I had nightmares every night. And when I woke up, I’d always ask myself: If I hadn’t cried or screamed when the kidnappers cut me—if I had stayed quiet and obedient—would she still be alive? But no one could give me an answer. All I heard were whispers, harsh words from those around me: “It’s her fault. Her sister died because of her.” I stayed in the hospital for months before I could finally regain some sense of myself. My parents only visited me a handful of times. They said looking at my face reminded them of my sister and made their grief worse. The day I was discharged, it wasn’t my parents who came to pick me up. It was Luke Thatcher. I didn’t know who he was or where he had come from, but he treated me with kindness. After being rejected by my parents, I couldn’t resist his warmth. I clung to him like a drowning person grabbing onto a lifeline, desperate to escape the water. But I didn’t realize I was stepping into an even deeper abyss. 6 When my parents called, Luke was packing his suitcase. I answered the phone and was met with a brief silence before my father’s voice came through. “Emma, we’re heading to the mountains this year to spend New Year’s with your sister. Is there anything you’d like us to tell her?” It felt like someone had wrapped their hands around my throat. It took me a long time to find my voice again. “No. I’ve already said what I needed to say at her grave.” “Alright.” The call ended, and I stared at the darkened screen, lost in thought. My parents always went back to the mountain where the kidnapping happened whenever they missed her. They said that when someone dies, their soul lingers where they took their last breath. I’d gone with them once. But as soon as we reached the base of the mountain, my body started shaking uncontrollably. I didn’t even make it halfway up before I passed out. Before leaving, Luke gave me one last instruction: “Hire a new assistant. Make sure it’s a man this time.” “And stop trying to pull those little schemes of yours.” I listened to the sound of his car engine fading into the distance. Then I went upstairs, changed my clothes, and left the house. By the time I reached the cemetery, it was already getting dark. But I still knew my way to her gravestone, as if I’d walked this path a thousand times before. “Sis, they’ve all gone to the mountain to be with you. I came here instead.” “If it had been you who survived that day, would everything have turned out better?” “I’m sorry I used to tell you how amazing Luke was to me. It probably made you angry, didn’t it? You must’ve thought I stole the happiness that should’ve been yours.” I spoke softly, the words tumbling out without thought, carried by the cold night air. Snow began to fall—this year’s first snow. I stood up and caught a snowflake in my palm, watching it melt against my skin. After saying my goodbyes, I turned and began walking toward the exit. Maybe I was too lost in my thoughts, but I didn’t notice the figure standing in my path until I was almost upon it. The shadow made my heart race. I wasn’t afraid while standing by my sister’s grave, but now, for some reason, fear crept in. My throat felt dry as I stammered, “W-Who’s there? Are you… human or… something else?” The figure turned around, their pale face illuminated by the faint moonlight. I stumbled back in panic, letting out a sharp scream. “A ghost!” But instead of vanishing, the “ghost” stepped closer, stopping right in front of me. “So, this cemetery only allows one living person at a time, huh?” he said, his breath visible in the cold air. I glanced around at the rows of dark gravestones, suddenly hyper-aware of how isolated we were. But the sight of his breath calmed me slightly. Warm air. He had to be human, right? Reassured, my courage returned, and I decided to walk with him the rest of the way out. Neither of us spoke, as if by some unspoken agreement. When we reached the gate, we went our separate ways. By the time I got home, it was already 10 p.m. I pulled out my phone and saw several missed calls from Luke. I’d put my phone on silent before heading to the cemetery, so I hadn’t heard them. As I debated whether to call him back, my phone lit up with another incoming call—from him. This time, I answered. “Why didn’t you pick up earlier?” His voice was sharp. “I went to the cemetery to visit my sister.” There was a long silence on the other end. Finally, he spoke, his tone colder than before. “Why didn’t you wait for me? We could’ve gone together.” “She wouldn’t have wanted to see us there together,” I replied flatly. “And I didn’t want to go with you either.” 7 Luke Thatcher fell silent again. In the end, he simply said, “Get some rest,” and hung up. By now, I’d become an expert at keeping our conversations short. I spent the New Year alone at home. The house was cold and quiet. Outside, lanterns lit up the streets, and everyone wore bright smiles, immersed in the festive atmosphere. As I walked through the lively crowds, I couldn’t help but feel like an outsider—a shadow moving through the light. Eventually, I found a quiet little park and sat down on an empty bench, trying to figure out what to do next. Luke didn’t want me hiring a female assistant. A male assistant wouldn’t make him any more inclined to divorce me either. Over the years, I had tried everything—staging chance encounters, hiring women who resembled my sister, even replacing his secretaries with women. But none of it worked. This time, I thought Maddie might be different. She’d managed to stick around him for six months. I thought I’d finally found a crack in his armor, a sliver of hope. But that, too, had failed. I let out a deep, defeated sigh. How much longer could I endure this never-ending cycle of torment? 8 I hadn’t even started looking for a new assistant when bad news came first. Luke ended up in the hospital. By the time I arrived, my parents were already sitting outside the hospital room. I froze mid-step, instinctively turning toward the nurses’ station. I asked them for a face mask and put it on before heading back. I knew my parents didn’t want to see me. I rarely visited them unless absolutely necessary, and they never asked me to. Standing outside the emergency room, I saw that Luke’s operation wasn’t over yet. When my parents noticed me, their initial expressions were filled with emotion, but the moment they saw the mask on my face, their excitement faded into indifference. “Luke fell while trying to pick your sister’s favorite flowers,” my mom said. “When he gets through this, stay by his side more often. At least you can be some sort of comfort to him.” I stood there in stunned silence, watching her lips move. But after that first sentence, I couldn’t hear another word she said. The doors to the emergency room finally opened. “The patient is out of danger. Are his family members here?” Before I could react, my mom pushed me forward. I found myself standing at the foot of Luke’s bed, staring at his pale, unconscious face. And in that moment, a dark, horrifying thought flashed through my mind: Why didn’t he die?
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