Fate's Cruel Edit

Ever since we were kids, I'd always known how to make use of my gentle childhood friend for things like sending him on errands, and borrowing his allowance.

He never complained. Just silently indulged me.

Things continued the same way until the day we got engaged. That's when everything snapped into place. That was the day we both woke up.

I was just a throwaway character in a novel. He was the male lead—fated to fall in love and end up with the novel's heroine.

I was stunned. Ready to walk away.

But he was furious. Jaw clenched, eyes wild. He grabbed my hand and dragged me straight to City Hall.

"Screw the novel. Screw the plot. The only thing I know is that I love you, and I want forever with you."

After we got married, he treated me like I was made of glass. Gentle. Meticulous. We worked side by side, building a reputation as a power couple in the business world.

The events of the novel faded into the background. I fell deeper in love with him.

Three years later, the youngest daughter of a real estate tycoon started her internship at our company.

That day, there was a fire in the office.

In the chaos, the girl stumbled into a shelving unit. It came crashing down, headed straight for my husband.

I didn't hesitate. I threw myself in front of him.

Pain exploded in my skull. Blood poured down my face.

The girl, in her panic, had fallen to the ground, crying out, "Aaron, help me!"

My husband's face went pale. His expression—pure terror—as he ran toward her without a second thought.

"Grace!" he cried.

Lightning split through me.

My face drained of color.

The heroine in the novel—her name was Grace.

Aaron Tanner's panicked shouting echoed in my ears, circling like a relentless wind, and my heart felt like it was being torn apart, piece by piece.

Blood streamed from the wound on my head, but the pain didn't register—I couldn't think about it. My eyes, dazed and heavy, searched for him.

There he was, holding Grace Whitman tightly in his arms, panic written all over his face.

"Is it your leg? Did you hurt it in the fall?" he asked her, voice trembling. "Don't be scared, Grace, just hang on. I'll get you to the hospital right away!"

My breath was growing ragged. The pain was a dull roar inside me, but I forced myself to speak.

"Honey… help me… save me…"

But the man I could almost reach, the one who was supposed to see me, didn't even glance my way.

Instead, he cradled Grace and ran—rushed down the stairs like nothing else mattered.

"Grace is hurt! Call an ambulance!" he shouted.

I watched until his figure disappeared from sight, and in that moment, it felt as if I'd plunged into ice. A sharp, merciless pain stabbed through me.

In the face of danger, my husband had left me behind—the wife who had