She wakes beneath the fluorescent lights, broken but alive. Machines hum beside her, but the real wound isn’t her fractured body—it’s her fiancé’s calm confession.

They broke up weeks ago, he says. He only came out of duty. And he’s already moved on—with his boss’s daughter.

The doctor believes him. The nurses pity her. His best friend nods along, though she catches the hesitation in his eyes—the silent bargain in his glance.

Orphaned and alone, she cannot outshout their voices. So she doesn’t. She smiles. She thanks them. She pretends her mind is fogged.

But at night, when silence sharpens her loneliness into a blade, she begins to plan.

Her revenge will not only cut, but carve: to peel back her fiancé’s lies until his glittering new love sees the truth beneath his ambition, to bend the best friend’s loyalty, and to turn pity into power.

Revenge isn’t always cold. Sometimes it’s seductive. And soon, she’ll be the one holding the knife.

The hotel was the kind of place most people photographed just to prove they'd stayed there. The lobby floors were polished to a mirror shine, the kind of marble that seemed to glow from within. Gold-trimmed light fixtures hung overhead like falling stars, scattering a warm shimmer across the space. Even the air carried a quiet, curated luxury, a faint mix of cedar, bergamot, and something expensive he couldn't name. His suite occupied one of the private floors, the type only accessible with a VIP-coded keycard and discreet nods from security who recognized him without needing confirmation. Thick carpet softened every step, swallowing sound until the world felt muted. Floor-to-ceiling windows framed a panoramic cityscape that glittered each night, as if offering him something to look at besides his own unraveling.


Chapter 97 - Chapter Ninety-Five — The Only Goodbye He Could Give