"Ms. Lancaster, you have leukemia..."

Vivian Lancaster sat there in a daze, mind blanking out like someone had stuffed her chest full of cotton. She could barely breathe, let alone process the words.

Beep.

Her phone buzzed beside her. A message from her best friend, Natalie Morrison.

"OMG, Vivian, what the hell is your husband doing?!"

Right after that came a photo. In it, her husband, Marcus Ashford, was holding a woman with soft curls in a tight embrace.

Looked like a banquet somewhere. The woman’s pale, elegant arm hooked around Marcus’s neck, and his hand rested naturally on her slim waist. Their eyes met, full of tangled warmth, their posture intimate—way too intimate.

Even from a side angle, Vivian still caught that trace of tenderness in Marcus’s eyes.

That was the look he only ever had for Serena Caldwell, the woman he loved but never truly had.

Vivian’s heart dropped straight to the bottom.

No… something was off.

Serena and her husband were doing great. She had just given birth to their second child and should still be resting at home. How could she possibly be out at some banquet?

Vivian hurriedly zoomed in on the picture. Only then did she realize the woman wasn’t Serena, just someone who looked strikingly like her.

She froze for a long moment, then slid her fingertip across the screen until only Marcus’s enlarged profile remained. Staring at his sharp, handsome features, she suddenly heard their conversation from two years ago echoing in her mind:

"Marcus, neither of us is available emotionally. Our families keep pushing us to get married. Why don’t we just get a license and help each other out? After the wedding, we don’t interfere with each other. Deal?"

"Sure. It’s a business alliance. Win-win."

And just like that, the beloved daughter of the Lancaster Clan married Marcus Ashford, the third young master of the Ashford family.

Vivian pressed a hand to her chest. Her heart felt like it was twitching painfully, each throb heavier than the last.

They had agreed to get married only to dodge their parents’ nagging, to be each other’s shield, to keep their lives separate. So why… why did seeing him holding another woman make her chest ache like someone was squeezing it?

Tears slid down her cheeks. She reached up, fingertips brushing the wetness, and froze.

From the moment she learned she had a terminal illness that morning until night finally settled in, Vivian Lancaster had wanted to cry but couldn’t. Yet now, seeing Marcus Ashford holding another woman in his arms, her tears suddenly broke free.

That tangled mess of emotions buried in her chest snapped wide open, and hot tears streamed down uncontrollably.

She was dying.

And he’d already found someone better.

Vivian dragged a pillow into her arms and clutched it tight, sobbing until her voice went raw. Everything she’d held back during the day crashed out all at once. Her phone kept buzzing nonstop in her palm as messages from Natalie Morrison popped up one after another, but she didn’t even spare them a glance. She cried until her strength drained away, then finally fell into a deep sleep.

A little past nine, someone knocked on her door again, but she didn’t hear a thing.

A few seconds later, the door pushed open. A tall figure stepped inside. He didn’t turn on the lights, just headed straight toward the bed with a clear purpose. Sitting down at the edge, he placed his hand on Vivian’s forehead.

Moments later, a faint exhale of relief slipped out of him. In the dim room, he lowered his gaze to the sleeping woman before him, something dark and unreadable pooling in his eyes. His hand slowly moved down, about to brush against her small face—

“Di-di.”

The phone beside her pillow chimed, its screen lighting up.

He instinctively lifted his eyes, reading the displayed message—

Natalie: “Vivian, you don’t even have feelings for Marcus Ashford. Don’t keep dragging things out just because of that old agreement…”

The rest was cut off.

His whole body jolted faintly. His hand recoiled bit by bit, fingers curling inward until they formed a tight fist. His gaze on her grew even darker before he finally turned around and left the room.