He Left Me in Ruins, I Rose as Queen

Although she was planning to remove her tattoo, Minerva didn't want to complicate things. Thus, she lied.

"No idea. Probably just a marketing ad," she said casually.

Frederick didn't buy it. Her tone was too light, too dismissive. He knew she was hiding something.

He wanted to press further, but a nurse knocked on the door to remind them about his scheduled scan at this moment.

Wordlessly, Minerva brought over the wheelchair and pushed him to the radiology department.

After the results came back clear, Frederick was discharged that afternoon.

Once they got home, Minerva pulled out her suitcase and began packing. She stayed up until nearly 2:00 am sorting through her things before finally calling it a night.

The next day, she slept in. Around noon, she was jolted awake by a persistent knock on her bedroom door. She rubbed her eyes and opened the door to find Frederick leaning casually against the frame.

"You're still in bed? Lunch is already on the table."

"You and your parents go ahead. I'm skipping this one. I've got errands later."

At her words, something unreadable flickered in Frederick's eyes. When he spoke again, his tone left no room for argument.

"They left early this morning and won't be back for two days. Before they left, they asked me to take care of you. I don't care what your plans are. Right now, you're coming downstairs for lunch."

Minerva didn't want to waste energy arguing over something so trivial. She nodded and reached to close the door to change.

But Frederick raised his hand, pressing it against the doorframe to keep her from shutting the door. His expression darkened. "Why is your room so empty? Where's all the stuff I gave you? The photos?"

She paused for a second, then quickly composed herself. "I'm just staying here for a short while. I never really moved in."

Frederick stared at her for a long moment, then glanced around the room.

All her belongings remained—daily necessities, the trophies she had earned over the years, and the framed portraits of her late parents.

Her excuse didn't quite add up. He looked like he was about to step inside when his phone rang.

Glancing at the caller ID, he muttered, "Be down soon."

Then, he turned and walked away.

Minerva let out a slow breath of relief and zipped her suitcase shut. After getting dressed and cleaned up, she made her way downstairs.

Laughter and casual conversation floated in from the dining room.

The moment she entered, she paused.

Yolanda was sitting on Frederick's lap, cheerfully feeding him ravioli.

"What's she doing here?" Minerva asked.

Frederick lifted a brow. "This is my house. I'll bring my girlfriend over for lunch if I want to. Any problems with that?"

"None," Minerva replied, shifting her gaze away. She sat down and picked up her breakfast.

With Frederick backing her up, Yolanda became even more smug. She faked a pout and teased, "Frederick, you and Ms. Sowle seem close. Does she stop by every day for a visit?"

Frederick chuckled and planted a kiss on Yolanda's forehead. His eyes flicked toward Minerva as he said, "Jealous? Don't be. She's just a neighbor staying over for a couple of days."

Just then, the housekeeper, Sharon Lowe, entered with a bottle of milk. Knowing Minerva was about to transfer her residency there, she froze at what she heard. "But isn't Ms. Sowle about to—"

"Sharon, could you switch my milk out for some oat milk instead?"

Minerva quickly cut Sharon off mid-sentence. As she turned around, she caught Frederick watching her closely, his gaze sharp and probing.

"What's about to happen?"

She replied casually, "Nothing important. I'll be gone by then."

Frederick assumed she meant moving back to her place and didn't press further.

Yolanda casually picked up the glass of milk, lifting it to Frederick's lips as if to feed him. But he simply tapped her lips, his tone lazy and teasing. "Use this."

A flush crept up Yolanda's cheeks. She mumbled something half-heartedly about how annoying he was, then took a sip of milk and kissed him with it still on her lips.

The slick, intimate sounds coming from the dining room turned Minerva's stomach and killed her appetite entirely.

She put down her utensils, grabbed her bag, and walked out the door.

…

When she arrived at the tattoo parlor, she lay down without saying a word.

The name that had taken two painstaking hours to ink into her skin was erased in less than 30 minutes.

By the time it was over, Minerva was drenched in sweat, her face as pale as a ghost. She sat in the waiting area for a long time, her hands trembling slightly as she tried to gather her strength before heading back.

The house was quiet when she returned, and for a second, she assumed the two of them had already left.

But as she reached the second floor and neared her bedroom, a strange rustling sound made her stop in her tracks.

The moment she pushed the door open, her heart dropped.

The room was a disaster—clothes, decor, and makeup products were scattered all over the floor. Her dresser drawers were open, her wardrobe torn through, and everything lay in an abandoned heap.

Right in front of the ransacked closet stood Yolanda, who turned with an unbothered smile on her face.

"You're back? Frederick tore my dress earlier, so he told me to grab something from your room. I couldn't find anything that fit, and well... I guess I made a bit of a mess. Sorry about that."