Lies, Love, And Letting Go

Caroline's throat constricted as her fingers dug into the edge of the mattress, knuckles whitening from the tremor that ran through her. Her mind spun, knowing the truth would surface sooner or later. Still, she refused to let even a flicker of weakness slip.

A brittle smile curved Caroline's lips—one laced with cool indifference and a faint trace of self-mockery. "It's just a routine check-up," she lied, her voice so faint that it could have vanished into the air. "Haven't you always criticized me for not being able to conceive? Maybe you'd like to confirm whether I'm fit enough to give your precious family an heir."

Vincent's eyes skimmed over her face, dark and unreadable. "I'm not interested in the answer."

Without another word, he crushed the medical report beneath his shoe and strode out as if it meant nothing.

Hazel hurried after him, shoulders slightly hunched, her steps quick and eager. At the doorway, she paused just long enough to cast Caroline a look—pitying, smug, the kind of gaze reserved for someone already declared the loser.

The door clicked shut, the silence that followed ringing in Caroline's ears. She remained perched on the edge of the bed, frozen as though invisible nails held her down.

Her eyes locked onto the wrinkled report on the floor, its edges smeared with his shoeprint. A dizzying darkness clouded her vision, and every breath felt heavier than the last. Of all the wounds Vincent had ever inflicted, his indifference cut the deepest.

…

A week passed with no word from Vincent after he and Hazel flew off on their business trip.

During that time, Caroline refused to sit idle.

The entire city buzzed with preparations for the upcoming annual financial summit—an event that drew the city's top officials and heavyweight investment groups.

As the chief anchor of Ezrocsa Broadcasting Station, Caroline had been tapped to co-host the summit's opening banquet.

Years in the field had honed her poise on stage; even with her health slipping, no one could match her composure when it counted.

Still, her mind was anything but calm. Vincent's absence gnawed at her, and the lack of any word from Keystone Group only made the pressure worse. Jase's warning rang in her ears: if they failed to secure that advertising contract during the summit, the Era Interview program would be shut down without hesitation.

The Era Interview was more than just a show for Caroline. It was the crown jewel of her career, a project she'd fought for half a year to get approved for launch after the New Year. The thought of seeing it collapse now was something she refused to accept.

She desperately wanted to see the program through and leave a mark for herself. She decided not to be stuck on one option. Since Vincent wouldn't support her, she'd set her sights on Vincent's rival, Kendal Seymour, the calculating chairman of the Seymour Group.

The night of the summit arrived in a whirl of glittering lights and political spectacle.

After changing into a sleek gown and perfecting her makeup, Caroline sat in the dressing room, sipping water from a travel mug to steady her nerves.

A quick double knock cut through the quiet. Her assistant leaned in, slightly breathless. "Caroline, ten minutes to showtime."

Caroline rose with quiet resolve, slipped the mic into her hand, and stepped toward the stage.

A burst of light flooded the platform as she walked out, and a wave of applause rolled through the grand hall like a tide rising to meet her.

Caroline let her gaze drift over the crowd, but Vincent's figure anchored her attention. He sat unobtrusively in the back row, yet the moment she scanned the audience, she caught sight of him.

When the stage lights swept across the room, the deep-blue cufflinks at his wrists flashed like shards of cold steel.

A sudden hitch in her breath betrayed her. She hadn't expected him to show up—when had he returned from his business trip?

Her co-host gave a discreet cough, pulling her back from the spiral of thoughts.

Caroline forced her shoulders to square and slipped back into her professional rhythm, launching into her opening lines.

By the third segment, something strange crawled beneath her skin. An uncomfortable heat pooled in her chest, as though a slow flame had been lit inside her.

She clung to her practiced smile, pushing through the rest of the introduction, and then cast a fleeting glance toward her co-host.

Reading her unease instantly, the co-host transitioned seamlessly into the next segment, their delivery so smooth that it might have been planned all along.

Seizing the opening, Caroline slipped toward the wings, though her heels wobbled with every step. Her shoulder brushed the prop wall as she leaned against it, struggling to keep herself upright.

A suffocating heat coiled beneath her skin, dragging her consciousness down like quicksand. Every brush of fabric against her body sent tiny shivers racing through her, so intense that it made her knees weaken.

A cold realization knifed through her fogged mind—she had been drugged! "How… How could this happen…" The whisper barely escaped her clenched throat.

Her nails bit into her palm, desperate to anchor herself in pain, but the effort was useless.

Her breathing turned ragged, and the foreign heat spreading through her lower abdomen filled her with dread.

She stumbled toward the restroom, clutching at the wall for balance, praying no one would see her like this. One glance from a spectator and everything she'd worked for would go up in flames.

From the audience, Vincent caught her abrupt retreat. His brows drew together in a sharp line as he rose from his seat and strode toward the backstage corridor.