My Fiancé Planned 33 Accidents

"Mr. George, I want to cancel the engagement." Sylvia stood in the living room with her back straight and her voice steady.

Victor's father, George Rothwell, froze. "Why so suddenly? Isn't the wedding about to take place?"

She lowered her gaze to hide the bitterness in her eyes. "Vic and I aren't in love. There's no point wasting each other's time. My mother will be released soon. I want to take her away and spend time with her properly."

Her resolve left no room for argument.

George nodded at last. "Alright. I'll arrange the tickets. Once your mother is out in half a month, you can leave—"

"Who's leaving?" Before he could finish, a voice cut in from behind them.

Sylvia stiffened and answered before George could speak, "No one. Why are you back?"

Victor did not pursue it. "I heard you came home. I'm here to pick you up."

Later, George asked them to stay for dinner.

At the table, Victor slipped back into familiar habits. He placed food in front of her with quiet precision. He never erred in small gestures like these, picking her up, serving her meals, attending to details.

That was why she had once believed he truly cared.

Halfway through the meal, Victor brought up the wedding. "Dad, the ceremony will proceed as planned in half a month. Remember to notify the guests."

George paused and looked from one to the other. "Didn't Via tell you? She wants to cancel the engagement."

A ringing phone drowned out his words.

Victor answered it.

Sylvia sat beside him and heard every word clearly. "Dr. Rothwell, Rach has a fever and refuses to leave work. Please come talk to her."

His grip tightened on the phone, urgency seeping into his voice. "Stay with her. I'll be there immediately."

The call ended.

Victor turned back. "Dad, what were you saying just now?"

Before George could reply, Victor continued, "We'll talk later. Something urgent came up. I have to go."

For the first time, he dispensed with all courtesy. The chair screeched as he stood, then he strode straight to the door.

Sylvia watched his retreating figure. It felt as though an invisible hand had closed around her heart, tightening until a dull ache spread through her chest.

After leaving the Rothwell estate, she went straight to the prison to visit her mother, Cassandra Collins.

Holding the receiver, she studied Cassandra's gaunt face through the glass. Her nose stung, but she forced the tears down.

Cassandra's eyes brightened as she pressed the phone to her ear. "Via, have the Rothwells treated you well all these years? Has Vic treated you well?"

Sylvia tugged her sleeve lower to hide her injuries and smiled. "They've treated me very well, Mom. Don't worry."

Only then did Cassandra relax. "Your wedding should be soon, right? It's a shame I can't attend."

"We're not getting married anymore," Sylvia said, keeping her tone light. "He doesn't like me. Mom, when you're released, let's leave this place, alright? I'll stay with you from now on. Just the two of us."

Tears welled in her mother's eyes. "Alright. We'll do whatever you say."

…

When Sylvia returned to the empty house, she realized a month and a half had passed since she was last there. Everything looked unchanged, yet nothing felt the same.

She went upstairs and packed her belongings. She left behind anything the Rothwells or Victor had given her. None of it truly belonged to her, and she had no right to take it.

Victor did not come home that night. He returned the following afternoon with a stylist and a makeup artist. "There's a medical gala tonight. I'll take you. You should meet some people."

Victor had never hesitated to acknowledge Sylvia in public as the Rothwell family's future daughter-in-law. In his mind, she was a responsibility. Nothing more.

Once she was ready, Sylvia walked to the car and reached for the front passenger door. It did not open.

From the driver's seat, Victor said, "We're picking up Rach later. She gets carsick. Sit in the back."

Her fingers tightened around the handle. Had he forgotten that she got carsick too?

She lowered her head and let out a faint, self-mocking smile. Without a word, she opened the rear door instead.

…

When they picked Rachel up, her first words as she climbed in were, "Thank you for staying with me all night, Dr. Rothwell. Otherwise I wouldn't have recovered so quickly."

Victor smiled at her with undisguised fondness and rubbed her head. "As long as you're better. Your health is fragile. Be more careful from now on."

The sight pierced straight through Sylvia.

Only then did Rachel seem to notice her. She spoke with surprise. "Miss Frost, you're here too? Then I shouldn't sit here. I'll move to the back."

Victor started the car. "It's fine. Stay where you are."

Halfway through the drive, Sylvia's nausea surged. Acid crept up her throat. Fortunately, they reached the venue just before it became unbearable.

She took Victor's arm as they entered. Rachel remained close at his other side.

Throughout the gala, he did introduce Sylvia to several people, but only in passing. Soon after, his attention shifted entirely to Rachel. He guided her through introductions to senior figures in the medical field. Sylvia faded into the background.

The lingering nausea left her drained. She did not want to stay any longer. After informing Victor, she headed toward the restroom. She lingered outside for half an hour, then drew a deep breath and turned back.

At the entrance, she saw Victor supporting an unsteady Rachel and guiding her upstairs. Rachel's cheeks were flushed, her breathing uneven.

"Rach, hold on. We're almost there." His voice sounded hoarse and strained.

Sylvia's heart lurched. She followed them to the upper floor, then down the guest room corridor.

She watched helplessly as they entered a room together and the door closed behind them.