Stardust to Ashes

The archive room door clicked shut behind me. The deputy director's footsteps dissolved into the hospital's white noise.

At the hallway's end, Cameron stood watching me with that familiar, indulgent gaze—the one that used to make my heart flutter.

"What are you doing here?" His brow furrowed as he noticed my stained dress. "And why are you all wet?"

I steadied my voice. "Just spilled my coffee. I was heading to change."

His fingers brushed the damp fabric. "You've burned yourself." A sigh. "My clumsy girl. When you hurt, I hurt too."

Then he kissed me.

The scent of alcohol clung to his breath. Just like every kiss before—lingering, tender, affectionate. But this time, I couldn't breathe.

Love could be faked. Tenderness and concern could be performed—even for someone you didn't love—if it meant protecting the one you truly did.

Tears welled in my eyes. I turned my head away, and they spilled silently down my cheeks.

I followed him to his private lounge. Under the influence of alcohol, he quickly fell asleep.

I sat by the bed, my hands trembling as I unlocked his phone.

Seven years of marriage, and this was the first time I'd ever looked through it.

The password was a string of numbers—Lucy's birthday.

The phone displayed years' worth of partnership documents from the medical group. At a glance, they seemed routine. But a closer look revealed the truth: every single contract was tied to Lucy's charity foundation.

He had sacrificed far more profitable ventures to support her medical aid projects.

Every initiative was based in a small African town, where she had once lived.

Even the project funding amounts were veiled tributes:

Her birthday.

The day she performed her first surgery.

The date she founded her clinic in Africa.

My fingers trembled as I opened his private photo album.

There were a thousand photos, all of Lucy.

Snapshots of her at medical conferences. Candids from hospital rounds. Pictures from charity galas she attended with Nicholas.

In each one, Nicholas's figure had been carefully cropped out, leaving only her smiling presence.

Beyond that were countless procurement orders for medical equipment and supplies.

The latest machines. The rarest medications. All sent to her clinic under the guise of humanitarian aid.

His love for her was hidden in every detail.

And as I stared at it all, a tightness wrapped around my chest.

It was all a lie. Everything I'd believed—all of it—had been a carefully crafted illusion. Cameron's love had never belonged to me.

I let out a bitter laugh and powered off his phone.

Then I booked a one-way ticket to Northern Europe—three days from now.

I also filled out an application to cancel my legal identification records.

Seven years of marriage. If I was going to end it, I'd end it clean.

When it was all done, I felt a weight lift from my chest.

But just then, my phone buzzed with a notification.

A moment later, Cameron's voice echoed from behind me.

"Marianne, what are you canceling? The system just sent me a security alert."

Suppressing the panic clawing at my chest, I forced a smile. "My passport expired. I'm just renewing it. Aren't you heading abroad soon for that medical conference? You have meetings tomorrow, right? You should get some rest."

He wrapped an arm around my waist, his voice muffled against my shoulder.

"You even remember my schedule… You really are the most thoughtful wife."

Then he turned over and mumbled, "Tomorrow night, I'll take you somewhere special. I have a surprise for you."

"All right," I said softly. "I can't wait."

We didn't get home until late that night.

The next morning, his personal assistant arrived, pushing in a breakfast cart.

Every morning, the head chef would prepare meals tailored to my preferences.

I used to think it was the sweetest gesture. But now… I saw it for what it was. A performance.

If he truly cared, how was it that not once—not even once—did he ever cook me even the simplest bowl of anything himself?