The Unwanted Fiancée Was the Real Heir

But I never made a sound.

If it meant saving Bill, I'd give whatever they needed.

The moment I walked out of the operating room, I went straight to the hallway outside his ward and didn't leave for sixteen hours.

When Bill finally came out of the sterile unit, I was so dizzy I couldn't stay on my feet.

He pulled me into his arms and broke down—sobbing so hard it sounded like something inside him was tearing apart.

He said I'd given him his life. He said if he ever betrayed me, he deserved to die screaming, in this life and every life after.

But three months ago, Vivien came back from overseas.

And everything changed.

Bone marrow, eight hours on that table, my body wrecked for him—and none of it could compete with a childhood spent growing up next door.

"Melinda, are you deaf?!"

Bill had finally lost his patience.

He bent down, grabbed my wrist, and hauled me off the floor to where Vivien stood.

"Apologize to Viv—now!!"

The pain in my lower back tore through me like a live wire, so bad I wanted to die right there on the spot.

"Billy, if she really doesn't want to apologize, just let it go…"

Vivien curled against Bill's chest, her voice dripping with wounded softness.

Rage slammed straight up into my chest.

I raised my hand and slapped Vivien hard across the face.

Then I grabbed a full bottle of champagne from the table beside me and poured it over her head.

"Ahh—!"

Vivien shrieked and burrowed into Bill's arms.

He tore off his jacket and threw it around Vivien's shoulders.

"Melinda, have you lost your mind?!"

Bill came at me red-eyed, full force, and shoved me straight back into the champagne tower that stood taller than either of us.

My lower back was already screaming.

He hadn't held back at all.

My legs buckled and I crashed into the tower.

The whole structure came down at once.

Ice-cold wine and shattered glass rained over me.

A tearing agony ripped across my back.

Glass sliced me open everywhere—arms, neck, wrists, legs—too many cuts to feel separately, just a spreading fire across my skin.

Blood beaded and ran down my body, mixing with champagne.

Crimson soaked through the white gown again.

Over the stains already there, it bloomed outward like dark red flowers.

The crowd of onlookers went silent all at once.

Something shifted behind Bill's eyes—there and gone before it had a name.

He took two slow steps forward, stared at me for several seconds, and opened his mouth.

"Melinda, you—"

"Billy, I'm so cold…"

Vivien's thin whimper cut him off mid-step.

"Billy, the doctor said my body's too weak, I can't get chilled. The champagne is so cold on my skin…"

Bill's gaze went cold.

He turned and walked quickly to Vivien, pulling her into his arms.

Over and over, he murmured to her, soft and low.

"It's okay, it's okay. I'm here. Don't be scared. I'll hold you, you'll warm up soon…"

I watched him look at Vivien—all that softness, all that worry—and felt everything inside me go hollow.

He must have forgotten.

Three years ago, after the bone marrow donation, he'd dragged me back to the doctor's office over and over, asking what I needed, what to watch for, what could go wrong.

The doctor told him I was already fragile, and after this I absolutely could not get hurt or catch cold—it would do too much damage.

Bill had pulled out a little notebook and written every word down, line by line.

For three years, he hadn't let a single drop of rain touch me.

But now, as I stood there soaked in ice-cold champagne and covered in blood, all he could see was her.

Under Bill's steady stream of gentle reassurance,

Vivien's sobbing gradually quieted.

Bill seemed to finally let out a breath of relief.

He took Vivien by the hand, walked her over to where I lay, bent down to look at me covered in blood, and his face twisted with cold disgust.