Dragging her suitcase up to her sister Evelyn Walker’s house, Caroline hesitated for a moment, fighting the lump in her throat.

She had left Cloudrest Bay with nothing but the clothes on her back and two hundred dollars in cash.

Three years of marriage had unraveled under relentless arguments, leaving her battered with severe depression. She was too ashamed to face the outside world. Instead, she shut herself inside their villa, seeking refuge in perfecting her cooking. Her hands bore countless scars and burns; she didn’t care. She still loved Julian. She still prayed to salvage the fragile remains of their bond.

But no matter how many times she set those meals on the table, Julian never touched them. Each dish cooled, sat abandoned.

Evelyn, though not her biological sister, was the only person Caroline could turn to. They had fled their village together years ago. Evelyn was quickly taken in by a kind family, and now, she was married, living in a modest but warm seventy-square-foot apartment with her husband. Their life was simple, unremarkable—but steady.

Caroline, on the other hand, had met Julian at her lowest point. She was near starvation when he tossed her a steamed bun and, without pride or hesitation, she clung to him. The two of them scraped by together, taking odd jobs, saving what little they could.

Standing at Evelyn’s doorstep, drops of rain still trailing down her face, she wiped her cheeks and pressed the doorbell.

Evelyn answered in her pajamas, her expression surprised. From behind her, a man’s irritated voice called out from the bedroom, “Who is it?”

Evelyn pulled her inside immediately, rushing to grab a clean towel from the bathroom.

“Carol? What are you doing here in the middle of the night? And soaked to the bone like this—did you fight with Julian?”

“Evelyn, can I stay here tonight?”

“Of course. There’s a spare bedroom. It’s small, but don’t mind that.”

Evelyn handed her a dry pair of pajamas and busied herself setting up the guest room.

The bathroom was cramped, barely enough space for two people to squeeze in side by side. The brown water stains in the corners spoke of years of neglect.

Caroline showered as quickly as she could, unwilling to use the hair dryer at such a late hour. Damp strands of her black, glossy hair clung to her as she slipped into the tiny bedroom.

It was indeed small. A single bed hardly wider than a twin and a narrow desk half a meter across were all that fit in the space. She collapsed onto the mattress.

Through the thin walls, she could hear voices from the master bedroom.

“Who was it?”

“Carol. She probably fought with Julian.”

“A trophy wife from a wealthy family, and she’s crashing here? Don’t you know who Julian is? I’ve worked at Paige Group for three years and haven’t even seen him in person.”

“She’s my sister,” Evelyn snapped.

The murmuring ceased.

Caroline rubbed her temples with her towel. Her damp hair hung in soft, filmy sheets around her face, the ends still dripping slightly. She wrapped them up tightly and sank back onto the bed.

By seven the next morning, the clatter of pots and pans pulled her from her troubled sleep. Her headache hadn’t eased, but she forced herself up and stumbled into the kitchen.

The table was laden with five small dishes. Evelyn’s husband, Camila Cooper, stood at the counter slicing fish, setting the pieces onto plates.

“Carol, come on over,” he greeted her warmly. “I went out early to get this fish, and your sister made soup.”

Usually, breakfast for the two of them meant little more than toast or coffee—simple affairs for their working lives. But with Caroline here, they had gone out of their way to prepare a full spread.

Evelyn carried over three bowls of rice, smiling at her. “Eat up.”

Caroline sat down, pale as porcelain. Her skin seemed almost luminous under the morning light, a stark contrast to the shadowed circles beneath her eyes. Once upon a time, Julian had pampered her endlessly. She was just twelve when she latched onto him, infatuated. In her naïve heart, she mistook his protection for something it wasn’t.

Lowering her lashes, she avoided Evelyn’s concerned gaze. The pounding in her head didn’t help her composure.

Camila, ever affable, nudged the plate of spare ribs toward her. “Your sister has been up since five cooking this. Carol, did I ever tell you I work for Paige Group? My supervisor’s a nightmare, always brown-nosing the higher-ups, yelling at everyone else. Yesterday, he made one of the girls in our department cry. You think Julian could pull some strings for me there?”

“Camila!” Evelyn’s voice warned, sharp with disapproval.

He only chuckled good-naturedly.

Evelyn quickly ladled a bowl of soup and placed it in front of Caroline. “Drink this. You look awful. You caught a chill last night. Don’t listen to him.”

Caroline looked up, her pale face tinged with a feverish redness. “Camila, I’m sorry, but Julian and I are divorced.”

The table fell silent. For several seconds, no one moved.

Finally, Camila's expression flickered with visible surprise. “Divorced? So that means you must’ve come away with half his fortune, right? Carol, you’ve never held a job after college—that was straight after you married him, wasn’t it? I hope you know how to manage that money; I’d hate for someone to take advantage of you.”

“Camila!” Evelyn snapped again, glaring.

Chastened, he stuffed a bite of ribs into his mouth, muttering none too quietly to himself. The tension at the table didn’t break.

Evelyn and Caroline had been each other’s anchors once, two lost girls trying to survive the vast, indifferent expanse of the city. Evelyn had been lucky to find a foothold with her adoptive family, but Caroline—Caroline had been tethered to Julian’s mercy, for better or for worse. Julian had scraped together enough for both their educations, often at his own expense. How did it come to this?

Evelyn tried to lighten her tone. “Your money’s yours to handle, but if you need advice on property or investments, I can have Camila introduce someone—”

“I left with nothing.”

Caroline interrupted quietly. “Not a cent. I walked away.”

Camila’s hand froze mid-air. He slowly set down his chopsticks, his earlier friendliness gone. Jerking the dish of ribs toward himself, he ate mechanically, his expression darkening.

“I almost forgot,” he said after a moment. “Your mother mentioned you’d be visiting the clinic soon, Evelyn. Better make sure the guest room is cleared out—for family.” He stood abruptly, leaving food and wife behind, the front door creaking open and shut with his exit.

As if on cue, the breakfast now seemed to lose its flavor entirely.

“I’m sorry,” Caroline murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t mean to create trouble.”

Evelyn’s eyes shone wetly, but she didn’t let the tears fall. With a deep breath, she said, “You didn’t. I’ll never be ashamed of helping you. I just… I don’t understand what went wrong. He loved you. I saw it. I remember the fights when he found out you were working secretly to chip in. He carried the weight of five jobs to pay for both your educations. And when you were hospitalized after the accident, he was... Caroline, do you remember? He didn’t sleep for days, translating documents to cover your hospital bills…”

Caroline’s throat tightened painfully. In her chest, an ache she couldn’t name clawed at her ribs. The good memories always lingered the longest, sharp enough to carve her into pieces. For seven years, she had clung to the hope that they could hold on. All of it felt so far away now, like a story she had tried to rewrite too many times only to tear its pages apart.

“I’ll look for a job today,” she said at last, her voice stripped and hollow.

Evelyn reached for her across the table. “Carol, it’s okay to cry.”

But there were no tears left. They dried up somewhere in the last three years of her marriage, used up entirely in the long silences, the slammed doors.

She finished the meal anyway, offering to clean the dishes before Evelyn hurried off to work. But Evelyn couldn’t help herself from noticing her sister’s hands—graceful once, now coarse and trembling as they scrubbed the plates.

“Julian never let you do housework like this,” she remarked, almost absently.

Caroline’s heart clenched in response, and the grief surged so fiercely it made her gasp for air. She said nothing. Evelyn left quickly, leaving her alone.

By midday, Caroline gathered her documents and went to the civil affairs office. It was a long wait—one that lasted until the clock ticked past noon.

Julian never showed.

Taking out her phone, she called him. The line rang, again and again, unanswered. No surprise there.

She tried Hank instead. His voice came through the line, formal and careful as it always was.

“Mrs. Li?”

“Hank,” she said, her voice thin. “Where’s Julian?”

“Ma’am, the president is on a business trip. He won’t return for another three days.”

For three years, she had tracked Julian’s movements indirectly through Hank. That habit wasn’t so easily shaken. She pinched the bridge of her nose against the dizziness washing over her and leaned forward, the elbow of her free arm propping her up on her knees.

“Can you send me his schedule?” she asked weakly. “I need to know when he has time.”

At the edge of her hearing, a low, cold voice interrupted. It couldn’t be mistaken. Julian was there with Hank after all. Undeniable. But the suffocating chill in his voice carried an unmistakable message—stay away.