Another episode. Another night lost to the dark.

My best friend yanked the knife from my hand with a look of pure, unadulterated disgust. "When is this madness going to stop?" Travis yelled, his voice echoing off the narrow hallway walls. "You use this fucking depression of yours like a weapon to ruin everything!

No wonder Claire dumped you!" I froze, my body numb, my fingers still locked in the shape of a blade that was no longer there.

Travis let out a long, shuddering breath, looking like a man who had finally put down a heavy burden. "I should have told you straight up. Claire asked me to guard you today.

She was terrified you’d show up and wreck her wedding with Bryce." He planted himself in the doorway, chest puffed out, radiating righteous fury. "Listen to me, Devin.

Even if you slit your wrists and bleed out right here, you don't get to be the homewrecker. You don't get to play the sidepiece. So what if you saved her life years ago?

She spent three years babysitting a broken shell like you.

She doesn't owe you a single damn thing anymore." My father hurried through the front door a minute later, rushing in to relieve Travis so Travis could go be Bryce’s groomsman.

Dad didn't look at me with anger.

He looked at me with a desperate, pathetic plea. "If it weren't for Claire's family, our company would have gone under years ago," Dad whispered, his voice trembling. "Have a heart, son.

Be the bigger man. Let Claire go find her own happiness." A wave of violent, suffocating absurdity washed over me.

My phone sat quietly on the nightstand, glowing with a text message Claire had sent me just yesterday: "Babe, I’m flying overseas to meet a top specialist for you.

Don't worry, I’m going to get you cured. Once you’re whole again, we’ll finally get married." I sank to the hardwood floor, my knees giving out.

Tears dripped silently onto the phone screen, blurring her words. None of them knew. I didn't have depression. I had latestage, incurable abdominal cancer.

I had already decided I was done dragging Claire down with me. I looked up at my father and forced my pale, bloodless lips into a hollow smile. "Okay," I whispered. "I promise you.

I’ll let her go." … "Really?" Dad stared at me, his eyes wide with suspicion. For the past three years, I had been utterly codependent on Claire.

I couldn't survive a day without her near me.

Even today, at her own wedding venue, she had spent a full week nursing me through a breakdown just to buy herself a few hours of breathing room.

I let out a bitter, silent laugh. "Her heart isn't with me anymore. What's the point of clinging to a ghost?" Dad’s posture instantly melted.

He pulled me into a tight embrace, sobbing hysterically against my shoulder like a man released from a life sentence.

It felt like hours before he pulled back, scratching the back of his neck with an awkward, hesitant grimace. "Will you... will you be okay here by yourself for a bit? I...

Claire asked me to be the officiant..." That was when the blade dug deeper.

My father hadn't just approved of the groom—he was the one who had introduced Bryce to Claire in the first place. I nodded mechanically. "Go ahead." I understood him.

Half of our extended family worked for the firm Claire’s family owned. To my father, Claire—and the security she provided—was far more important than a sick, dying son.

Dad left with light steps, relief practically radiating off him. But seven years of deep, bonedeep love pulled at my soul like a sick tether.

Driven by some dark, masochistic impulse, I dragged my weak, aching body out of the apartment and followed my father to the country club. White lilies. Pale blue balloons.

The entire venue was decorated exactly the way Claire and I had spent years planning our own dream wedding. "Devin?" Travis was the first to spot me in the crowd.

I stood near the back of the garden, pulling down the sleeves of my oversized sweater, exposed and helpless beneath the cold, judgmental glares of highsociety guests.

Up on the altar, Claire was leaning in to kiss the groom. Hearing my name, she froze.

She turned around slowly, her face draining of color, forcing a shaky, frantic voice through her lips. "Dev... Devin?

What are you... why are you here?" A ripple of disdain echoed through the crowd.

She stumbled down the altar steps, rushing toward me, her hands trembling, words tumbling out in a panic. "Devin, listen to me, this... this is all just a huge misunderstanding...

I..." Before I could open my mouth, my father sprinted out from the side aisle and kicked me hard in the back of my knees. "Crack." Pain exploded through my joints as I hit the gravel. "You swore to me!" Dad roared, standing over me. "You promised you wouldn't come!

Why are you doing this?!" I gasped, agonizing pain shooting through my abdomen and legs. "Uncle... Dad, stop!

Don't hurt him!" Claire instinctively stepped between us, trying to shield me.

But Travis grabbed her arm, his brows knit in frustration. "Haven't you been dragged down enough by him, Claire? It's been three years!

When was the last time you slept through the night without dealing with his psychotic episodes?" Travis paused, muttering under his breath with shameless disdain. "Besides, the guy isn't even a real man anymore.

Look at how much of a burden he's been..." My fingers dug into the gravel until my knuckles turned stark white. Three years ago, Claire was kidnapped by a ruthless business rival.

I went in alone to save her. They beat me savagely. The physical trauma to my lower abdomen left me with permanent nerve damage—and severe, humiliating performance issues.

It also left me with night terrors that caused me to thrash and grip Claire’s wrists until they were covered in dark, terrible bruises.

Back then, whenever I woke up weeping with remorse over her bruised skin, Claire would hold my face and whisper that it was okay, that she owed me her life. "Shut your mouth, Travis!" Claire snapped. "Is this Devin?" A smooth, cultured voice broke through the tension, cutting off Claire’s defense.

Bryce walked over, stepping fluidly into the light. He looked effortlessly handsome in a custom charcoal tuxedo, his tall, athletic frame radiating health and success.

I looked down at my own body—emaciated, skeletal, worn down by terminal cancer. Instinctively, I shrank back a step.

Bryce offered me a glass of champagne with a polite, generous smile, though his eyes remained entirely cold.

When I didn't take it, his hand hovered in the air, his eyes shifting subtly toward Claire. Claire’s forehead creased with deep annoyance.

She grabbed my arm and dragged me forcefully toward a secluded corridor. "Go home, Devin," she hissed under her breath. "I’ll explain everything to you later.

Just don't embarrass me in front of everyone today. Please." "Okay," I said quietly. My immediate compliance caught her off guard. She blinked, thrown off.

Before she could speak, a violent spasm tore through my stomach. The cancer was clawing at my insides.

I bent over double, my face turning deathly pale, a strangled gasp escaping my throat. Claire’s expression shifted to panic.

She shoved me deeper into the shadow of the alcove. "I'm begging you, Devin! Don't throw a scene here! If you ruin this, my family will never accept us!

They’ll lock me out forever!" Travis strided over, pulling Claire firmly behind his back, eyeing me like I was a piece of trash on his shoe. "Didn't you promise me you wouldn't pull this fake sick act again?" Travis sneered. "What, your depression acting up right on cue?" I pressed my lips together, refusing to open my mouth, terrified that the thick, metallic taste of blood pooling in my throat would spill over.

Seeing my silence, Travis snapped.

He grabbed my collar and shoved me violently toward the exit doors of the venue. "You promised me you wouldn't use your illness to play the victim!

Devin, I swear to God, I regret ever calling you my friend!" I swallowed the warm blood back down, tears biting at the corners of my eyes as I turned my back on them.

If everyone was this disappointed in me... then there was no point in saying goodbye. I bought a oneway train ticket to my old, rural hometown back in Oregon.

In the final days I had left, I didn't want to be a burden to anyone ever again. I stumbled back to our apartment to pack my few belongings.

Sitting on the coffee table was a leatherbound wedding planner binder.

Whenever I had a nervous breakdown, Claire would pull out that binder and read through the venue ideas to soothe me.

I had asked her once why we had to wait until I was "fully healed" to get married. She had stroked my hair and said it was a strict requirement from her highsociety family.

She asked me to be patient. I knew her family looked down on me.

Years ago, to be with me, Claire had even defied her wealthy parents, getting cut off and living in a cramped, drafty studio apartment with me, eating dollarstore ramen while we launched our company.

Now that her firm was thriving and her family was finally easing up, I hadn't wanted to cause her any more friction. I had swallowed every drop of my own hurt.

Looking back now... she had never intended to marry me at all. In truth, I had met the groom before. Bryce was one of my father’s former university students.

He worked in Claire’s marketing department.

Months ago, when I stopped by her office to drop off lunch, I saw Claire—who was notoriously impatient with subordinates—sitting beside Bryce, softly talking him through a project proposal.

My instincts had screamed that something was wrong. I felt an immediate threat to my territory, and I fought with Claire over it that night.

It was my father who had stepped in to smooth things over. "If you don't trust Claire, don't you trust your own father?" Dad had berated me. "Bryce has a serious girlfriend!

Stop embarrassing yourself in public!" Travis had sent me text messages too, claiming he had hung out with Bryce and his girlfriend at a double date, insisting they were deeply in love and getting married soon.

Under my father’s intense pressure, I had been forced to apologize to Bryce in person. I remembered how Bryce had turned his head away, avoiding my eyes.

Now I realized the truth: he wasn't avoiding my gaze out of guilt. He was hiding a smirk. Every single person I trusted had banded together to play me for a fucking fool. ...

Late that night, the front door clicked open. Before I could react, a pair of warm, familiar arms wrapped around me from behind, making me shudder violently. "Dev... Devin?

Are you really packing? Are you really leaving me?" Even though I was terminally ill, the agonizing fury of betrayal surged through my veins.

I shoved her away with all the strength I had left. "Enough!" I yelled, my voice hoarse. "Stop acting!

What, do you expect me to stay and be your secret sideguy?!" Claire stumbled back, startled. Then, her face settled into a heavy, exhausted sigh.

She collapsed onto the sofa, looking completely drained. "Devin, I’ve taken care of you for five straight years," she whispered, her tone dripping with quiet resentment. "Can’t you try to understand me for once?

Being with you... it’s exhausting. My family is a highprofile dynasty. I need a respectable, normal husband by my side, not..." She stopped herself.

My fists clenched so tightly my nails bit into my palms.

I knew what she was going to say. "Not a crazy, impotent psycho." "If you hated what I became, Claire, you could have just broken up with me years ago!" I choked out. "You didn't have to pull a sickening stunt like this—" "Devin." She interrupted me softly, stepping closer, her tone dripping with gentle, dangerous affection. "How could I ever hate you?

You’re the man I actually want to spend my life with." She took my hands. "Bryce knows the truth. He’s just a front to satisfy my parents and the media.

Once I have a child to carry on the family name, I’ll sign a quiet divorce agreement with him." My jaw dropped. "A child?" "Yes," she said smoothly, as if discussing a business contract. "With your mental and physical state, I can't take the risk.

What if your conditions are genetic? I can't pass that to a baby." I stared at her, horrified. It was like looking at a stranger. A front. Unfit to be the father of her child.

In her meticulously planned future, she had mapped out every detail—and systematically erased me from ever being a real part of it.

Suddenly, my stomach twisted into a violent, fiery knot.

The nausea rolled over me so fast I had to turn my head and grab the trash can, violently vomiting bile into the liner. "Are you... disgusted by me?" Claire watched me, her face twisting into a look of deep, wounded rage.

She reached out and yanked up my sweater sleeve, pointing to the faded, jagged red scabs covering her own wrists and forearms. "Look at this, Devin!

For five years—five long years—you dragged me through hell every night! Do you know how many nights I woke up with you digging your nails into my skin?!

Is it really so evil of me to just want a normal husband? A normal child?!" She was breathing heavily, pouring out half a decade of accumulated resentment like toxic waste. I knew.

God, I knew.

Over the years, I had watched the look in her eyes shift from desperate worry to helpless patience, then to sheer exhaustion, and finally to a fleeting, buried flash of disgust.

My father’s words and Travis’s taunts echoed in my skull like a deafening drumbeat. My stomach burned like acid, but it didn't compare to the agony in my chest.

I kept my head down, staring into the trash can, hiding the streaks of dark, clotted blood at the bottom so she wouldn't accuse me of faking it for sympathy.

After a long, suffocating silence, Claire closed her eyes and grabbed her coat from the rack. "I know you need time to digest this," she said quietly, her hand on the doorknob. "I'll wait for you.

We’ve been together too long, Devin. We can't be undone." The heavy "thud" of the door shutting behind her carried away the very last shred of love I had left for her. ...

I didn't even get the chance to mourn my dead relationship before Claire returned the next morning—this time, with Bryce trailing behind her.

She slammed the door open, her face pale with fury. "Devin! I told you Bryce was just for show!

It wasn't enough that you crashed my wedding—now you’re trying to destroy his life, too?!" I sat on the edge of the bed, bewildered.

Travis burst into the apartment a second later, shoving his phone directly into my face. "Look at what you did, you sick bastard! Who’s the real homewrecker here?!

You’re the one who isn't even legally tied to her, clinging to her like a leech!" I looked at the screen.

Someone had recorded a video of me crashing the wedding yesterday and posted it online.

Internet sleuths had already dug up my past with Claire, and the toptrending comments were brutally crucifying Bryce as a golddigging sidepiece who stole an heiress. "I...

I didn't post anything..." I rasped out. Bryce stepped forward, his eyes rimmed with red, gently tugging at Claire’s sleeve. "Claire, Travis... please don't yell at Devin.

His mental health is so fragile...

I’m just scared he might do something drastic..." His poisonous, passiveaggressive words painted me as a unhinged psycho while making himself look like an angel.

Claire’s heart visibly softened as she looked at Bryce. Travis snapped completely.

He reached out and drove a hard fist straight into my jaw. "BANG." My head cracked against the wall.

Blood bloomed in my mouth. "Look at Bryce, then look at yourself!" Travis yelled, grabbing the back of my neck and forcing my eyes onto his phone screen, scrolling through Claire’s private social media feed. "You thought you were her whole world just because of your history?

Open your eyes! Bryce and Claire have been together for two whole years!" My breath hitched. Two years. I looked at the photos scrolling past.

Two years ago, on the night my night terrors were at their absolute worst, I couldn't get ahold of Claire or Travis for hours. Now I saw why.

They were all together at a highend steakhouse, celebrating Bryce’s birthday.

It was Travis who had raised a glass, pushing Claire and Bryce to cross the final line into bed together. There were photos of them skiing in Aspen.

Sunbathing on a private beach in Maui. Riding horses across Montana.

Every single one of those places was a destination Claire had promised to take me "once I got better." I was never going to get better.

And she had taken another man instead. "They pretended to go on business trips just so they wouldn't trigger your delicate little brain!" Travis sneered into my ear. "They even had to drag me along as a third wheel just to keep up the lie!

Devin, do you have a heart at all?!" Claire shifted uncomfortably under my gaze, looking away. Bryce shot me a quiet, triumphant smirk from behind her shoulder.

I looked at Travis, feeling a cold, hollow wave of absurdity. When Travis graduated college, his family went bankrupt.

He was framed by his first boss and almost went to federal prison.

I spent my own savings on a top defense lawyer to clear his name, then pulled strings to get him hired at Claire’s firm. He used to call me his brother for life.

And this was how my brother paid me back: by helping my girlfriend cheat on me, gaslighting me every step of the way. My father rushed into the apartment then, taking in the scene.

Without asking a single question, he stepped up and kicked me hard in the ribs. "I am so sorry, Claire, Bryce," Dad panted, bowing repeatedly to them. "I don't know how I raised such a toxic, ungrateful son..." Claire, who used to defend me against the world, stood there in absolute silence.

She looked down at me with profound disappointment. "We’ve already issued an official statement online. But we need you to appear at the press conference tomorrow.

The firm cannot afford a public relations nightmare right now." I glanced at the phone screen on the floor.

The "clarification posts" were already sweeping the internet: [I am Devin’s best friend. He has been obsessed with Claire for years, leveraging an old debt to stalk her.

I apologize on his behalf.] [I am Devin’s father. He suffered severe trauma years ago and lost his sanity.

I apologize for his behavior.] Every single word was a silver blade twisting in my heart. A sudden, sharp agony ripped through my gut.

I doubled over, cold sweat pouring down my forehead, my vision turning spotty. "Call... call an ambulance..." I gasped, clutching my stomach.

Claire instinctively reached out toward me, but Travis stepped in front of her. "Still acting?" Travis spat. "I'm... I'm not... it hurts..." "Enough!" Dad’s face turned thunderous.

He grabbed Travis and Claire, pushing everyone toward the front door. "We spoiled him for too long! That’s why he thinks he can act like a tyrant!

He can't even fake depression convincingly anymore! Let's go!

Let's see how long he can keep up this little show!" "Dad..." "I'm not faking depression." "I'm dying of cancer." The pain tore through my abdominal wall.

My vision went completely black. The distant sound of their retreating footsteps faded into absolute darkness. ... "Mr. Barrett." The sharp, pungent smell of antiseptic woke me.

A middleaged doctor in a white coat stood over my hospital bed, holding a chart, sighing heavily. "Didn't I warn you?

You donated a kidney two years ago, which left your body severely weakened.

With stagefour abdominal cancer, dragging yourself around like this... you won't last another month." I stared at the white ceiling, clutching the flat, empty space on the left side of my abdomen.

Silent tears tracked down into my hair. The oncologist shook his head. "Are you really not going to tell Miss West or your family? You gave her your kidney.

At the very least, they need to sign the consent form for your palliative surgery." "Would it matter?" I whispered. If they cared, would I be lying in this bed alone?

My phone buzzed on the tray table. A text from Claire: "Bryce feels sorry for your mental state, so he convinced me not to force you to attend the press conference.

I'm staying at his place for the next few days to comfort him.

Please, just give me some peace of mind, okay?" Below her text were dozens of unread messages from my father and Travis, all demanding that I "stop being selfish" and "be a man." I didn't reply.

I cleared the notifications and turned off the phone. I checked myself out of the hospital, eager to leave this city forever.

But as I reached the main lobby, I ran straight into Bryce. "Well, well.

Back in the hospital pulling another sympathy stunt?" Bryce leaned in close, whispering in my ear with a cruel, mocking smile. "Too bad it won't work anymore.

Claire is pregnant with my baby.

You lost, Devin." I bit my lower lip so hard blood burst onto my teeth. "So fast." "Congratulations," I rasped out, my voice hollow. "I won't bother her again." Bryce stared at my ghostly, emaciated face and let out a cold laugh. "I don't trust you, Devin.

You still mean too much to her.

You can't blame me for protecting what's mine." Before I could process his words, Bryce suddenly grabbed my wrist with terrifying force and threw himself backward onto the polished marble floor. "BANG!" "Bryce!" The double glass doors swung open.

Claire burst into the lobby, flanked by a swarm of reporters and flash cameras. She didn't glance at me for a fraction of a second.

She sprinted past me, throwing herself onto the floor, pulling Bryce into her arms. Bryce clutched his elbow, looking up at her with tearfilled, terrified eyes. "I...

I was just worried about Devin being alone in the hospital...

I accidentally let it slip that you were pregnant, and he... he just snapped..." Claire snapped her head toward me, her eyes ablaze with vicious, blinding fury. "How long are you going to pull this bullshit?!" she screamed, her voice ringing across the lobby. "Sick, sick, sick!

How many people are you going to ruin with your pathetic little depression?!" She stood up, pointing an accusing finger at my face in front of dozens of flashing cameras. "You saved my life five years ago, and you've used that assault to hold me hostage ever since!

Have you ever considered that getting attacked back then was your own damn fault?!" "BOOM." My mind went completely blank.

When I was beaten and abused by those kidnappers five years ago, Claire had immediately used her family's power to seal all media records.

Even when Travis brought it up at the wedding, he kept it vague.

Now, to defend Bryce, she was tearing open my deepest, most horrific trauma in front of a dozen live broadcast cameras.

She paused, her eyes cold with a disgust that ripped the breath from my lungs. "Do you want to know the truth, Devin?

Two years ago, when I suffered total kidney failure, it was Bryce who secretly donated his kidney to save my life! That's why I got close to him!

He's my savior too—so why doesn't Bryce ever hold his sacrifice over my head?!" My head snapped up. My eyes met my father’s, who had just rushed into the lobby behind the reporters.

Dad caught my gaze—and instantly looked away in guilty, sweating silence. A terrible, freezing realization shattered what was left of my soul.

Two years ago, when Claire needed a matching kidney, I donated mine in secret. I was terrified she would feel burdened by owing me another debt, so I only told my father.

My own father had taken my kidney donation, handed the credit to Bryce, and used my sacrifice to forge the path for Bryce to sleep with my girlfriend.

Flashing lights blinded my eyes.

The ambient noise of the crowd surged into a deafening roar. "No wonder Miss West ditched him... the guy isn't even a real man, and he's still acting like a psycho sidepiece..." "Jesus, I bet he faked the whole kidnapping thing five years ago just to trap her!

A real savior wouldn't parade his sacrifice around every single day!" I stood frozen in the center of the lobby, cold tears streaming silently down my cheeks.

Claire frowned, looking at my ghostly silence with mild discomfort.

She reached down, entwining her fingers with Bryce's, and gave me a look of final, brutal dismissal. "I'm done with your depression, Devin.

I spent five years hiring the best therapists in the country, and you didn't change a bit.

I'm not playing this game anymore." She stepped closer, her voice dropping to a icy whisper. "Sometimes, Devin...

I truly regret ever meeting you." She cut off all my credit cards that afternoon, issuing a strict order to her firm that no one was permitted to lend me a single cent. ...

I don't know how long I sat on the curb outside the hospital.

When the burning nausea in my stomach finally forced me awake, I reached into my pocket and pulled out the crumpled, faded train ticket.

I took the overnight train back to my old hometown in rural Oregon.

In the freezing, drafty bedroom of my childhood home, I lay curled in a fetal position on the worn mattress, shivering uncontrollably through endless cycles of vomiting blood, night terrors, and icy sweats.

The small TV in the living room played ambient noise—local celebrity news channels endlessly dissecting the scandal of the "unmanly, parasitic exboyfriend who faked a sacrifice." Beside my bed, a small mountain of trash overflowed with bloody tissues.

My forearms were shredded, covered in deep, selfinflicted scratch marks from trying to distract myself from the agonizing tumor growing inside my abdomen.

I couldn't take it anymore. In a feverish trance, my trembling fingers reached for a small utility blade on the nightstand.

When the sharp metal cut deep into my skin, the physical pain felt almost merciful. My vision began to fade into a peaceful, dark quiet.

The very last thing I saw before the darkness swallowed me whole was Claire—drenched in red light, screaming as she sprinted through the front door toward my bed.