I deliberately leaked my whereabouts, ensuring Brooke Harrison would witness me surrounded by women in the private room. She burst in, consumed by fury, demanding to know why I was being intimate with other women. I pretended not to hear, raising my glass to clink with the girl beside me and drink. As her fiancé, I had been by her side for eight long years, from nothing to building Harrison Corp. through sheer grit, drinking myself to early-stage stomach cancer at countless client dinners. I had single-handedly propelled the corporation to become a national leader, yet now she intended to marry a fresh-faced college graduate. The company's senior executives were baffled, many voicing their indignation for me: "Assistant Miller has been with you for eight years, fighting tooth and nail. Without him, the company wouldn't be where it is today. How can you favor this new intern?" But she nestled into Kyle Peterson's embrace, her eyes filled with tender pity as she looked at him: "Ryan Miller has been scrambling in the business world for so many years; his heart is no longer pure. Not like Kyle; he hasn't been corrupted by society." "But what if Assistant Miller finds out and turns against you?" Brooke scoffed, playing with the engagement ring on her finger: "My corporation is a national leader now. One Ryan Miller gone? There are thousands more where he came from. He's not indispensable!" Little did she know, I had already witnessed it all from just outside the conference room door. I tossed the breakfast I’d prepared for her to a stray dog on the street, then turned and called the CEO of a rival company: "I accept your offer. You name the price, but I have one condition—I want Harrison Corp. to go down." … I was stuffing my stomach cancer diagnosis into my suitcase when a message from Brooke popped up: "Next quarter's budget is shrinking. Transfer your mom out of the private care facility." I stared at the screen, my chest tightening, making it hard to breathe. Just yesterday, she'd proudly posted a picture of the limited-edition sports car she'd bought for Kyle on social media; its retail price alone was enough to keep my mother in that facility for ten years. "Understood." I replied curtly. "And drop off the keys to your waterfront penthouse. Kyle says he wants to throw a bachelor party there." I pressed a hand to my stomach, where a dull ache throbbed. Drawers overflowed with eight years' worth of stomach medication, all earned only for her to ask me to personally clear out my home for my rival. "I don't agree." My lips twisted as I sent a voice message, my voice hoarse, too drained to type. "Ryan Miller, don't give me that attitude! The company isn't a charity! I don't pay you to be insolent!" Immediately after, she sent a transfer record: "This month's salary will be docked by twenty thousand. Consider it a wedding gift for Kyle." Five minutes later, another message appeared in the chat box, this time a slightly awkward voice message: "My tone was a bit harsh just now." "Seven PM tonight, that Michelin restaurant on Maplewood Street. I've asked the chef to save their signature lobster. Finish eating, then handle the care facility situation." I stared at the message, my throat tight. She used to secretly slip strawberry milk into my backpack after she lost her temper. Now, even her apologies sounded like commands. My fingers hovered over the keyboard for a long time, eventually only sending an "Okay." In the Michelin restaurant that evening, I stared blankly at the cold French lobster. The seventh time the hot dish was brought to the table, the private room door was pushed open. She rushed in, trying to sit down, and just as she began, "I…", her phone rang. Kyle's tearful voice came through the speakerphone: "Brooke, I'm so scared. It's thundering outside…" Brooke's face instantly changed. She grabbed her bag and hurried out, tripping over the tablecloth as she passed me. "Wait." I wanted to tell her to eat before she left, perhaps this would be our last meal. "This dinner…" "Pay for it yourself!" She frowned, shaking off my hand. "Don't bother me with trivial matters like this again. If anything happens to Kyle, I'm coming for you." The door slammed shut with a heavy thud. Not long after, a photo popped up in Kyle's chat. He had Brooke pressed against the sports car door, kissing her, the brand-new wedding ring on his ring finger glaringly bright. I stood on the rooftop where we used to have our dates, clutching the diagnosis in my hand. A light rain began to fall. I pulled out my phone and dialed Chloe Davis's number: "Ms. Davis," I gazed at the neon lights of Harrison Corp. Tower in the distance, a familiar burning pain in my stomach. "I have complete backups of Harrison Corp.'s overseas money laundering records." A new message illuminated my screen: "Are you sure you want to do this? Harrison Corp. is your life's work." I thought of that snowy night eight years ago, Brooke, covered in blood, kneeling before me, crying, "Ryan, only you can save me." Now, she stood atop the peak, stepping on my shoulders, yet she found my blood-stained hands too dirty for her wedding dress. "Confirmed." I pressed send, watching the diagnosis soak in the rain, then dragged Brooke's number into my blacklist—this time, it was time to settle the score. After conveying the information to Chloe, I picked up my mother from the care facility and took her to my waterfront penthouse. Mom's hand gently tugged at my sleeve, her aged, trembling fingers covered in liver spots: "Ryan, listen to your mother, don't argue with Brooke." She sat in her wheelchair, her cloudy eyes full of worry. "She's helped us so much over the years. Even if there are disagreements, just take a step back…" "Mom, don't worry about it." Mom didn't know about Brooke and Kyle; she just thought we were a young couple having a fight. My phone vibrated suddenly on the coffee table. It was a message from Brooke: "The keys to the waterfront penthouse must be handed over tomorrow. Kyle wants to decorate the wedding suite early." My knuckles, clutching the fruit knife, turned white. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mom secretly tucking her blood pressure medication into her sleeve. Eight years ago, when she was diagnosed with Alzheimer's, she also tried to hide her diagnosis from me for three months, afraid I'd worry. "Mom, I'm going out to buy something." I patted her head, trying to make my voice sound light. I went to the hospital to get some medicine. Before I even reached home, I heard a commotion inside. The moment I pushed open the door, a cloud of cigarette smoke assailed me. Kyle Peterson had his feet propped on the coffee table, the new blanket I bought for my mother discarded on the floor as a footrest. Mom's wheelchair was overturned in the corner. She was on her knees, picking up scattered medicine bottles, her white hair disheveled around her face. "What are you doing?!" My eyes burned red. I rushed to help my mother. Kyle slowly flicked his cigarette ash. "Brooke said this place is mine now. The old woman was clinging to the place, so I had to show her who's boss." The bodyguard behind him suddenly kicked the wheelchair, and I fell heavily onto the tiles, my forehead hitting the floor with a painful thud. I got up and slapped Kyle hard, but to my surprise, he didn't resist, just crumpled to the floor. I was still confused when Brooke rushed in right behind him. "Ryan Miller! What the hell is wrong with you?!" She turned to Kyle. "Baby, are you hurt?" Her tone was gentle and concerned, something I hadn't heard in a long time. "He pushed my mom!" I took a deep breath, looking at Brooke. Seeing Brooke, Kyle's eyes immediately reddened. "Brooke, your mom insisted on staying here; she wouldn't listen to anything I said…" His voice had just the right amount of a sob, and he turned to glare at my mother, who was cowering in her wheelchair. "Ma'am, you're making things so difficult for Brooke, you know?" Mom clutched her torn scarf, stammering an explanation: "I, I just wanted to wait for Ryan to come back…" "Playing innocent, are we?" I rushed to grab Kyle, but he gripped my wrist in return. "Ryan, don't be angry, if you don't want me in the apartment, I'll leave right now…" He deliberately stumbled towards the coffee table, knocking over a bottle of red wine that splashed precisely onto Mom's leg. "You!" I was about to charge forward but was shoved away by Brooke. "It's just an apartment. Do you have to attack Kyle over it?" I pulled out the property deed and roared, "Now, get out, immediately!" Kyle suddenly buckled at the knees, collapsing onto the floor in front of Brooke. "Ryan, I was thoughtless! I don't want the apartment. Please don't involve Brooke!" As he spoke, he raised his hand and slapped himself hard across the face. Before I could react, Brooke slapped me. "Ryan Miller! Who are you trying to intimidate?!" She rushed forward, shielding Kyle behind her. "It's just an apartment. Do you have to drive him to his death to be satisfied?" The agonizing pain in my stomach made my vision blur. I stumbled, leaning on the wall to keep from falling. Kyle took the opportunity to throw himself into Brooke's arms, his tear-streaked face rubbing against her jacket: "Brooke, don't be angry. It's my fault for being useless, I shouldn't have put Ryan in such a difficult position… I even wanted Ryan to be my best man. But it looks like he won't…" "Enough!" I clenched my fists, my knuckles white from the strain. "Eight years ago, when you knelt in the rain begging me to save Harrison Corp., why didn't you say that?" A flicker of panic crossed Brooke's eyes, then she lifted her chin. "Eight years ago was eight years ago. Harrison Corp. can run just fine without you now. You will be my best man next week at the wedding." She intimately stroked Kyle's flushed cheek. "Kyle, don't feel bad. After the wedding, I'll buy you an even bigger place downtown." Kyle bit his lower lip, tears still clinging to his eyelashes: "But Ryan seems really angry… I, maybe I shouldn't have a wedding…" Brooke frowned. "What right does Ryan Miller have to disagree? Kyle, rest assured, the apartment is yours, and the wedding is yours too." I slammed the red wine bottle onto the floor. "The hell I disagree! Nobody is touching this apartment, not an inch!" I pulled out my phone. "I've already called the police for trespassing. If you don't want to go to jail, get out." The sound of approaching sirens grew louder. Brooke's face was grim. She pulled Kyle and left. My mom, nearby, seemed to understand what was happening, tears streaming down her face. I collapsed onto the sofa. My phone pinged. Chloe Davis had sent a message. I was a little surprised; why would she suddenly message me? I stared at her message for a few seconds, stunned. "I've made arrangements for your mother. The Serenity Falls Private Care Facility in Westview. 24-hour nursing, the medical team was flown in from Switzerland." Before I could reply, a transfer notification followed, the amount enough to cover Mom's care for ten years. "I know you're worried. Real-time monitoring and medical records will be synced to your phone." "Also, your apartment is in an excellent location. I'll have someone help you clean it up later." I replied with a "Thank you," but I didn't let Chloe clean the apartment for me. I still felt a bit awkward. Soon after, a butler delivered a box. Inside, besides the care facility's access card, was a miniature control device. A note was attached: "For any assistance, press the emergency contact button anytime." My mom was taken away, and I sat on the sofa, lighting a cigarette. Suddenly, a frantic knocking came from the door. Through the peephole, I saw Brooke Harrison with two cleaners outside. "Ryan, I was too impulsive just now. My words were out of line. I'm here to apologize to you and your mom." Her eyes were earnest, a complete change from her earlier arrogance. "You must be swamped. I brought people to help you tidy up the apartment." I hesitated for a moment, then finally stepped aside. Watching them begin to organize items, I turned and discreetly hid the miniature camera in a picture frame in the bedroom. That night, I checked the surveillance feed and saw Brooke bring Kyle into my bedroom. Kyle had Brooke pressed against the wall. He sneered, "Ryan Miller really thinks you've changed your tune?" Brooke yanked open his collar, her eyes filled with contempt: "Idiots are easy to fool. Once I've stripped him of his power in the company, what can he do against me?" "I just worry he has something else up his sleeve." Kyle's hand roamed restlessly. "What if that evidence…" "What storm could it possibly stir up?" Brooke wrapped her legs around Kyle's waist. "The company's lifeline is in my hands. He's just a stray dog." The sound of tearing fabric ripped through the air, and they tumbled onto the bed. A piercing pain shot through my stomach. All these years, I had fought for her, drinking until my stomach bled during client meetings, revising proposals through the night until dawn. But her? She used me as a stepping stone, discarded me when she was done, and then stomped on me. "Once we've taken care of him, this apartment will be ours." Kyle's voice mingled with gasps. Brooke purred, "Naughty boy, let's take care of business first…" Watching the sordid scene, I smiled bitterly. Turns out, in her eyes, I was always just a tool. I sat in the old apartment, sleepless through the night. The day before the wedding, Brooke's text message lit up my phone screen: "There's something I want to say in person. Meet me at our usual spot." I stepped out the door, thought better of it, and tucked the device Chloe had given me into my pocket. When I arrived, the spot was empty. I wanted to go back, but then a sweet scent enveloped me, and I passed out. When my consciousness returned, the damp, musty smell filled my nostrils. I was chained to the basement wall. The iron door creaked open, and Kyle, dressed in a crisp suit, walked in. "Tsk, tsk, tsk… Assistant Miller, look at you now." He crouched down, his fingertips lifting my chin. "A stray dog…!" A fist suddenly slammed into my stomach. The dull pain, compounded by my existing injuries, made me curl up into a fetal position. "Brooke said she'd take care of you after the wedding." He loosened his tie, a triumphant grin on his face, then slapped me across the face. "If you're smart, just die early. Let me tell you, Brooke only loves me." Kyle stood up and left. My stomach began to spasm violently, cold sweat poured down my back, and my consciousness began to fade. The chains grated against the wall, and the faint, muffled sounds of wedding laughter drifted from a distance. Suddenly, the miniature device fell out of my pants pocket. I fumbled for the device, my thumb almost too weak to press the raised button. Cold sweat soaked my back. From a distance, I heard Brooke's voice taking her vows at the wedding: "I do—" My fingertips finally touched the emergency contact button. In the last moment before my consciousness completely vanished, I used every ounce of my strength to press the button. Later, I felt several presences around me. Among them, I heard Chloe Davis's voice; she seemed angry. A faint, crisp scent lingered in the air. At the same time, at the wedding venue, Brooke suddenly clutched her chest, her face instantly turning ashen. Kyle noticed, asking softly, "Brooke, what's wrong?" She forced a smile, but her gaze involuntarily drifted towards the chapel doors. A chilling premonition washed over her. On a whim, she called her assistant: "Go check the basement. Make sure Ryan Miller is still there…" "No need!" Kyle suddenly grabbed her wrist, cold sweat beading on his forehead. He was afraid Brooke would see my injuries. "Why bother with someone like him? The wedding's about to start!" Brooke's eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Kyle's agitated expression. She subtly pulled her hand back, and when no one was looking, instructed her assistant: "Go yourself. Don't alarm anyone else." Twenty minutes later, the assistant burst into the wedding venue, her face ashen. "Ms. Harrison! Something's happened!" "Ryan Miller is gone!" The sharp sound of a champagne flute shattering on the floor echoed through the ballroom. Brooke's face went white. She lunged forward. "What did you say? Ryan Miller is gone?"
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