01 Everyone said I was crazy. Only Simon Carlo told me I was normal. He would sleep in the closet with me, wrap his arms around me and pull me out of the cold depths of the refrigerator when my mind fractured, and offer his own forearm for me to claw at when the urge to hurt myself became too loud to fight. Simon was my anchor in a pitch-black sea. Without him, I would have drowned long ago. But in the end, I ruined it all. He caught me in the most wretched, unforgivable lie. In our home, in our bed, he found me tangled up with another man. My anchor cut itself loose, drifting away into the dark, leaving no room for explanations. His friends threw parties, toasted to his freedom, celebrating that he had finally shaken off a psychopath and reclaimed his life. Years passed, and Simon became the powerful, wealthy CEO of Carlo Enterprises. When our paths crossed again, I was nothing but a ghost in the crowd. Holding his beautiful, radiant fiancée close, he cast a cold, indifferent glance over me, his lips curling into a cruel smirk. "Still breathing, I see. It seems he’s been taking good care of you." My head throbbed, a violent buzzing ringing in my ears. I pulled my sleeves down to hide the jagged scars on my wrists, forcing my lips to stretch into a polite, empty smile. "Yes, I’m doing very well." Simon’s eyes darkened at my words, but his voice remained dripping with mockery. "Fiona, I spent five years trying to cure you, and you got completely better after five years with him?" "Tell me, were you just faking it the whole time we were together?" My heart seemed to stop. I opened my mouth, but the words withered in my throat. The beautiful girl beside him looked at me with curiosity. "Simon, who is she?" "An ex." "The one with the... mental issues?" "Yes," Simon replied, his voice entirely flat. I remembered how I used to cling to him, whispering in a panic: "Am I too much? Am I annoying? Am I different from everyone else?" "Do you hate me? Do you think I'm a burden, a crazy person?" And Simon would wrap his arms around me so tightly I could barely breathe. "You're not sick, Fiona. Why would I ever hate you?" "Just cling to me. Let me protect you for the rest of our lives, okay?" In those moments, I wanted him to hold me even tighter, to squeeze the very air from my lungs so I could die in his arms at the absolute peak of my happiness. But now, he could tell a stranger with complete indifference that I was just a crazy girl who faked her illness. Suddenly, their voices shattered into jagged fragments in my ears, sounding like static from a broken radio. It was too loud, too sharp. My hand twitched, wanting to cover my ears, but I forced my arms to stay frozen at my sides. The last thread of my fading sanity whispered that I needed my medication. Right now. I turned to run, but Simon stepped into my path, blocking me. His gaze was mocking, assessing. "What's the rush? Don't you want to catch up?" "Where's Gavin Prescott? Call him. The four of us should have dinner together." I shook my head violently, my eyes burning with a desperate pain. "No, Simon. I don't want dinner. Just let me go." My resistance only seemed to anger him. His expression turned dark and irritable. "Would you look at Gavin with those pathetic, pleading eyes?" "Save your cheap tricks, Fiona. My fiancée is standing right here." The dark, suffocating tide of a panic attack was crashing over me. I couldn't fight it off much longer. With hot tears stinging my eyes, I pleaded in a broken whisper, "I'm sorry, Simon. Please. I'm begging you, just let me go." Simon froze, his grip on my arm slowly loosening. Like a prisoner granted a sudden reprieve, I bolted. Behind me, I heard his fiancée's confused voice. "She’s so bizarre. It was just an invitation to dinner. Why did she react like that?" Simon pulled her close, his voice cold and detached. "She was never normal to begin with." I blocked out their voices, running blindly until I rounded a quiet corner where they couldn't see me. With trembling hands, I frantically dug the bottle of sedatives out of my bag. My fingers shook so violently that the cap popped off, and the pills spilled across the dirty pavement. I dropped to my knees, desperately grabbing two of them and swallowing them dry. Then, like a malfunctioning machine, I began picking up the remaining pills one by one, dropping them back into the bottle. By the fifteenth pill, the storm in my head began to quiet down. By the twenty-fourth pill, a pair of polished black leather shoes stepped into my line of sight. The heavy sole came down, grinding the remaining pills into a fine white powder against the concrete. I looked up, and my heart sank into a deeper, colder dark. Gavin Prescott stood over me, a cruel, mocking smirk playing on his lips. "Long time no see, little Fiona." I wondered if two pills weren't enough. Why was my body still shaking so violently? Maybe I should swallow the whole bottle. That would make me calm. Before I could lose myself in the spiral, Gavin grabbed me by the collar and slammed me hard against the brick wall. "When did they let you out? Why didn't you call me?" The sharp impact against my back jolted me into a cold clarity. I glared at him, my eyes spitting venom. "Call you? So you could lock me up in that hellhole again?" Gavin let out a soft, amused chuckle, leaning in close until his breath brushed my cheek. "Relax. As long as you don't try to stab me again, I'm willing to give you a chance to make it up to me." He grabbed my hand, forcing my trembling fingers against the left side of his chest. "Feel that? The scar from where you stabbed me is still there. I chose not to have it surgically removed, just so I would always remember the pain you caused me." The touch of the raised, jagged scar tissue beneath his shirt sent a shudder through my entire being. The final thread of my sanity was about to snap. I wanted to stab him again. I wanted my fingers to turn into claws so I could tear his heart out, kill him, and then end my own miserable life. After all, I had recently realized there was absolutely nothing left for me in this world. In the midst of my mental collapse, I suddenly met a dark, piercing gaze. Simon was standing a few feet away, his hands shoved in his pockets, watching us with pure disgust. "So that's why you were in such a hurry to leave. You couldn't wait to get back to your lover." My heart stopped. I regretted not swallowing the entire bottle of pills. Gavin smirked, pulling me tightly against his side as he looked at Simon. "Now that you know, do you mind giving us some privacy?" Simon let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "You two really can't control yourselves, can you? Don't worry, I won't interrupt your pathetic display." With a look of utter revulsion, he turned and walked toward the restrooms. Gavin shrugged, turning back to me with a lazy smile. "Come on, Fiona. Let's go back to my place and finish what we started five years ago..." I raised my knee and drove it violently between his legs. Gavin doubled over in pain, releasing his grip. I stumbled backward, my voice shaking with raw hatred. "If you ever touch me again, Gavin, I will kill you and myself. I don't care if I live or die, but I know how much you value your pathetic life." Without waiting for him to recover, I bolted into the ladies' restroom. Gavin didn't follow me inside. But I was too terrified to leave. I locked myself in a stall, waiting in the suffocating silence. In the quiet, Simon's disgusted eyes flashed in my mind, looking exactly as they had five years ago. My thoughts began to splinter again. I clawed at the grout lines of the tiled wall, my fingers scraping against the rough surface. Two of my fingernails cracked and bled, but the physical pain felt distant, almost non-existent. Suddenly, a gentle knock sounded on the stall door. "Fiona? Are you in there?" It was Audrey Hall, the nurse who had cared for me during my years at the psychiatric facility. When I was discharged a few months ago, Audrey, knowing how difficult hereditary bipolar disorder was to manage and that I had no family left, had kindly taken me in. She said she felt a genuine connection with me during my lucid moments. Her voice acted like a soothing balm, pulling me back to reality. I unlocked the door and stepped out. Audrey let out a long sigh of relief, clutching her chest. "Why didn't you answer your phone? I was worried sick." I looked down at the floor. "I'm sorry, Audrey. I didn't hear it." Seeing my state, her anger melted into worry. She took my hands, immediately noticing the blood on my fingers. "Oh, sweetie... what happened?" I tried to force a casual smile. "I just ran into someone from my past." "Was it... your ex?" Audrey asked hesitantly. I nodded, keeping the empty smile on my face. "Yes. He's getting married. He looks very happy, and I'm glad for him." Audrey gently wrapped a tissue around my bleeding fingers to stop the flow. "You don't look glad, Fiona." "Keeping everything bottled up like this isn't going to help your recovery." I shook my head, my resolve hardening. "No. If I let my mess spill into his life again, I really will lose my mind." Audrey sighed, knowing it was useless to argue. She guided me out of the restroom. As we walked, she murmured, "Maybe you shouldn't go to work tomorrow. I don't feel good about this..." I squeezed her hand, trying to reassure her. "I'll be fine. As long as I take my medication and avoid the people from my past, I won't have another episode. Besides, I need to start earning my own keep. I can't let you support me forever." Audrey still looked anxious. "If you feel overwhelmed, just press speed dial one on your phone. I have your GPS tracker, and I'll come get you immediately." I nodded and promised I would. But my mind drifted back to Simon. He had once said those exact words to me. Back then, pressing one on my speed dial would connect me straight to him. But during my darkest nights in the hospital, when I could no longer bear the agony and dialed that number over and over, all I got was a cold, automated voice telling me the line had been disconnected. Simon was never coming to save me again. The next day, I forced myself to go to work. Because of my medical history, the only place that would hire me was a small, busy diner with lax management. Washing dishes and carrying trays was exhausting, but it was simple, mindless work that kept my hands busy. But I never expected to see Simon there. He looked incredibly out of place, dressed in a tailored suit, sitting on a cheap wooden chair at a sticky table. I watched him from afar, a wave of nostalgia washing over me. Years ago, when we were both broke, Simon would wear simple black t-shirts and cargo pants, fitting in perfectly at places like this. He would always wipe down the table and chairs before letting me sit, and use hot water to carefully clean my utensils. I used to hate eating, so he would patiently feed me bite by bite, coaxing me to swallow just a little more. I knew that back then, Simon was fighting with everything he had to keep me alive. But the Simon sitting here today probably wished I had died long ago. As if sensing my gaze, he suddenly turned his head and looked straight at me. His eyes were cold, indifferent, as if looking at a stranger who was about to take his order. "Service," he called out. I squeezed my palms, forcing myself to remain calm as I walked over to his table. "What can I get for you, sir?" His associates hadn't arrived yet, so he quietly ordered from the menu on his phone. I let out a quiet breath and turned to leave, but his mocking voice stopped me in my tracks. "I thought the Prescotts were drowning in cash. Why is Gavin letting his woman work as a waitress in a dump like this?" I kept my eyes on the floor. "His money has nothing to do with me." Simon let out a harsh laugh. "Ah, I see. Five years later, and you're still just his dirty little secret?" He suddenly stood up, towering over me and crowding me against the counter. His eyes were dark and predatory. "Are you tired of being his sidepiece for five years? Why don't you come to me instead? I'll pay you two thousand a month." "After all, I still miss how desperately you used to cling to me." Back then, my illness made me pathologically dependent on him. I would offer him my life, telling him I had nothing else to give, and that he could do whatever he wanted with me as long as he didn't leave. Hearing those words back then would make Simon weep, pulling me into his arms and begging me never to say such things again. He didn't want my life; he just wanted me to live, to stay with him forever. Now, those sacred, twisted vows had been forged into a weapon, which he was using to rip me apart. I tried to stay calm, to act like a normal person in front of him. But the clinking of glasses, the loud chatter of the customers, and the sizzling of the kitchen grill began to swell into a deafening roar in my head. My sanity slipped, and before I knew it, the loud slap of my hand against his cheek echoed through the diner. "You are a bastard, Simon," I whispered. Simon touched his reddened cheek, a dark, twisted smile spreading across his face. "You have no right to judge me, Fiona." "From beginning to end, you are the one who owes me." That night, Simon was determined to make me pay. He kept calling me back to his table for trivial things, demanding items we didn't have. When I finally brought out his order, he claimed he had never ordered it, deliberately sticking his foot out as I turned to leave. I tripped, crashing to the floor along with the hot plates and food. The manager rushed over, offering endless apologies, but Simon only offered a cold, mocking smile. "Honestly, manager, is your staff mentally stable? As a clinical therapist, I can tell her emotional state is highly volatile." The manager shot me a suspicious, frustrated look. "That's enough. Go home, Fiona. Don't bother coming back tomorrow." The only job I had managed to find was gone, ruined by Simon. I slowly got to my feet. Shards of broken ceramic had sliced into my knees, and my hands were blistered and red from the hot soup. But I felt no physical pain. I simply bowed to the manager in silence and walked out into the cold night. I wandered the dark streets aimlessly, a crushing wave of guilt and self-loathing swallowing me whole. I began to doubt my own reality. Was I really so broken that I had gotten the order wrong? Was my mind so unstable that I couldn't even carry a simple tray? I was completely useless, a burden to everyone, especially to Audrey. Maybe it was time to just slip away. My existence was nothing but a source of pain and resentment. If I disappeared, everyone would finally be free. The toxic thoughts roared in my head, drowning out the sound of a blaring horn. A speeding car was rushing toward me, and in that fleeting second, the only thing I felt was a profound sense of relief. But before the impact could happen, a powerful arm yanked me backward, slamming my body into a familiar, solid chest. The cool, woody scent of his cologne hadn't changed at all. But before I could even process the warmth, he shoved me away. Simon's dark eyes were filled with disgust. "If you want to die, Fiona, don't do it in front of me." Back then, I had always wanted to die in front of him, so that his face would be the last thing I ever saw. Even during my darkest days in the psychiatric facility, that lingering thought was the only thing that kept me from going through with it. I opened my mouth, but no sound came out. I lowered my head and whispered, "I'm sorry." I turned to walk away, but Simon grabbed my arm again, his tone mocking. "Did you have a fight with Gavin?" "Do you want me to call him? Maybe I can help you patch things up." "After all, I was a highly effective prop in your little games five years ago." He kept talking, dragging up the ghosts of our past, completely unaware that those memories were monsters waiting to tear my fragile sanity to shreds. "Stop it, Simon! Please, stop! Just let me go!" Tears streamed down my face as I began to beg him. A flash of raw pain crossed Simon's eyes, his expression turning desperate and angry. "Do you really hate being near me that much?" Without another word, he scooped me up in his arms and threw me into the passenger seat of his car. I pressed myself against the window, my voice trembling. "Simon, where are you taking me?" His eyes were cold as he stared at the road ahead. "To the place you belong." The car sped through the night, leaving the city lights behind as we drove toward the wealthy estates on the east side. My heart was beating so fast I felt sick. I looked at him helplessly. "Simon, please... I don't want to ruin your marriage. I don't want to be a mistress." He let out a harsh, mocking laugh. "You think too highly of yourself, Fiona. Did you honestly think I wanted to keep you?" "No one can come between Madeline and me. Especially not someone as wretched as you." So, he had completely moved on. That was good. Being loved by a broken person was exhausting; it was a ticking time bomb that would eventually destroy both of us. Simon had survived. But what about me? Why did I have to reappear in his life just to bring him more pain? I should have died long ago, dissolving into the rain that cools the hot summer nights. That was what I was meant to do. Having made up my mind, I turned to ask him to let me out so I could find a quiet place to end it. But the car had already come to a stop. Simon dragged me out of the passenger seat, pulling me toward the front door of a luxurious modern villa. He pressed the doorbell. After a long moment, the door swung open. Gavin Prescott stood there in a silk bathrobe, looking relaxed and arrogant. He raised an eyebrow at the sight of us. "Well, look what the wind blew in." My pupils dilated in terror, and I instinctively tried to hide behind Simon. Simon let out a hollow laugh, though his arm tightened around me as he glared at Gavin. "You're pretty pathetic, Gavin. The woman you keep can't seem to stop throwing herself into other men's arms." Gavin smirked, entirely unbothered. "Well, maybe I've been spoiling her too much." He reached out, grabbing my wrist and pulling me toward the doorway. "Come on, sweetheart. Stop making a scene outside. Come back home." The touch of his hand made me violently ill. The memory of his deception and assault from five years ago flashed before my eyes, vivid and terrifying. I turned to Simon, my eyes pleading as I shook my head. "No, Simon... please. Don't make me go with him." Simon placed his hand on my back and gave me a firm push, sending me straight into Gavin's arms. "Keep acting, Fiona. Did you really think I'd fall for your little show again?" "You and your lover make me sick." As I was pushed away from his familiar warmth, the last of my safety shattered. My fractured mind began to shut down, blocking out the world. My eyes wandered around the entry hall, taking in the scene: The console table, the wallet, the keys, the designer cologne, and a pair of heavy, sharp gardening shears sitting on a tray of soil... Beside me, Gavin wrapped his arms around me, his mocking laughter echoing in my ears. "Hahaha..." "Simon Carlo... you really are the most pathetic fool I have ever met..." Simon's brow furrowed. "What the hell are you talking about?" Before Gavin could answer, the wet, sickening sound of metal tearing through flesh cut through the air. Blood sprayed across the pristine entryway, a few warm drops splashing onto Simon’s cheek. He froze, his eyes widening in horror. Gavin stumbled backward, his hands desperately clutching his neck as blood gushed through his fingers. He stared at me in absolute shock. I pulled the heavy shears free and turned to look at Simon, a sweet, peaceful smile on my lips. "Simon..." "From now on, no one in this world will ever disgust you again." Before he could move, I raised my hands and firmly covered his eyes. A second later, another hot spray of blood splashed across his face, heavier and warmer than the first. But my hands remained clamped tightly over his eyes, refusing to let go, stubbornly fulfilling his final command: "If you want to die, Fiona, don't do it in front of me."
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