Transported into a novel, I stood by devoted second lead Asher Shen from nothing to tech mogul. When his old flame Celeste returned, he asked for a divorce, just as the plot foretold. But she immediately betrayed him, leaking secrets and draining his accounts before vanishing. I didn't sign the papers. Instead, I comforted him. Grateful, he swore to build a better life. Five years later, his new company went public with Celeste, now a star, by his side. The media cheered. I smiled from the audience. The first time he betrayed me, I got the "Comeback Kingmaker" system. My task: stay until his company listed. My reward: freedom and all the money. His comeback was 98% complete. This time, I was leaving him with nothing. 1 As Asher’s company soared, so did my status in the high-society circles. Every woman envied me, whispering that I had placed the winning bet. Five years ago, we were the city’s most notoriously miserable couple, him pressuring me relentlessly for a divorce. But when his company collapsed and he was left broken and bankrupt, I was the bigger person. I became the loyal wife who helped him rise from the ashes. They all said my patience had finally paid off. But I knew something was wrong. Asher was in love again. We knew each other too well. No matter how hard he tried to hide it, I saw the signs. He used to come home right on time, but lately, he’d linger in his car in the driveway, chain-smoking, the exhaustion etched on his face. When he finally came inside, silence hung heavy between us. I used to pick out all his clothes—a monochrome sea of black, white, and gray. Suddenly, he started having his assistant buy them. He wore a lot of cyan these days. It was Celeste’s favorite color. His old flame. And on her birthday, the lights in his office building burned all through the night. I had a feeling I knew what was coming. It wasn't until today, at an alumni gala Asher dragged me to, that my suspicions were confirmed. There she was, standing right in front of me: Celeste. She smiled, extending a hand as if she’d never betrayed him, never left him for dead. Asher’s gaze was ice. He stared her down, sharp and unforgiving, and made no move to shake her hand. But I knew better. The moment he saw her, his grip on my wrist tightened, a tremor running up his arm. I kept my smile perfectly in place and patted the back of his hand. “Celeste, dear. It’s been five years since you stole the Shen family’s trade secrets and helped his rivals short his company into the ground.” My words were a jab at her, but they were also a reminder for Asher. Whatever dalliances he had in private, he had to maintain a respectable front in public. As if waking from a trance, he wrapped an arm around my waist and steered me away. That night, a video of Celeste’s interview went viral. The reporter asked why she had suddenly returned to the spotlight after years of silence. Celeste looked into the camera, tears streaming down her face like a tragic heroine. “I was young and foolish,” she choked out. “I hurt the man who loved me, and now… I just want to win him back.” Her eyes pleaded. “Asher, can you ever forgive me?” The story exploded. A beautiful, disgraced actress and a resurrected tech titan. Asher was furious. He immediately got his PR team on the phone, ready to issue a statement denying any connection to her. His face was flushed with a rage I hadn’t seen in all our years of marriage. When the PR head asked if they should sue Celeste for slander, Asher’s fury faltered. I watched him, knowing exactly what he would say. His eyes darted away. After a moment of hesitation, he shook his head. “I just don’t want to be associated with her,” he explained to me, his voice tight. I nodded with a placid smile, adding a silent footnote in my head: You’re afraid a lawsuit would ruin her career. What a pair we were. Two people, each with our own secrets, politely refusing to expose the other. When we first married, my love for him had bordered on madness. Now, watching him was like watching a play—a distant, passionless affair. But no one could have predicted how truly insane Celeste was. She came for us on the bay bridge, her car hurtling toward us in the wrong lane. I was in the passenger seat. If Asher swerved, we’d be fine. But Celeste would crash through the guardrail and plunge into the cold, dark water below. No chance of survival. If he didn’t swerve, we would all be hurt. His eyes locked with hers, a deep, mesmerizing gaze, as if they were the only two people in the world. A pair of star-crossed lovers, locked in a trance of love and hate. And there I was, the villain in their drama. Because I was the one slapping his face, screaming at him to swerve, clawing for the steering wheel. The world erupted in a deafening crunch of metal as the cars collided, twisting together in a grotesque embrace. Dazed, Asher stumbled out of our car, his hands trembling as he checked on Celeste. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she leaned against him. She shot me a look over his shoulder, a triumphant smirk on her face, and mouthed two words. “I. Win.” It took me a long moment to pull myself from the wreckage. A deep, pulling pain started in my lower abdomen. “Asher… help me…” I called out weakly. He snapped back to reality and rushed over, scooping me into his arms. My consciousness began to fade. In the wailing ambulance, I could vaguely hear him calling me his wife, begging me not to leave him. I felt the warmth of his tears landing on my forehead. How cliché, I thought, and let the darkness take me. When I woke up, I was greeted with two pieces of news. First, I was two months pregnant. Second, the system notified me that Asher’s comeback was at 98%. I would be going home very, very soon. 2 Asher visited my hospital room every day. And every day, he’d take a call and rush out. I knew he was going to see Celeste. But he was a master of deception. No matter how late it was, he always came back to my room, curling up on the small cot beside my bed, his body pressed against mine. Once, as he was leaving, he paused and pressed a hand to my belly, whispering softly. “Daddy will be right back.” In that moment, I found his very existence repulsive. I was done being polite. “Why don’t you take that fruit basket to Miss Celeste?” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm. “Since you can’t seem to stay away from her.” The warmth on his face shattered. He just stood there, speechless. “Let’s not fight,” he finally managed. “The baby can hear us.” I slapped him. The sound echoed in the quiet room. “Does the baby know its father almost got it killed for his old flame?” Asher’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. His face was a mask of pleading. Just then, Celeste’s call came through. “Asher, my stitches tore again… it hurts so much…” Her voice was a syrupy, seductive purr he could never resist. He was on his feet in an instant. I turned my head away, refusing to look at him as he left. A moment later, a message popped up on my phone. It was from Mr. Davies, one of our biggest clients, wanting to discuss a contract. Davies was generous, but he had one major flaw: he insisted on sealing every deal over copious amounts of alcohol. The system warned me. If I went, I would have to drink. And I couldn’t drink while pregnant. My expression turned to ice. I knew the risks. Asher had lectured me about them endlessly. But I didn’t care. I’m leaving this world soon, I told the system. This baby was never meant to be born. It was a product of lust, not a child of love. It wasn’t something to be cherished. Besides, landing this massive contract with Davies would accelerate the company’s growth. It would push Asher’s comeback progress to 99%. I went to the dinner. I drank until everyone was satisfied, and I walked away with a signed contract. I’d thrown up three times before I got home, my stomach feeling like it was on fire. When I opened the door, I heard Asher’s voice, unusually cheerful. “I bought so many little outfits for the baby today, and a stroller! We should start decorating the nursery…” Then he smelled the alcohol on me. His words died in his throat. The atmosphere in the room dropped ten degrees. He gently steadied me, his face a thundercloud. He helped me remove my makeup, cleaned my face, forced a sobriety tonic down my throat, and called our family doctor. “You know you can’t drink while you’re pregnant!” he finally exploded, his voice low and furious. He grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at him. His eyes burned with anger, but a sheen of tears swam in them. I patted his cheek and laughed. “I was out there building an empire for you and Celeste,” I slurred. “What’s with the concerned husband act? Deep down, you’re probably hoping I drink myself to death so you can make room for your precious old flame, right?” He cut me off with a desperate kiss, trying to smother the cruel words. I shoved him away with all my strength. “Don’t touch me. You’re filthy! While I was entertaining clients, where were you?” The color drained from his face. I unlocked my phone and pulled up the message Celeste had sent me earlier. It was a photo of her and Asher. She was in a hospital bed with an IV in her arm, and he was asleep in a chair beside her. On his forehead was the clear imprint of a lipstick kiss. “It’s not what you think!” he stammered. “I just… I hate her for what she did! I wanted to see how pathetic her life has become!” I closed my eyes. I called him pathetic, a fool who deserved to be tricked, a dog who would always go back to his own vomit. After seven years, a husband and wife know exactly where to stick the knife. He stormed out. Not thirty minutes later, Celeste updated her social media. A picture of two hands, intertwined. The caption read: He’s back with me. 3 A few days later, it was my birthday. Knowing I would be leaving this world soon, I threw a large party, inviting all my closest friends. It was meant to be a farewell. But then an uninvited guest arrived. Asher walked in with Celeste on his arm. Around her neck was a stunning emerald necklace. The one I had fallen in love with, the one Asher had bought at auction as my birthday gift. He had given it to her. The room was filled with my friends, my true friends. Their gazes, a mixture of embarrassment and pity, burned my skin. Asher had publicly humiliated me. He stood before me, but before he could speak, his eyes were drawn to a scroll one of my friends was holding. It was a piece of calligraphy from a renowned master she adored. She had begged me for it countless times, but I’d always refused. Now that I was leaving, I was giving away my entire collection to people who would appreciate it. Asher’s brow furrowed. “I thought this was your favorite,” he said, his voice laced with confusion. “You looked at it every day. I had to pull so many strings to get the artist to come out of retirement for this!” I took a step back, my voice sharp. “What, you can throw away a fortune on a gift for Miss Celeste, but I can’t have the freedom to give my own things away?” He rubbed his temples, a wave of exhaustion washing over him. “Elara, you know that’s not what I mean.” He pulled me into a quiet corner, his eyes pleading. “Celeste has been trying to get a meeting with Director Zhao for weeks. He happened to be here tonight, so she begged me to bring her. That’s all this is. Don’t overthink it.” His lips brushed against my shoulder. “We’ve been married for years. Can we please just… be okay?” I wrenched my arm away, my smile bright and brittle. “Of course. In fact, Director Zhao and I are great friends. I’d be happy to make the introduction for her.” I saw a flicker of relief, then genuine delight, in Asher’s eyes. But my mind drifted back five years, to a time when I was sick in the hospital. Asher was at his lowest point then, unable to even pay the medical bills. One of his friends had clapped him on the shoulder and offered to help. Asher had glanced over at me, his expression unreadable, before finally saying, “No, we’re fine.” And so I endured the pain without medication, all for the sake of his pathetic pride. So this is what it was like for the girl he actually loved. He was willing to swallow his pride, to beg and scheme, all for her career. The difference between being loved and not being loved was painfully clear. But did he really think I would play the part of the gracious, forgiving wife? I glided over to Director Zhao, a glass of champagne in hand, and gestured toward Celeste. “She’s a phenomenal actress,” I said, my voice sweet as poison. “Played the part of a devoted lover so well she had Asher spinning in circles. She’s also a magician—when he lost all his money, poof! She vanished.” I continued, my smile never wavering. “Oh, and she’s a master of disguise. The moment she sees money, or another woman’s husband, she transforms. It’s like a dog seeing a bone.” Celeste’s smile was frozen on her face, stretched thin and tight. Asher’s eyes were practically shooting sparks at me, but I didn’t care. I was having too much fun. I gestured grandly. “Director, if your new film needs any supporting roles, you should consider Asher, too. He’d be perfect for the part of a kicked dog.” Asher’s fists were clenched so tight his knuckles were white. “Elara,” he seethed. “There’s no need to drag up the past! All you ever talk about is how I was tricked! Are you going to hold that one mistake over my head for the rest of my life?” He was tired of my reminders. Perhaps he was ashamed of the five years of struggle, of the humiliating climb from the bottom, and hated that I was the one who had witnessed it all. I rolled my eyes and met Celeste’s gaze, which was brimming with unshed, dramatic tears. One woman had seen him at his absolute worst, a wife who knew all his scars. The other was the unattainable first love. No wonder he could never let her go. Asher snatched the wine glass from my hand, his voice sharp with command. “Apologize to Celeste. Now.” I slapped him across the face, hard. A red handprint immediately blossomed on his cheek. “You really do deserve everything she did to you.” I turned and walked away. From across the hall, my friends were calling me over to cut the cake. We were all gathered in the main hall when, without warning, the massive crystal chandelier overhead began to shudder. Then, it fell. Screams erupted. People scattered in a panic. I heard voices shouting my name—“Elara, watch out!”—and felt hands pulling me back. But among all the cries of concern, not a single one came from my husband. In the split second the chandelier fell, he lunged in the opposite direction, shielding Celeste with his own body. A shard of glass still managed to slice her cheek. Asher stared at the thin line of blood on her perfect skin, and something inside him snapped. He whirled on me, his face contorted with a primal rage. “You planned the venue! How could you not know the chandelier was faulty? You did this on purpose! Were you trying to kill her?” A friend stepped between us, shoving him back. “Asher, what the hell is wrong with you? Elara was almost crushed to death! Have you been married to a monster for the last seven years? You don’t have a single word of concern for her?” I just watched him, a slow, knowing smile spreading across my face as his features twisted in fury. “Oh, so we’re done pretending you hate her now? Done playing the part of the devoted husband?”
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