Chapter 2
989words
Nathan worked the room in his tailored suit, hair perfectly styled, his practiced smile never faltering as he fielded compliments and flattery from every direction.
Under the spotlight, every gesture screamed successful tech mogul—the confident, commanding businessman who had the world at his feet.
No one would ever guess he'd spent two years bedridden, incontinent, needing constant care, or that he'd sobbed in despair more times than I could count.
I hugged the shadows in the farthest corner, nursing a cup of warm water, my stomach knotting from years of irregular meals and tonight's tension.
I watched the crowd hang on his every word as he thanked his doctor for "miraculous healing," his team for "unwavering loyalty," investors for "believing in the darkest hour," and even fate for "its perfect plan."
Everyone except me.
As if my five years of devotion were just dust to be brushed away—or better yet, a stain that had never existed.
My sleepless nights, my sacrifices, my swallowed tears—all reduced to background noise, an embarrassing footnote not worth mentioning.
When his company nearly collapsed, with executives jumping ship and panic spreading, I was the one who stayed up analyzing the chaotic data he'd brought home. I built the recovery plan that saved everything, then "casually" mentioned the key points as he woke up, letting him believe the breakthrough was his own stroke of genius.
When his engineers hit a wall with their core algorithm, I dusted off my old textbooks and scoured cutting-edge research papers. I wrote three critical equations on his whiteboard and, as he wheeled past in frustration, pointed to them with feigned innocence: "Would this approach work here? Just thinking out loud."
Every time his team worshipped his "stroke of genius" or reporters praised his "brilliant mind," they were actually celebrating my sleepless nights and silent contributions—work that could never see the light of day.
I thought we were survivors in the same lifeboat, two wounded creatures keeping each other warm in the darkness, protecting a tiny flame called "future."
Turns out I was the only one in that boat. A one-woman show with an audience of none.
That's when Victoria Lambert made her entrance.
The ballroom doors swung open dramatically. Victoria floated in wearing a custom white off-shoulder gown, her porcelain skin and slender neck making her look like a hothouse flower that had never weathered a storm. Her eyes darted around with perfectly calculated vulnerability before landing on Nathan at the center of the crowd. On cue, those eyes welled with tears, her lips trembling with unspoken emotion—the perfect damsel in distress.
Every eye in the room locked onto her. Even the music seemed to hold its breath.
Nathan's speech died mid-sentence.
He stared at her with a look I recognized all too well—that same raw hunger and devotion he'd once directed at me five years ago. That pure, blazing light I hadn't seen once during my years of sacrifice. That light burned my eyes like acid.
His champagne glass tilted dangerously, the golden liquid sloshing toward the rim of his thousand-dollar suit.
He shoved through the crowd without apology, all composure gone, rushing toward that white vision in the doorway with desperate, stumbling steps.
He completely forgot his speech, forgot the hundreds of guests, forgot the entire purpose of tonight's event—our engagement.
He snatched the microphone, his voice booming through the speakers with a tenderness and choked emotion I'd never heard before: "Vivi… you came back."
Victoria's tears fell with theatrical precision, perfect droplets rolling down her flawless cheeks to dampen her bodice in the most photogenic way possible.
"Nathan," she whimpered, her voice breaking just enough to seem genuine, "I'm so sorry I'm late… I only just saw the news about your… your accident… I should never have left… I've regretted it every day…"
"Not too late!" Nathan cut her off, his voice cracking with intensity. He grabbed her wrist like a drowning man clutching a lifeline. "You're here now! That's all that matters! Everything I went through—it was all worth it! Every second was worth it!"
He practically dragged her to center stage and faced the stunned crowd, his voice trembling yet powerful: "Everyone, this is Victoria Lambert—the only woman I've ever truly loved. Before my accident, we had a small disagreement and she left the country… But during every excruciating therapy session, every corporate crisis, it was thoughts of her that kept me going! Her occasional calls that gave me strength! She's the reason I fought to recover!"
He gazed at Victoria with such burning intensity it could have melted steel. He'd completely forgotten my existence, forgotten this was our engagement party, forgotten I was standing just feet away in the shadows. "Everything I've built, all this success—it was always for you. Only you deserve to stand beside me and share in this glory."
The room fell dead silent.
Then the room exploded with applause and gasps. What a romantic reunion! What devotion! The perfect fairy tale—wounded prince, returned princess, love conquering all! Better than any Hollywood script! Tomorrow's headlines practically wrote themselves!
And me?
What was I in this story? The delusional placeholder? The disposable tool? The pathetic nobody who dared reach above her station?
The whispers reached me like poisoned arrows, each one finding its mark with perfect clarity.
"Wow… so she's the one he's been pining for all this time… talk about devotion!"
"So what's that Wendy woman? His nurse? His charity case?"
"Look at her cheap clothes. No wonder she's being replaced. Probably saw his recovery as her meal ticket. The gold-digger's being shown the door now that the real deal is back."
"I heard she did nurse him for five years, but come on—a caretaker is still just a caretaker. Did she seriously think she'd end up the lady of the manor?"
"Damn, five years down the drain. Poor sucker…"
