I No Longer Dream of Tender Nights

On the fifth year of their marriage, finding the vitamin C her husband bought tasted too bitter, Jeanne Dotson went to the hospital with the bottle. The doctor took one look and frowned. "This isn't vitamin C." "I-I'm sorry, Doctor?" "I could say it a dozen times and it'd still be the same," the doctor replied, pointing at the bottle. "This is Mifepristone. Taking too much of it doesn't just cause infertility—it can do serious harm to your body." Jeanne felt a lump stuck in her throat, and her fingers turned pale from clenching the bottle. "That's impossible. My husband got this for me. His name is Darren Walsh—he's a doctor here too." The doctor looked up at her, his expression turning strange, tinged with something she couldn't quite read. After a pause, he gave a small smile. "Miss, you might want to visit the psych ward instead. We all know Dr. Walsh's wife—she gave birth just two months ago. Don't let your imagination run wild, all right? There's no point." Chapter 1 The Bitter Truth The doctor unlocked his phone and pulled up a photo. In it, Darren Walsh stood in a white lab coat, cradling a baby in his arms. Beside him was a woman smiling sweetly into the camera—Alyssa Carver, the so-called sister he was always talking about. There was a sharp ringing in Jeanne Dotson's ears as her mind went completely blank. The doctor had just told her that the woman in the picture was Darren's wife—and that the baby was theirs. Her breathing grew heavy and uneven. Stumbling toward the elevator, she hit the button for the 15th floor, desperate to find Darren and demand an explanation. But as the doors slid shut, two familiar voices drifted in. Maybe it was because she was bundled up with her hat pulled low, but the men didn't recognize her—and they didn't bother to lower their voices. "Darren, aren't you afraid Jeanne will find out? Why did you beg her to marry you in the first place? If you'd just married Alyssa earlier, you wouldn't have to sneak around like this just to see your kid." It was Finn Carver's voice. "She won't find out," Darren said, his voice cold. "Keep it to yourself, got it? When you see Jeanne, you'd better know what to say and not." "I just don't get you," Finn snorted. "Alyssa's been living with your family since she was five, practically your fiancee. You adored her growing up, and yet you ended up falling for Jeanne instead. You sent Alyssa away, then went through all that trouble to bring her back. Who the hell do you really love?" It was a long moment before Darren spoke again. "I love Jeanne. But I can't let go of Alyssa. Thinking about how she struggled overseas all those years… it messes with my head. Jeanne already has the tittle of my wife—let Alyssa have the child. At least she'll have something to hold on to." Finn sighed. "And what if you and Jeanne have a child one day? You really think you'll treat them both the same? Alyssa's my cousin, you know." The elevator chimed just then, and Darren's voice overlapped with the sound of the doors sliding open. "That won't happen." Finn blinked, confused—unsure whether Darren meant there wouldn't be a child, or that he wouldn't play favorites. Jeanne, however, understood perfectly. He was saying they wouldn't have a child—he'd already made sure of it. He'd been feeding her sterilization pills, eliminating any "risk" for the girl who grew up with him. People entered and left, making the elevator stuffy and hot, but Jeanne felt as if she'd plunged into an icy lake. She was freezing from the inside out. Only when the elevator descended back to the first floor did she finally gasp for air, coughing as if she'd just broken the surface after nearly drowning. Her phone buzzed in her pocket. The screen lit up with a message from Darren—an image of a plane ticket and a line of text. 'See you at the race tomorrow. Don't forget to wear the lucky charm I got you.' Her emotions burst through all at once, tears spilling down her cheeks. Darren was always busy at the hospital, but ever since their wedding, he had never missed a single one of her races. Even if it meant catching a red-eye flight, he was always there at the finish line. He would book a restaurant, buy her flowers, celebrate her win—year after year, without fail. She remembered how his friends used to tease her, calling her the one Darren had fought the world to bring home. To make her return from overseas, he had battled international racing clubs, risking his career more than once. To keep her, he'd poured his savings into building a motor racing club just for her, complete with a top-tier coaching team. And after they married, he had spoiled her beyond reason. She once murmured in her sleep about missing her mother, and by dawn, Darren had used every connection he had to retrieve her late mother's belongings. That was the kind of man Darren Walsh had been—yet he'd been living a double life all along. Suddenly, everything clicked for Jeanne. No wonder Alyssa knew the Walshes' home better than she did. No wonder someone who had supposedly lived abroad could name all his friends and their nicknames. No wonder this so-called sister could make him cancel half a year's worth of surgeries just to accompany her to racing events. There was no so-called sister. She was the fiancee chosen for him as a child—the girl promised to him long before Jeanne ever came along. Just moments ago, Jeanne had been thinking that if Alyssa dared to interfere, she would never tolerate it. But now she realized she was the one who had intruded. She was the outsider—the one who should be stepping away. A bone-deep chill crept up her legs, freezing her from the inside out. She had always thought that when people broke down, they screamed and sobbed. But now she knew the truth—real heartbreak was silent. Only tears and the weight in her chest told her how much it hurt. It felt as though an invisible hand had wrapped around her heart, squeezing until the last drop of blood was wrung dry. Her phone vibrated again. This time, it was a message from Alyssa—a family photo accompanied by a message. 'Stop clinging to something that was never yours. I thought you'd have the decency to back off, but I guess not. Darren says the baby looks just like him. Don't you think so too?' Jeanne glanced at it once and closed it. If Alyssa wanted him, she could have him. But Jeanne knew Darren too well—he never let go of what he'd claimed as his, even when he no longer wanted it. Her trembling fingers hovered over the dial pad for a long time before pressing a number she'd nearly forgotten. The call connected, and her voice came out shaking. "Foster… does that old bet of ours still count?" Chapter 2 The Last Straw There was a pause on the other end of the line before Theo Foster's deep voice came through. "The Foster family's moving in half a month. I'll come get you then." Jeanne froze for half a second, then let out a soft laugh. She hadn't said a word about leaving, yet he already knew. And the worst part was—he was right. "Alright." With Theo's capabilities, once she left, even if Darren turned the world upside down, he would never find her again. That night, Jeanne didn't reply to any of Darren's messages. He grew anxious enough to leave work early and change to an earlier flight. But the moment he opened the front door, he stopped short, the panic in his eyes melting away. Under the warm glow of the living room lights, Jeanne was sitting on the couch, watching TV. "Jeanne? You're home?" He rushed over in a few quick strides. "I sent you so many messages…" He didn't even finish before pulling her into his arms, pressing his chin against the top of her head, and rubbing gently. "Thank God you're okay. I was so scared… Jeanne, I can't live without you." The affection in his eyes was real. Jeanne knew he truly loved her—but she also knew he didn't love her alone. A lump rose in her throat, and she dug her nails into her palm to steady herself. For a fleeting moment, she almost told him everything. But then reason returned. If she said it, she'd never be able to walk away. She slipped out of his embrace, forcing her voice to stay calm. "The race got postponed. My phone was off, so I didn't see your messages." Darren didn't notice the storm beneath her calm. He just smiled, reaching out to playfully tap her nose. "No harm done. Don't pout—I'm not mad. You must be hungry." He jangled his car keys, his shirt and trousers sharp and crisp, his jacket slung casually over his arm. "I booked a table at that barbecue place you've been craving. Come on, princess, let's eat to your heart's content." He extended his hand toward her, palm up. Jeanne's gaze lingered on that hand, and for a second, her mind blurred. She was 18 again, on a bright afternoon, standing on the basketball court. A boy in a sweat-soaked white T-shirt grinned at her, a basketball tucked under his arm, his smile full of sunshine. "Come on, princess, my treat today—eat as much as you want!" Back then, his heart had belonged to her and her alone. Jeanne followed him to the barbecue restaurant. He hadn't changed—still the same man who never served anyone but somehow always took care of her. He rolled up his sleeves, portioned for her meticulously, always giving her the first bite. Her plate piled higher and higher until it looked like a tiny mountain. It wasn't until his phone started ringing nonstop that she snapped out of the daze. "Answer it," she murmured, stirring her gravy bowl. Darren glanced at the screen, coaxed her with a smile, and stepped outside to take the call. When he came back, his eyes were filled with urgency and guilt. "Jeanne, there's an emergency surgery. I have to go. I'm sorry I can't finish this meal with you—but I'll take a day off tomorrow, I promise." Jeanne had already seen the caller's name. She didn't call him out on his lie—she just nodded. "Go ahead." Relieved, Darren left without another word. … Staring at the empty seat across from her, Jeanne felt a sharp sting in her chest, as though someone had driven a needle straight into her heart. She tried to collect herself and pick up her cutlery again—but a video call notification flashed on her screen—Alyssa Carver. She declined it. Alyssa called again. And again. After more than ten tries, Jeanne finally answered. Alyssa's tone was sweet, her smile deceptively innocent. "Jeanne, you're not eating barbecue, are you? I thought so. No wonder someone came home smelling like grilled meat." She put heavy emphasis on the word home. Jeanne caught the provocation instantly, and her face went cold. "Alyssa, you're being childish. Have you forgotten who the legal wife is right now? What do you think would happen if I sent this chat to Darren—who would he choose to keep?" A flicker of panic flashed in Alyssa's eyes, but she quickly covered it with a smile. "Send it then. Don't hang up, though. Let's see who's really being childish." Jeanne didn't even know why she didn't end the call. Maybe a part of her still wanted to see—still needed to know. Moments later, the camera shifted, and Darren appeared in the background. Alyssa immediately turned around, snuggling into his chest, blocking his view of the screen. "Darren," she said softly, "are you still mad about me running off back then? If I hadn't left… would you have married Jeanne? Or would you have chosen me?" Darren frowned. "Why ask pointless questions?" "I just want to know…" Alyssa's eyes reddened, her voice barely a whisper. "I didn't mean anything by it…" After a few seconds of silence, Jeanne saw his lips move. His voice came out hoarse. "Yes." That single word hollowed her out completely. So that was it. From the very beginning, she had never been the only one in his heart. She suddenly remembered their wedding day—Darren holding her hand in front of a room full of guests, swearing on his beloved grandmother's name. "I, Darren Walsh, swear to love Jeanne Dotson and only her, in this life and the next. My body, my money, my life—all of it belongs to her. She can make mistakes, she can fall out of love, she can even love someone else—so long as she never leaves me." She had cried uncontrollably that day, thinking she had found the truest love in the world. But now she knew—that vow had been a lie from the start. She had never been his only one. Not before, not now, and never in the future. She was just the stand-in he'd used to fill a void, a pawn in his unfinished love story. A twisted smile pulled at her lips as tears streamed down her face. She had thought that, at the very least, she'd once been loved fiercely. But the whole time, she'd only been a thief—someone occupying a place that never belonged to her. Bowing her head, she clutched her chest, trying to breathe through the pain. The lump in her throat wouldn't go down, and tears kept falling onto the table, one after another. … That night, Darren didn't come home. Instead, Jeanne received a photo of him sleeping—sent by Alyssa. She stared at his peaceful face until dawn, her heart growing colder and quieter by the second. Then, she picked up her phone and dialed her friend, who was also an attorney, Amber Lane. "Amber… can you draft me a divorce agreement?" Chapter 3 Cracks in the Glass When Jeanne woke, the house was still empty. On her phone was a message from Darren. 'Baby, things are crazy at the hospital today. My day off has been canceled. Don't be mad, okay? No matter how busy I am tomorrow, I'll spend the whole day with you. I got you a surprise—wait for me.' Below it, timestamped an hour earlier, was a photo from Alyssa—of her and Darren smiling by a hot spring pool, the kind of bright, blissful smile that stung to look at. Jeanne's fingertips burned as she gripped her phone. For a second, she nearly called him to ask whether he was busy performing surgeries—or busy keeping his mistress company. But remembering her plan, she forced herself to breathe and typed a short reply. 'Okay.' If he wasn't coming home, all the better—it gave her time to pack. She boxed up the clothes Darren had bought for her, planning to donate them to charity. She fed the framed photos on the wall into the shredder, one after another. She carried the hundred wish cards she had written for him—tiny, colorful pieces of hope—to the balcony and burned them to ash. She didn't dare throw out too much, afraid Darren might notice something was off when he returned. The next day, he finally came home. The moment he saw her, he dropped the cake in his hand and strode over with open arms. "I'm exhausted, Jeanne. Come here—need a recharge hug." Jeanne instinctively stepped back, letting his arms fall empty. He quirked a brow, amused. "Still mad? Don't be. Come on, I'll show you your surprise." Before she could answer, he had already taken her hand and pulled her toward the car. They drove straight to the training track. Jeanne was confused when Darren tugged her out of the car and turned her toward what waited ahead. "Do you like it?" he asked, pointing to it. A sleek, modified race car gleamed before her—its body covered in sparkling pink diamonds that shimmered under the sun, dazzling to the eye. Jeanne blinked, momentarily stunned. Around them, the club's coaches were watching, their voices filled with awe. "I heard this custom job cost nearly a hundred million. That's devotion." "Money's nothing—you don't know the half of it. Mr. Walsh stuck every one of those gems on by hand. Nearly ruined his eyesight over it." "Come on, Jeanne, give it a spin! Let us have a turn after you. The boss really spoils you." Their laughter and teasing filled the air. Jeanne's brief surprise slowly faded, her chest tightening. She forced a smile, though her eyes stung. Everyone called him a loving husband, but who among them knew which wife he really loved? His passion burned hot and bright—but it never shone for her alone. Days of pent-up emotion finally found an outlet. Jeanne climbed into the driver's seat, slammed her foot down on the accelerator, and shot forward like an arrow loosed from its string. Lap after lap, she poured every ounce of pain, anger, and humiliation into the roar of the engine. Darren stood at the track's edge, hands in his pockets, watching her with a soft smile. His gaze never left her. On the 40th lap, he raised his hands and made a heart. Caught off guard, Jeanne's grip slipped. The car jolted and scraped against the guardrail with a loud clang. Pain shot through her foot before she even processed what had happened. Darren was already sprinting toward her, pulling the door open, and sweeping her into his arms. "Does it hurt?" he asked, frowning as he carefully lifted her injured foot. Dabbing a cotton swab in antiseptic, he treated the scrape as gently as if she were made of glass. "It's my fault. I shouldn't have let you drive that long." His movements were tender, his eyes full of worry so deep it almost looked real. But all Jeanne felt was a wave of coldness spreading through her. 'So love can be acted out this perfectly.' She stared absently at him, almost reaching out to touch his hair. But Darren caught her hand and, lowering his head, leaned in to kiss her…. … The lounge door flew open. Without even looking up, Darren grabbed a water bottle off the table and hurled it toward the doorway. "Get out!" Jeanne turned her head—and froze. His expression changed the moment he saw who the intruder was. "Alyssa? Why are you here?" Alyssa stood there, her hand clutching her reddened forehead, lips trembling, eyes downcast. Mud speckled her clothes; she looked pitifully disheveled. "I… I hit the brakes too late during practice," she murmured. "Came to grab the first-aid kit." Darren's face flickered with irritation, then guilt. He said nothing at first. Instead, he peeled a bandage open and pressed it gently over Jeanne's toe. "Stay put, don't move. Your foot's injured." He tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and brushed a kiss against her cheek. "I'll check on her injuries. I'll be right outside. Call me if you need anything." With that, he grabbed the first-aid kit and walked out. The room fell silent—so silent Jeanne could hear the faint whistling of wind outside the window. Minutes passed. She finally pushed the door open. The hallway was empty—so much for "right outside." The disappointment flickered briefly before she smothered it. 'Should've seen it coming, no?' she thought. Leaning on the wall, she limped toward the race car. She truly did love that car—and with rain clouds gathering overhead, she wanted to drive it into the garage. But as she neared it, she froze. The car was rocking ever so slightly, and faint, muffled voices slipped out through the gap in the half-closed window… Chapter 4 The Promise Broken Their overlapping reflections wavered on the car window, the glass left open by a finger's width. Darren pinned Alyssa against the driver's seat, his fingertips brushing across her forehead. "Still hurts?" Alyssa tilted her head up and pressed her lips to his, her eyes gleaming with a coaxing smile. "No. I shouldn't have come to bother you and your wife. I deserved that hit." He frowned and gave her cheek a light, teasing bite. "Nonsense. You're both my darlings." At that, he squeezed her waist, his tone turning rough. "Still got the nerve to joke, huh? Guess that knock wasn't hard enough." Before she could answer, he caught her jaw in one hand and gripped her waist with the other, kissing her hard. Alyssa struggled for a moment, then pushed him away, her voice edged with jealousy. "This is the car you gave her. I don't want to do this here… Besides, Jeanne's still waiting for you in the lounge. You said you'd be back in a few minutes." Darren caught her wrist and pressed it above her head. His other hand slid down the curve of her waist as his voice dropped low and hoarse. "Still thinking about someone else? Don't worry, a few minutes is all I need to deal with you." It didn't take long before Alyssa's breath turned soft and uneven, her arms twining weakly around his shoulders. The sound of their bodies and muffled gasps drifted out into the night air. Jeanne stood frozen where she was, her blood running cold. Her knees nearly buckled, and it felt as though someone had carved open her chest with a blunt knife—so sharp and deep that her vision went dark. She suddenly remembered the day the racing club had been founded. Darren had waited for her praise like a child hoping for candy, but she'd been too overwhelmed, crying instead of speaking. In the end, he had pulled her into the backseat of a race car, his breath hot as he tugged at her clothes. She had wanted him too—but even then, she'd clenched her teeth and pushed him away. "Darren, racing is sacred to me. I want to keep it pure." He had gone still at her words. She thought he'd be angry, but instead, he straightened their clothes and sat upright, a solemn spark in his eyes. "I swear, from now on, it's my dream too. For the rest of my life, I'll treat racing with reverence. I'll never defile a racecar." He'd whispered the suggestive words against her ear, and they had burned into her skin. It was that promise that convinced her he was the one she'd spend her life with. But now, he was desecrating that very vow—with another woman—in her car. Jeanne's legs gave out beneath her, and the car key slipped from her trembling hand, clattering onto the ground. She snapped back to herself, ready to run, but the couple inside hadn't even noticed. A broken laugh tore from her throat, twisted and soundless. She bit down on her knuckles to stifle the sob rising inside her. That was when the rain began to fall. The narrow crack in the window clicked shut. Jeanne looked one last time at the car, its body rocking faintly, then bent down to pick up the key and hurled it into the nearby drain. Inside, Alyssa happened to glance up. Through the rearview mirror, she caught sight of Jeanne's departing figure—and smiled, smug and satisfied. The rain came and went quickly. … When Darren pushed open the lounge door, Jeanne was still sitting exactly as before. He let out a sigh of relief, tugged at his collar, and crouched in front of her. "Jeanne, come on. Let's go home." She lowered her head and caught a glimpse of the fresh red mark on his neck. Strangely, she didn't feel a thing. She didn't let him carry her. Leaning against the wall, she limped toward the car. But when she opened the passenger door, she froze—Alyssa was sitting in the driver's seat. Darren hurried over, trying to explain. "Alyssa signed up for a small race. I thought she could practice a little on this stretch of road. Could you help guide her, Jeanne?" Jeanne hesitated, then nodded. As much as she disliked Alyssa, she still respected anyone who truly loved racing. However, if she had known Alyssa didn't even have a basic driver's license, she would never have opened that door. The car suddenly lurched forward, veering off course. Jeanne's heart leaped into her throat. She reached for the steering wheel, but Alyssa shoved her away hard. "Let go if you don't want to die!" Jeanne's eyes burned red as she shouted, but Alyssa didn't loosen her grip. Her foot stayed crushed down on the gas pedal. A thunderous crash came at the same moment Darren's voice rang out behind them. "Jeanne!" Chapter 5 The Moment Her Heart Died Jeanne fought through the stabbing pain in her leg, forcing herself to answer the voice that had called her name. "Darren… I'm here…" But no one replied. She jerked her eyes open. Blood blurred her vision, painting the world in red. The car interior was empty—completely still. She was alone. The man who had just shouted her name hadn't saved her. As her consciousness sank, Jeanne slipped into a dream. She dreamed of that year when Darren had chased her all the way to Los Cielos. Her racing club had refused to release her from her contract, and he—eyes bloodshot—had challenged them to a race. If he won, he would take her away. He had just earned his professional racing license for her at the time, and that was the first time he had ever driven a race car. Yet he dared to take on the twisting mountain road. Jeanne had sat in the passenger seat, guiding him through the turns, but disaster struck anyway. He misjudged a drift; the car skidded, broke through the guardrail, and tumbled down the cliff. In the chaos, he had thrown himself over her, shielding her with his body. Blood poured from his head, but he never loosened his grip. At the last moment, he had summoned the last of his strength to lift her onto a jagged outcrop of rock above the wreck. His voice had been hoarse as he shouted, "Hold on tight!" Then, the car's twisted frame dragged him down, half his body dangling off the edge, seconds away from falling to his death. When rescuers finally pulled them up, he had lain weakly in her arms, his mind foggy, yet still worried about her future. "Jeanne… they only want you to make money. I just want you safe… No matter how dangerous it gets, I'll protect you. Come with me, okay?" She had been about to say yes—until the image faded to black and she was yanked back to the present. This time, he hadn't protected her. … Jeanne's lashes trembled as she opened her eyes. A tear slid down her cheek and soaked into the pillow. The man at her bedside immediately straightened up, eyes bright. "Jeanne, you're awake!" The nurse, changing her bandages, smiled, too. "Finally! Dr. Walsh has been sitting here for a whole day and night. His eyes are bloodshot. Makes me wish I were his sister just to get that kind of care." Still dazed, Jeanne blinked. "His sister?" "Yeah! Aren't you Dr. Walsh's sister?" The nurse chatted as she packed up her supplies. "His wife, Alyssa, came by this morning to see you—poor thing cried her eyes out and told me to call her the moment you woke up." A sharp crack split the air. Darren's glass slipped from his hand and shattered on the floor. The nurse flinched and went silent, scurrying away to fetch the janitor. The noise snapped Jeanne completely awake. Fragments of memory crashed back into place—the sight of Darren walking away with Alyssa in his arms, her own desperate hand reaching out for help, and the hollow despair when he turned away. She looked up at him. Panic flickered in his eyes, impossible to hide. Her lips curved faintly, though there was no warmth in her voice. "Explain." Darren froze for a second before grabbing her hand, words tumbling out in a rush. "They've got it all wrong! It's a misunderstanding. They must've seen us together and assumed you were my sister—" "Alright. I believe you." Jeanne cut him off, her tone flat and emotionless, causing Darren's following words to die in his throat. 'No. This isn't right. Jeanne isn't supposed to be like this. She should be crying, screaming, demanding to know why I saved Alyssa first. She should be angry that I let others mistake our relationship. But she isn't—she was calm. Too calm. Like still water after death,' Darren thought. Fear crawled up Darren's spine. He opened his mouth to speak again, but Jeanne had already closed her eyes. "I'm tired." Guilt clawed at him, leaving nowhere to hide. "Jeanne, it's my fault. I shouldn't have let Alyssa drive. I already scolded her. If you're angry, hit me, yell at me—just don't hold it in." Jeanne pulled her hand from his grasp. When she opened her eyes again, all light had vanished from them. "I really am tired." 'Something's terribly wrong.' Panic flooded Darren's chest, a black hole of loss threatening to swallow him whole. But before he could find the words for an apology, the attending doctor came in to check on Jeanne, calling him out of the room. The moment Darren turned away, Jeanne's eyes reddened. But no matter how much it hurt, not a single tear would fall. Her heart had already died the instant he walked out that door. She wiped the dryness from her eyes and only wanted to sleep—to rest, and then leave this man behind for good. But just as she drifted off, noise from the next bed cut through the quiet. "Stop crying!" a woman scolded sharply. "The racer next to you just broke her leg—she can't compete ever again. She's not crying, and here you are, wailing over a sprained ankle?!" "I don't want my leg broken! I don't want to!" The boy's cries filled the ward, piercing through the walls—and into Jeanne's ears. 'Broken leg?!' A deafening roar went off inside her head, like something had exploded. Chapter 6 The End of the Race Jeanne's hand flew instinctively to her leg, her fingertips brushing over the hard surface of the cast. 'My leg's still here.' But the next second, her heart clenched tight. When she pressed down—softly at first, then harder—there was nothing. No feeling. Her leg lay there like a foreign piece of machinery bolted onto her body. "No… No, it can't be…" Her voice trembled as she braced against the sheets, trying to sit up. The moment she lifted herself half a foot, her right leg gave way, and she crashed heavily to the floor. Just then, Darren's anxious voice came from outside the door. "Zach, are you sure there's no other way? She's a racer—" "That depends on her recovery," the doctor, who was called Zach, replied, his tone weary. "But I wouldn't advise it. With her kind of injury, if she pushes herself too soon, a second trauma could be irreversible." A brief silence fell before Darren's voice came again, low and hoarse. "Alright. Thank you." Each word hit like a hammer, shattering Jeanne's last bit of hope. She had been born for racing. From the moment she first touched a steering wheel, she had known her life was bound to the roar of an engine. And now someone was telling her she would never race again. The thought was worse than death. When Darren pushed open the door, he found her sprawled on the floor. He rushed forward to help, but froze when he saw her tear-streaked face. "You heard everything?" Jeanne didn't look at him. She shook off his hand and asked, her voice trembling, "Where's Alyssa Carver?" His eyes flickered—like he was afraid she might do something reckless—and he rushed to explain. "Alyssa's young, she didn't know any better. She drove without a license, and I've already scolded her for it. She's hurt too, Jeanne. Please, don't be mad at her anymore, okay?" Jeanne's head snapped up, her eyes bloodshot. So he knew. He knew Alyssa didn't have a license and still let her drive. Still signed her up for a race. This was the fourth time. Four crashes. Four hospital stays. And every time, Alyssa hadn't even offered a proper apology. A bitter laugh rose in Jeanne's throat, but the tears came faster than she could hold them back, spilling down her face in heavy drops. Even now, he was still protecting her. "What about me?" Jeanne's voice was barely a whisper. "If she's not to blame, then who is? Me? Is it my fault my leg might never stand again? Because it's not her leg that's broken, Darren—it's mine! And you're still defending her!" Darren's brow furrowed, irritation creeping into his tone. "Jeanne, I told you she didn't mean it. Why can't you just let it go?" He hesitated, then added something that sliced straight through her chest. "Besides, if you hadn't grabbed the wheel, maybe none of this would've happened. Did you ever think about that?" The words hit colder than the blizzard in the North Pole. Jeanne's whole body went numb, and for a heartbeat, she couldn't breathe. Then she smiled—an empty, broken smile that hurt to look at. Whenever Alyssa was involved, she was always the one in the wrong. Her heart, already dead, felt as if it had been pried open again only to be crushed into dust. She closed her eyes, her voice flat and lifeless. "I'm tired. Leave." When Darren saw the lifeless gray on her face, his chest tightened in panic. He finally realized how cruel his words had been. He opened his mouth to apologize, but couldn't form a single word. In the end, he turned and left, his steps unsteady. For the next three days, Darren barely left her side. He fed her bitter medicine with his own hands, cooked all her favorite dishes, and even set up a folding bed beside hers, waking at every sound. But Jeanne was like a hollow puppet—opening her mouth when he offered a spoon, standing when he helped her up, never speaking, never looking at him, until the day he said the words that broke the silence. "I'm going to hold a fake wedding with Alyssa." Jeanne finally reacted. "Alright. I'll be there." Her voice was calm, detached. Darren's stomach dropped. He had imagined tears, anger, demands for answers—but not this emptiness. Panic edged his words. "Jeanne, listen. The Fosters have their eyes on Alyssa. They're trying to force her into marriage. "I'm her brother—I can't just watch her walk into that trap. So I'm going to announce our divorce publicly, then marry her in name only. But you have to trust me—it's all fake. The divorce, the wedding. Once the issue is resolved, everything will go back to the way it was." Jeanne's lips curved, and this time she laughed—not in bitterness, not in irony, but in pure, unshackled relief—Theo was finally making his move. Darren had called the Fosters a den of monsters. But to Jeanne, they were the only lifeline left that could pull her out of the cage she'd been trapped in. Chapter 7 The Marriage That Never Was When Darren saw her smile, the darkness clouding his face instantly lifted. "Jeanne, don't worry. You're the only one I love. I shouldn't have spoken so harshly that day. Whatever you want, just tell me—I'll do it. Just… don't stay mad at me anymore, okay?" He leaned closer, his voice soft and pleading, like he might cry. In the past, Jeanne would've melted at that tone, her anger dissolving under his coaxing. But now, the man before her felt like a stranger. Inside, she was still—cold and still, like ice sealed over deep water. Jeanne looked at the desperation in his eyes and curved her lips faintly. "Alright. Have Alyssa marry someone else then." The smile froze on Darren's face. His mouth twitched for a long time before he forced a strained grin. "Jeanne, don't joke like that." He reached out to touch her face, but she turned her head away. "She's my sister. You're really jealous of that? Pick another request, please. Anything else—you name it, and I'll do it." Jeanne's smile widened. She knew it—whenever Alyssa was involved, all his promises turned to ash. They looked strong on the surface, but one touch and they fell apart. "I was joking," she replied coolly, the smile fading. "Do whatever you want. You don't need to tell me about it." Seeing that she was no longer clinging to the topic, Darren sighed in relief. His usual easy grin returned as he patted her head. "I knew you'd understand. I'll go take care of a few things—get some rest, alright?" As soon as his footsteps disappeared down the corridor, the last trace of expression drained from Jeanne's face. So that was why he had stayed by her side these past few days—why he'd been so attentive and gentle. It wasn't guilt. It wasn't love. He had only been afraid she'd cause trouble before he could clear the way for Alyssa. A hollow laugh slipped past her lips. She reached under the pillow, pulled out her phone, and called her good friend. "Amber, did you finish drafting my divorce papers?" Silence filled the line—long enough that Jeanne thought the signal had dropped—before Amber's strained voice came through. "Jeanne… you and Darren were never married. The marriage certificate you sent me—it's fake." Jeanne froze. A faint ringing filled her ears. Her fingers tightened around the phone, trembling. "What… did you just say?" "It's true," Amber answered softly, cautious, almost apologetic. "I asked someone to check. You're listed as single. Darren's divorced. His ex-wife is Alyssa—they finalized it two months ago. The seal on your marriage certificate was forged. The document was… a replica, the kind sold in cheap stationery shops. You and Darren were never legally married." Amber's voice broke on the last few words. Jeanne went numb. That wedding—so grand that the whole city had envied her—had been nothing but a lie from the very start. Her hands shook as she opened the screenshot Amber sent. The pale glow from the screen lit her equally pale face. Line after line of cold text pierced her eyes like poisoned needles, each one stabbing deeper until they blurred with pain. Her heart, shattered so many times before, had only just been patched together—and now, with one blow, it was pulverized to dust. She realized, with sick horror, that she had been a mistress for ten years. Ten whole years. From 17 to 27—the brightest years of her life, all wasted on a man who had never truly made her his. How ridiculous. The searing pain in her legs mixed with the suffocating weight in her chest until she couldn't hold herself together any longer. The hospital room filled with her sobs—raw, broken, tearing at the air until even the people in the next bed wiped their eyes. … At last, she dragged herself out of bed, fury burning through her tears. Grabbing the crutch beside her, she hobbled toward Darren's office, every step heavier than the last. When Darren saw her at the door, his face lit up in surprise. Then, noticing her trembling leg and ghostly pallor, he frowned and rushed toward her, concern softening his voice. "Jeanne, what are you doing up? Doesn't your leg hurt?" He reached out to steady her, but she slapped his hand away and thrust the phone toward him. Her eyes were glassy, full of grief. "Darren Walsh, I regret ever meeting you." The words made him flinch. However, when he glanced at the phone screen, all the color drained from his face. He snatched it up, scrolling rapidly through the messages. His expression darkened with every swipe until he stopped on the chat where Jeanne had told Amber she wanted a divorce. "You want a divorce?" His head jerked up, the panic in his eyes twisting into something darker. "You're leaving me?" Jeanne's tears fell, streaking her cheeks with anger. "Yes! You terrify me, Darren. I want nothing to do with you ever again!" She snatched her phone back and, with shaking fingers, dialed Theo's number. But before the call could connect, Darren seized the phone and smashed it to the ground. The sharp crack of breaking glass split the air. Jeanne looked up, stunned, meeting Darren's bloodshot eyes. The tenderness that once lived there was gone, replaced by something wild and possessive. His voice was cold and feral. "You're not leaving me." A shudder ran through her body, but she still turned to go. She managed only two steps before a sharp sting pierced the back of her neck. Her vision went dark—and everything vanished. Chapter 8 The Breaking Point When Jeanne opened her eyes again, she found herself locked inside the car. With the back of her neck still sore, she reached toward the glove compartment and felt around until she found the safety hammer. The moment she gripped it, the car door swung open. Darren stood outside, his face grim. "Where are you going?" Jeanne ignored him and tried to climb out, but he grabbed her arm and threw her back into the seat. Leaning against the car door, his jaw clenched so tight that the veins in his neck bulged, his eyes bloodshot with rage. "I told you—you're not going anywhere. You stay with me." She glared up at him, refusing to speak. He stared back, then suddenly tore open her clothes. Cold air rushed in, and Jeanne trembled. "Darren, what the hell are you doing?!" He said nothing, only moving his hands roughly, stripping her clothes away before crushing his mouth against hers. His grip was hard, unrelenting, his body heavy with fury. It took Jeanne a second to realize what he was about to do. She fought with everything she had, but he held her down like a vice. "Let me go! If you do this, I'll hate you for the rest of my life!" Darren acted as if he couldn't hear her. No matter how she kicked, screamed, or bit his shoulder, he didn't stop. Eventually, Jeanne's strength gave out. Her voice broke into sobs. "Darren… not in the car… This is my race car…" Her plea was cut off by a cry of pain. His movements grew harsher, his breath hot against her ear, his tone disturbingly gentle. "Jeanne, this is your punishment. Still want to run?" Jeanne bit her lip so hard she tasted blood. Her tears hit the black leather seat, spreading into dark stains. Alyssa had already destroyed her leg; now Darren was determined to destroy the rest of her. … Over the next few days, he went mad. He dragged her to the racetrack and violated her in every single car she had ever driven. Jeanne went from begging him to stop to cursing him with everything she had, until in the end, she went numb. She stared blankly at the ceiling, unresponsive, her body limp beneath him like a doll with no soul left to break. When he finally finished in the last car, Darren pulled her into his arms. "Still want to leave me, Jeanne?" She shook her head mechanically. She didn't want to leave. She wanted to die. Finally, Darren took her home. The moment she stepped inside, Jeanne saw the untouched cake on the coffee table and felt sick just looking at it. She quietly went to her room and reached for the door lock, but Darren blocked her. "Jeanne, you're being a naughty girl," he murmured, pulling out a pair of handcuffs and locking her to the bedpost. He pried a razor blade from her palm. "Be a good girl. Don't make me angry. Otherwise, you'll be the one to suffer." Jeanne glared at him, but before she could say a word, the door opened. Alyssa strolled in, waving something in her hand. "Darren, which one looks better for the wedding?" Jeanne's eyes widened. It was her national championship medal—and the pendant her mother had left her. "Darren!" she screamed hoarsely, her voice breaking. "That's mine!" Darren, triumphant, knelt by the bed and tapped the pendant. "I know it's yours." He looked up at her with a cruel grin. "Try killing yourself again, and I can't promise where these things might end up." Jeanne clenched her teeth so hard her jaw ached, her eyes burning with hatred. "Hate me?" Darren arched a brow. "Then, stop thinking about leaving. Otherwise, there are worse things waiting for you." At first, Jeanne thought he was just threatening her—until that night, when he dragged her out of bed and forced her to kneel by the edge. He grabbed her chin and turned her face toward the center of the room. There, Alyssa sat half-dressed in his lap. "Angry? Disgusted?" Darren's voice dripped with venom. "Look at her! Don't close your eyes!" He said it was punishment for her disobedience. But Jeanne simply stared, numb and hollow, not even blinking. Her heart had already died—what else was there to care about? To keep her from trying to die again, Darren began rationing her food and water, giving her just enough to survive but not enough to fight back. In the end, he hung the pendant around Alyssa's neck, stroking her hair as he said, "If you still want to run, this pendant will belong to her forever." The night before the wedding, Darren didn't touch Jeanne for once. He lay behind her, his chin resting on her shoulder, whispering softly, "Don't hate me, okay, Jeanne? I just love you too much. After the wedding with Alyssa is over, once things settle with the Fosters, I'll take you to City Hall and we'll get our real marriage certificate, alright?" Jeanne kept her eyes shut, silent. … The next morning, Alyssa walked in wearing a pure white wedding gown. She leaned forward, deliberately flashing the pendant at Jeanne. "You're so pathetic, Jeanne," she said with a smug smile. "I warned you to leave while you could. This pendant is so tacky, but Darren insisted I wear it as part of my dowry." She didn't know Jeanne had already lost the will to live. A pendant meant nothing anymore. Even if Darren brought out her mother's ashes to threaten her, she wouldn't flinch. So, when Darren and Alyssa left arm in arm for the wedding, Jeanne turned to the side and, with the only hand she could still move, reached for her wrist. She bit down hard. There was no pain, only the warm trickle of blood seeping out. The blood had just begun to stain the sheets when a crash shattered the quiet. The bedroom's floor-to-ceiling window exploded inward, glass scattering across the floor. A body landed first—a decoy corpse—followed by a man stepping through the shards. Theo stood among the wreckage, his handsome face calm and determined. He reached out a hand to her. "Come on," he said. "Let's get you out of here."