"Cynthia, I have to get to Cynthia," Michael said in a ragged gasp as he ran across the beach, sand kicking beneath his bare feet, his soaked clothes clinging to him.
His lungs burned, salt still scraping his throat.
He glanced over his shoulder in terror to check if the men who had just tried to drown him were still chasing him.
Lucky for him, they weren't; he had managed to escape from them.
He should have drowned.
But Michael Lawrence did not. He refused to die.
He stormed towards the hotel on the beach where his wife was.
If those men had tried to take his life, this was no accident; it was a planned attempt.
"But Why? Why would anyone want me dead?"
Could this day get any worse?
He had nothing left, he lost everything today, his empire, his company, crumpled to the ground.
This morning, he had walked into a boardroom, clinging to one last hope. He had stood tall before a row of stony-faced executives, pitching the project he had poured sleepless nights into, only to be met with nothing but silence and rejection.
He had no other choice but to file for bankruptcy.
Today was their anniversary, and he refused to let his current situation prevent him from spoiling his wife and showing her appreciation for standing by him for the past three years.
He had scraped together the last of his savings for this trip, and now three men in black masks tried to drown him as he was making preparations to surprise his wife.
But... What if his wife were next?
No... No...He would not let any harm come to her; they were going to leave immediately, and he would report everything to the authorities.
Guests turned as Michael burst into the resort hallway, seawater dripping from his hair, leaving a trail across the floors.
They whispered, their eyes following the half-drowned man racing past them like a madman, but he didn't care.
Michael reached the door of his room but as soon as his hand rested on the handle... But suddenly he froze.
A sound filtered through the door. A soft moan, it was muffled, but he could have sworn that he heard it. His heart stopped as he tried to comprehend what he heard.
Slowly and cautiously, he pressed his ear closer, his breath shallow.
He heard another man's voice in the room.
Michael's stomach dropped.
No… no, it couldn't be.
Driven by dread, he nudged the door open just enough to see. And in that instant, his world shattered.
There, tangled in the sheets that he had booked for their anniversary, was his wife, Cynthia.
He felt his heart shatter into pieces as his eyes caught the man she was sharing their bed with.
It was Lucas Pierce, the newly appointed CEO of a company, Apex Group.
Michael could barely breathe as his body went cold, the blood draining from his face.
As if the sight of the woman he loved in the arms of another man on their anniversary was not enough, the words that followed completely shook him.
"You were always my first love," Lucas whispered, brushing his lips against her ear.
"I miss you so much. Unfortunately, I had to marry that woman because my father demanded it, so I could inherit everything. But now, he's gone. And I'm finally free."
Cynthia's laugh was soft, cruel. "I always knew you would come back to me. Michael, that my useless husband was just a backup. I just needed someone to take responsibility for my pregnancy. He thought it was fate we met that night we met, lol. What a fool."
Michael staggered back, as those words felt like a sword that pierced his heart.
His hands clenched into fists as the truth unfolded right before him.
How could the woman he loved so much say that about him?
The pregnancy. The miscarriage. The nights he had held her as she wept.... Everything was a lie.
But she was not done.
Michael's breath came shallow, ragged, his chest tight with disbelief. He wanted to storm inside, to demand answers, but his legs felt nailed to the floor.
Cynthia's voice turned low, dripping with venom.
"You know what's even funnier, Lucas? He thought I loved him. After the miscarriage, after the sickness— he thought he saved me. But the truth?" She laughed, a cruel, mocking sound. "He was just a donor. I let him give me his kidney. I let him destroy his body to save mine. And I never even loved him for a second."
Michael's hand instinctively pressed against his side, to the scar he had carried in silence. His knees weakened as the weight of her words crashed into him. He remembered the hospital bed, the pain, the tears he had shed when he thought he might not wake up. And yet, he had smiled through it, because she was alive. Because he believed love was worth the sacrifice.
He did not even realize when a tear slipped down his cheek, falling to the polished floor at his feet.
Inside, Lucas groaned in approval. "You wicked woman," he murmured, pulling her closer. "Using him like that… you're more cunning than I ever imagined."
Cynthia giggled, breathless, her voice thick with lust and malice. "And it worked. Every bit of information he trusted me with—I handed over to you. Every deal, every weakness, every secret. I bled his empire dry until the Lawrence corporation was nothing but ashes. You burned him down, Lucas. We burned him down."
Michael's vision blurred, rage searing his veins like fire. The empire he had built with sweat and sacrifice, destroyed by the woman he had given everything to.
Lucas kissed her deeply, then pulled back with a smirk. "You helped me end him, Cynthia. Michael Lawrence is finished. And now he's out of the way, there's nothing left standing between us."
Cynthia's voice grew dark. "Don't worry, love. He won't crawl back from this. I made sure of it. Those men I paid handsomely should have drowned him by now. As we speak, he is rotting in hell. That useless excuse of a husband is finally gone."
She laughed again, a sound so cold and poisonous it twisted Michael's stomach. Then her tone shifted, playful, seductive. "And now, you're mine. All mine."
Lucas answered with a growl. "You naughty girl."
Sheets rustled. Their laughter melted into moans as they surrendered themselves to their illicit passion once more.
Michael staggered back from the door, his heart like a collapsing star inside his chest. Each word, each laugh, each moan from inside the room was another blade, carving him open until there was nothing left but raw, bleeding emptiness.
How could she?
How could the woman he had loved for the past three years — the woman for whom he had sacrificed his fortune, his future, even his body — turn on him so cruelly? How could she conspire to kill him, laugh about his death, and still smile as though nothing mattered?
His breath trembled. His vision swam. It felt as though the world had shifted beneath his feet, the ground threatening to give way. He pressed a hand to his chest as if he could hold the shattered pieces of his heart together, but they only slipped further away.
The weight of betrayal was suffocating. He wanted to storm inside, to scream her name, to drag her out and demand to know why. But the answer was already carved into his soul.
She never loved him.
She never did.
Everything he had given — his empire, his devotion, his kidney, his very life — had been nothing but a cruel joke to her.
A tear slipped from his eye, trailing down his cheek as he drew in a slow, ragged breath.
Enough.
There was no point in confronting her. No point breaking into the room and letting her see his broken face, his bleeding heart. She had already told him everything he needed to know.
To her, Michael Lawrence was already dead.
He backed away, each step deliberate, silent, as though he feared even the floorboards might betray his presence. The laughter and moans behind the door echoed in his ears, but he forced himself not to look back. Not to falter.
By morning, he would end this. He will give her the divorce papers and leave her for good like she wanted.
But just as Michael turned to leave, a sharp sound cut through the haze.
A phone rang from inside the room.
He did not know why but something told him to wait. He stood frozen in the hallway, his ears straining.
Inside, Lucas groaned in irritation, his voice muffled but clear. "Baby, I need to pick this call."
Cynthia whined, breathless. "Ignore it. Come back to me."
"No," Lucas insisted, pulling away. "This is important." He paused, then added with a low chuckle that made Michael's veins turn to ice. "Remember what we agreed? To sell off that idiot's crippled sister after killing him? Well… I've found a buyer."
Michael's heart stopped.
His sister.
She was not his blood sister but she was his family, his only family. The frail granddaughter of the old woman who had once taken him in when he was penniless and abandoned. The child everyone had mocked and dismissed as "the cripple," whom Michael had sworn to protect. After her grandmother's death, he had cared for her like his own flesh and blood, hiring a professional caregiver, providing her every comfort he could afford.
And now, he heard them bargain her life like she was an animal on the market.
Lucas's voice sharpened. "Yes, I have the location. Don't insult me with three million. She may be crippled, but her organs are useful. Four million, and not a dollar less. Do we have a deal?"
Michael's blood roared. His vision tunneled, pulsing red.
Destroying him was one thing. Sabotaging his company, stealing his wife, mocking his love — he could endure the pain. But threatening her? The innocent life he had sworn to protect?
No.
No one touches his sister. No one.
Something inside him snapped.
Michael's fury erupted into an unstoppable storm. His fist clenched so hard his knuckles whitened, and without another thought, without any fear or hesitation, he drove his shoulder against the suite door.