The surgery was over. Rose Harrison lay motionless on the hospital bed, her eyes fixed on nothingness. As the anesthesia began to wear off, a sharp, unrelenting agony surged through her body, forcing a choked whimper from her throat.

She was just about to reach for the call button to ask for pain relief when the muffled sound of voices drifted in from the corridor.

"Maximus Anderson is looking better than ever, isn't he?" a nurse whispered. "Too bad he’s a notorious playboy. He’s got that dangerous, magnetic charm."

"Tell me about it," another replied. "I heard he’s keeping a woman on the side. And get this—she’s his wife’s best friend. A total home-wrecker. They say you don't crap where you eat, but he clearly never got the memo."

"It’s a mess. The old man, Theodore Anderson, won't stand for it, but Maximus is stubborn as a mule. He went and bought a house just to stash her there. They spend more time at that place than at his own home."

"Are you serious? He doesn't look like the type to be that trashy. Maybe it's just rumors?"

"No smoke without fire. Men are all the same, aren't they? They're never satisfied with what's on the plate—they’re always eyeing the rest of the kitchen. It doesn't matter how successful they are; they’re all cut from the same cloth."

Rose felt a chill seep into her bones, colder than the hospital air. So, this was it. Her marriage—the high-profile union of two wealthy families—had become nothing more than a punchline for strangers to trade over their coffee breaks.

As a daughter of the Harrison family, she had been groomed for high society. She had waltzed with French socialites, debated with German elites, and sipped wine with American businessmen. She had seen countless handsome, refined men in her life, but somehow, she had let herself fall for Maximus Anderson. And now, she was discovering that in his eyes, she would always be second best to that other woman.

But even if they didn't want her, how could they be so cruel? How could they destroy a defenseless, innocent life just to satisfy their twisted grudge? The physical pain of her surgery was nothing compared to the rotting sensation in her chest.

Her mind drifted back to the wedding. She remembered Kylo Black standing there, playing the role of the perfect, polite guest, smiling and nodding at every congratulatory remark. But the moment the crowd thinned and the masks slipped, the dark, icy malice in his eyes had been enough to make her skin crawl.

Was that the truth behind all of them? Had she really been that naive?

*Why did I waste my heart on a man so hollow, so cold?*

The despair was suffocating, a weight so heavy she felt her lungs might collapse. A strange, eerie sense of calm washed over her, replacing the frantic panic. Why keep suffering? Why not just end it and find some peace?

Her gaze locked onto the IV needle taped to the back of her hand. A voice in her head whispered, soft and enticing: *Let it go. It’s all too much. Nothing matters anymore.*

Rose didn't hesitate. With a trembling but resolved hand, she yanked the IV line from her skin. The plastic was sharp. She gripped the metal tip tightly and, with a final, desperate burst of strength, drove it into her wrist.

As the first bead of blood welled up and began to trickle down her pale skin, she felt a flicker of relief. Compared to the agony of her heart, this physical sting was nothing. Finally, the silence was coming.