Chapter 1

On the day of our daughter's three-month party, Damian's first love—and his late brother’s widow—Tiffany, showed up at our doorstep.

After his older brother, Logan, died in a tragic car accident, Tiffany was diagnosed with severe PTSD. She started mistaking Damian for her late husband and boldly moved into our home.

I fought it with everything I had. But Damian just pulled me into a guilty embrace.

"Please, just bear with it. My family owes her. The hospital will have a specialized treatment ready in a week. I’ll personally drive her there myself."

I believed him. I counted down the days, suffering in silence.

Yet Tiffany only crossed more lines. She clung to Damian every waking moment and even slipped into his bed when he came home drunk.

On the seventh day, Tiffany suddenly had a violent breakdown. She grabbed our daughter and dragged her to the balcony, threatening to jump.

"Why should a mistress's bastard get to live? I'm going to make sure you never steal my man again!"

Damian fought like a madman to snatch our baby back, shoving her into my arms before rushing Tiffany to the hospital.

"She had an episode, Clara. Don't take it out on her! I'm taking her to the hospital right now!"

After he left, I looked down at my baby girl's gray, lifeless face and sprinted to the hospital like a woman possessed.

There, outside the clinic room, I overheard the doctor talking to Damian.

"You knew all along that Miss Vance doesn't have PTSD. Why did you lie to your wife?"

Damian's voice was chillingly calm. "I promised Tiffany I’d take care of her for the rest of my life. She became a widow because of me. It's only natural she needs an outlet for her pain. Clara has always been gentle and kind. She’ll understand eventually."

My heart turned to ash. I looked down at my daughter, who had already stopped breathing in my arms.

Damian, there is no "eventually" for us anymore.

"Damian, look at me. Who am I? Am I the only woman you love?"

Tiffany draped herself over Damian, tracing slow circles on his chest with her pale fingers.

His eyes fluttered half-shut, and as if spellbound, he leaned in and kissed her on the lips.

"...Tiffany. You’re my Tiffany..."

My mind went completely blank. Weak from a high fever, my legs gave out, and I collapsed to the floor.

Damian immediately shoved her off and rushed to my side.

"Don't touch me!" The stench of alcohol and women’s perfume radiating off him made me violently nauseous.

"Clara, let me explain! I was drunk. I thought she was you!"

"Tiffany isn't well, and she probably thought I was Logan. Please don't jump to conclusions. You’re still nursing, you can't get this worked up."

So he remembered I was nursing. He knew I shouldn't get upset.

Yet just seconds ago, both of them had clearly breathed each other's names.

In that moment, they meant every single word.

I stared at him, cold and detached. "Get her out. I don't want to see her in this house ever again."

The man who once catered to my every whim suddenly hardened his expression.

"Be reasonable, Clara. She's sick, and she has no family left in this country. We can't just throw her out onto the street."

Noticing the feverish flush on my face, Damian's expression softened, and he reached out to help me up.

Behind him, Tiffany suddenly dropped to the floor, clutching her head and thrashing in agony. "My head hurts so bad! Honey, where are you? It hurts!"

"Take care of yourself. I need to get Tiffany to the ER first."

Damian hesitated for barely a second before turning on his heel and walking away.

I sat frozen on the floor, watching the man who had sworn to protect me for the rest of my life sweep Tiffany into his arms.

As she passed me, Tiffany curled her lips into a cruel, silent smirk.

*I won.*