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Five years gone, and the fake heir Desmond Ashford was finally brought back to the Ashford estate. His parents ached over every hardship he'd endured out there. His so-called fiancée, Adrienne Merritt, still couldn't shake the old feelings. And everyone waited, eyes locked on Rowan Ashford, the real heir, bracing for the meltdown—screaming, fighting, tears. Rowan just stood there. Watched them haul in the luggage. Watched them strip his room and put it back together for someone else. His parents eased into it. "Rowan, Desmond loves the sunlight in the master bedroom. We were thinking…" "I'll take the guest room." He cut them off, his voice completely flat. "I will clear my room out for him right now." The next day was his birthday dinner with Adrienne. He waited at the restaurant until eight. Then his phone buzzed. "Sorry, Rowan. Desmond got lost at the mall. I—" "Fine." His voice didn't shift. "Go get him. I'll handle my birthday alone." Day three. Adrienne's test results came back. Pregnant. His parents and Adrienne reached the same verdict within minutes. Get rid of it. His parents pleaded tearfully, "Rowan, we can't keep this baby. Desmond found out about Adrienne's pregnancy and cried so hard it tore us apart. He said… he is scared there won't be any room left for him in this family once the baby is born." Adrienne stayed quiet a beat longer, then spoke, careful and measured. "Rowan, after we found out you and Desmond were switched at birth and swapped you back, you became my fiancé on paper. Desmond has already endured so much, and now that he has just returned, seeing me pregnant... it is psychologically too hard for him to accept." "We can have a baby later. Just not now. The timing's wrong." They chimed in one after another, talking about nothing but Desmond's grievances, Desmond's fears, and Desmond's hardships, as if Adrienne carrying Rowan's child was some wildly inappropriate mistake that needed to be corrected. Everyone waited for him to snap. His father had rehearsed the speech to calm him down. His mother had prepared her arguments to persuade him in case he insisted on keeping the baby. Adrienne had already picked out a compensation gift. Rowan set the report on the coffee table. Nodded once. "Okay. When is the abortion? Today? Then I'll accompany Adrienne to the hospital." He grabbed his coat off the chair, stood, and pulled Adrienne toward the door. "Rowan!" His mother jolted, the name flying out before she could stop it. "You… you're really just… agreeing?" Rowan paused. Tilted his head a fraction. "What else is there?" His father shifted, thrown. "You've got nothing to say?" "Does what I say matter?" Rowan's mouth twisted. "If I told you I wanted to keep it, would a single one of you change your mind?" He turned and walked out. Behind him, the three of them glanced at each other—then followed. The smell of disinfectant in the hospital was pungent. Adrienne had changed into her surgical gown, and just as she was about to enter the operating room, she suddenly grabbed his wrist. "Are you really letting me go through with this surgery so readily?" her voice strained tight. "No pain? No sadness? No struggle? This is our baby, Rowan. You really not care about it at all?" He lifted his head. Met her eyes dead on. Adrienne was blessed with striking looks. Her deep, elegant features and habitually pursed thin lips gave off an innate, aloof nobility and the commanding aura of someone in power. Right now her brow was knit, something tangled moving behind her eyes. Confusion. Suspicion. A flicker of panic she didn't even recognize in herself. Something close to a laugh caught in his throat. "Care?" He repeated it softly, like he was turning the word over. "Adrienne. Does that mean you're keeping the baby now?" The question slammed into her. Her eyes skittered away from his, and her voice came back stiff. "That's not what I meant. You've just… changed a lot lately." "Have I?" He smiled. It didn't touch his eyes. "People change. But…" His gaze drifted over his parents, then back to her. His voice dropped almost to nothing. "None of you have changed at all." Same as always. Heart, eyes, every last thought—all reserved for Desmond. The irritation in Adrienne's chest thickened, coiling with something she couldn't name. A low, creeping unease. She reached for his hand, her voice softening before she caught it. "Rowan, don't be like this. We'll have another baby. I promise." Promise? Rowan smiled and pried her fingers loose. "Your surgery's starting." She turned and walked toward the operating room. In his head, he answered her. One word at a time. No. There would never be a child between them. Because he'd already signed the severance papers and the engagement dissolution. End of the month, his immigration paperwork would clear. And then he would completely leave this place and leave them for good. ###Chapter 2. The Operating Room light flicked on. Rowan sat outside, slowly closing his eyes. But behind his eyelids, scenes from five years ago played out, sharp and clear. Back then, he was still Rowan Langley, living in a rundown walk-up in the North End Tenements. His mother worked as a housekeeper, grinding away for scraps. His father was a drunk and a gambler who beat people when he was wasted, came home demanding money when he lost, and smashed things when he didn't get it. His life was gray, no end in sight. The only bright spot was studying his ass off, dreaming he'd escape that suffocating house someday. Then one day, a group of men in suits showed up at his door. They told him he'd been switched at birth with the son of the wealthy Ashford Family. He was the true heir. The day he was brought back to the Ashford Family, he carried a faded canvas bag on his back, his canvas sneakers caked with mud. He stood in the lavish living room, stiff and out of place, the muddy footprints on the carpet drawing smothered laughter from the household staff. Just when he wanted to crawl into a hole and disappear, a girl—painfully beautiful—walked over. She crouched down, wiped the mud off his shoes with a wet wipe, then pulled a brand-new pair of soft-soled slippers from the shoe cabinet and set them by his feet. "Welcome home." She looked up and smiled at him. "Rowan Ashford." In that moment, she was like the prince saving Cinderella in a fairy tale, giving him a scrap of dignity and warmth when he was at his lowest. Later he learned she was Adrienne Merritt, heiress to the Merritt Family—the dream girl every rich kid chased. The Ashford and Merritt families had an engagement contract. So technically, she was his fiancée. The days that followed, Adrienne slowly helped him fit into this strange world of old money. She taught him manners, took him to galas, and quietly covered for him when other heirs threw shade his way. He fell for her. Hard. He latched onto her like she was a beam of light breaking through the dark—his only salvation. Everything changed on the day Desmond was supposed to be sent away, when Adrienne came to find him, her tone lacking its usual polite warmth and instead laced with urgency and pleading. "Rowan, Desmond... he was spoiled his whole life. He's never had it rough. If he returns to his biological parents, he won't survive it. For my sake, can you let him stay? Just... think of him as another brother." That's when it all clicked for Rowan. Every kindness. Every soft smile. Every ounce of patience she'd shown him—maybe it had all been for this moment. It was all so her precious Desmond could stay in the Ashford Family and stay close to her. He refused flat out. He couldn't accept it. The son of the woman who'd stolen his life was supposed to keep taking everything that was his? Share his parents? And now... share the fiancée he'd just started falling for? No. He wasn't that generous. So Desmond got sent away in the end. He figured Adrienne would hate him for it and break off the engagement. But she didn't. The engagement remained, and she stayed his fiancée in name, but she just grew colder and more distant. Later he pieced together the truth—Adrienne had wanted to break things off. The Merritts wouldn't allow it. The true heir was back. Naturally, the engagement shifted to him. Old Mr. Merritt had even laid down the law: if she dared break the engagement over some impostor heir, the Merritt Family would make Desmond pay. So Adrienne stayed by his side. A dutiful puppet with nothing behind her eyes. The wedding kept getting pushed back, from his twentieth birthday to his twenty-fifth. He was the punchline, clinging to his empty title as her fiancé. Clinging to the occasional crumbs of attention Adrienne threw his way. Clinging to his parents' guilty, distant affection after Desmond left—love with a wall always between them. He swallowed it all, holding onto this pathetic sliver of hope. That time would fix things. That he could make his parents love their real son. That he could thaw the heart Adrienne had already given to someone else. That was until five years later, when they unexpectedly ran into Desmond at the hospital. He'd collapsed from exhaustion working a delivery gig and got rushed to the ER. His parents clung to Desmond's pale, frail body, sobbing uncontrollably. Then they turned to him, begging. "Rowan, let Desmond come home! Look at him! Look at the life he's living! He won't take your place—we promise! Just let him come home, please?" He couldn't help it. He looked at Adrienne. She was standing by the hospital bed, her eyes locked on Desmond, unblinking. The tenderness, the longing, the suppressed devotion in her gaze—it was spilling out of her. And it was ten thousand times more than anything she'd given him in five years. In that moment, he heard something inside him crack and shatter completely. He finally got it. For five years, he'd been a pathetic clown. His parents had never really let go of Desmond. Adrienne had never held him in her heart at all. He'd lost. Completely. Absolutely. That day, after they got back from the hospital, he did two things. First, he contacted the Law Firm to draw up the legally binding Voluntary Declaration of Severance of Parent-Child Relationship and the Engagement Dissolution Agreement, and then he signed them both. Second, he hired an Immigration Agency and fast-tracked his permanent residency application. Just a little longer. By the end of the month, all the paperwork would clear, and he could walk away. He would leave this place and leave behind these people who choked the air out of his lungs. He just hadn't expected one last surprise before he left. Fine. Clean break. Dad. Mom. Adrienne... From here on out, we go our separate ways forever, never to see each other again. ###Chapter 3. The next day, Rowan jolted back to consciousness through a wave of sharp pain and suffocating pressure. He forced his eyes open, clutched his stomach, and pushed himself upright. His chronic gastritis was flaring up again. He was about to get up and call for someone when it hit him that he wasn't lying in his own bed at home, but... he had been locked in the Storage Room! The cramping in his stomach twisted tighter, causing his consciousness to even start blurring. "Is anyone there? Open the door! Open the door! My stomach—I need help!" He had no idea what was going on. All he could do was pound on the door with everything he had left, his voice raw and shaking. Footsteps shuffled on the other side. Then a familiar, ice-cold voice. His mother. "Rowan, stop yelling." Mr. Ashford Sr.'s voice came next, heavy with blame and frustration. "You brought this on yourself! You agreed to let Adrienne terminate the pregnancy on the surface, but behind everyone's back, you had Desmond thrown into the Walk-in Freezer! Desmond's been terrified of the cold since he was a kid. Do you even know how long he was stuck in there? He nearly froze to death! We're only locking you up for one day. That's us going easy on you because you're still our blood." The words hit Rowan like a lightning strike. His blood felt like it had stopped cold. Throw Desmond into the Walk-in Freezer? Him? "I didn't!" he shouted with everything he had, his voice distorted by the pain. "I never did anything like that! Bring Desmond here to confront me! Make him come here!" "Rowan..." Desmond's voice came through the door, laced with just the right amount of fear and grievance. "I'm fine, really. Just a little cold, a little shaken... Mom, Dad, please don't lock Rowan in there. I'm okay..." "You hear that? Look at how forgiving Desmond is!" Mrs. Ashford's voice rose with fury. "And look at you! So vicious! Desmond almost died because of you, and all we're doing is locking you in there for one day with no food or water. That's an enormous amount of mercy! And you still refuse to admit your mistake!" One day? No food or water? And right when his gastritis was flaring up! The whole thing was so insane Rowan's teeth were chattering from the cold and pain. He forced back the crushing panic from his claustrophobia and tried to reason with them. "Dad... Mom... I have claustrophobia. I can't stay in here. And my stomach's killing me... please, just let me out, take me to the hospital..." "Lies again!" Mr. Ashford Sr. snapped impatiently, cutting him off. "Claustrophobia? Gastritis? You're just trying to gain sympathy! We're not falling for your act anymore! Stay in there and reflect on what you've done!" Rowan's heart sank, piece by piece, into a freezing void. He stopped staring at the sealed door and turned in another direction, knowing that Adrienne had to be there too. "Adrienne..." His voice came out thin, carrying the last flicker of hope. "Just this once, can you believe me? One time. If I really wanted to hurt Desmond, why would I have agreed so easily to let him come back? Why would I have... agreed to let you terminate the pregnancy?" Silence on the other side. A few seconds ticked by. Then Adrienne's voice came through, calm and detached as always. "Rowan, when you do something wrong, you face the consequences. It's only one day. Just tough it out. Consider it... a lesson." Tough it out? A lesson? The last tiny ember inside Rowan went out for good. Cold despair wrapped around his heart like vines, tightening until he couldn't breathe. How had he forgotten? Adrienne loved Desmond. Always had. From the very beginning, nothing had changed. He had spent five whole years but failed to thaw her heart of stone, so how could he expect her to believe him even once when it came down to a choice between him and Desmond? The footsteps faded. No matter how hard he pounded on the door, no matter how loud he screamed, there was no answer. Darkness. Suffocation. Pain. Cold. All of it twisting together, tearing him apart. He curled up on the cold, filthy floor, his mind slipping away bit by bit. The panic from being locked in such a tight space wrapped around his throat like an invisible hand. Each breath came harder than the last. Finally, he blacked out completely. When he came to again, it was to the familiar sting of antiseptic in the air. His body still hurt like hell. But at least he wasn't in that suffocating black pit anymore. A nurse was adjusting the IV drip tube. Seeing him awake, she said in a formulaic tone, "You're awake? You had surgery on your stomach. There are signs of post-surgical infection and bleeding, so you'll need to stay a few days for observation. You need a family member to accompany you. Where's your family? Notify them to come over." Rowan moved his cracked lips. His voice came out shredded. "I don't have any family. Just hire me a private caregiver. The best one you've got. I'll cover the cost." The words had barely left his mouth when the door opened. Adrienne walked in. ###Chapter 4. She was carrying a thermal food container, looking worn out, though it didn't take anything away from her sharp, elegant features. The second she heard his words, her brows pulled together. "What do you mean, no family? I'm right here, aren't I?" "Rowan, you crossed a line with Desmond first. Your parents and I were just furious in the moment. You've been punished. Let's just drop it, okay? Stop holding a grudge." She paused, softening her voice. "I've cleared my schedule this past week. Pushed back all the important meetings at the company. I'm here to take care of you." Rowan looked at her. Looked at the way she'd deliberately softened her eyes, listened to the fake warmth in her words. But his heart was a wasteland. Not a single ripple. He was about to tell her not to bother when his phone rang on the nightstand. Video call. Mrs. Ashford. Rowan swiped to answer. His parents and Desmond filled the screen, a sun-drenched beach behind them. Mrs. Ashford's voice carried a trace of guilt, but mostly entitlement. "Rowan, you're awake? So... Desmond got really shaken up by what happened. He's been in a rough place, so we brought him to the Maldives to clear his head. We probably won't be able to make it to the hospital to take care of you. You know... what you did last time was really out of line. Think of this as a little something for Desmond. Don't take it personally, okay?" Rowan watched Desmond nestled between their parents on the screen, that smug, satisfied smile on his face. His chest just felt hollow. He couldn't even feel the pain anymore. "Mm." One word. That was all he said. Mrs. Ashford clearly hadn't expected him to be this calm. She froze for a second, like she wanted to say more, then finally mumbled, "Is... is Adrienne with you? Let me talk to her." Rowan just passed the phone to Adrienne without a word. Adrienne took it and walked over to the window. Rowan couldn't make out the whole conversation, just caught snippets. "Desmond really wants you to come too..." "Desmond's still pretty fragile..." "Desmond wants to see you..." He watched the hesitation flicker across Adrienne's face in profile. But deeper, behind her eyes, there was no missing it—worry. And longing. Rowan's lips curved, barely. When Adrienne hung up and walked back to the bed with a complicated expression as if trying to find the right words, he spoke first. His voice was flat. Empty. "Go be with Desmond. I'll hire a private caregiver." Adrienne froze, like she hadn't heard him right. "...What?" "I said, go to the Maldives. Be with Desmond." Rowan repeated it, no emotion in his voice. "I don't need you here." Adrienne's expression darkened. A sudden, sharp wave of irritation crashed over her. Something she couldn't name. She stared at Rowan's pale, calm face. This was the same face that used to fall the second she glanced too long at Desmond. The same face that used to look so hurt anytime she showed Desmond an ounce of concern. And now he was pushing her toward Desmond himself? "Rowan." Her voice turned cold. "What the hell is going on with you lately? Why do you keep pushing me toward Desmond?" Rowan didn't answer. He just asked again, "So. Are you going?" Adrienne was stunned. She pressed her lips together. Silence. A few seconds stretched out. Then she said stiffly, "...Desmond's emotionally unstable. He got scared this time. I... I really should go check on him. Consider it... making up for what you did." "Oh." Rowan nodded. "Then make sure you make it up to him." "You—!" Adrienne's temper flared at his dismissive tone. She couldn't shake the feeling he was mocking her. That nameless, out-of-control feeling in her chest hit a peak. But in the end, she didn't say anything. She just turned and stormed out of the ward. For the next week, Rowan recovered quietly in the hospital. Meanwhile, Desmond's messages and photos came pouring in like a blizzard. Sometimes it was their parents, one on each side, arms around him, all three beaming on the beach. Sometimes it was him holding a parasol over Adrienne, Adrienne's profile turned toward him with soft, tender eyes. Sometimes it was Adrienne in a new swimsuit, her slim silhouette caught from behind... The captions were always the same. Bragging. Taunting. [Rowan, see? Mom and Dad still love me the most.] [Addie says the sunset here is beautiful. Too bad you can't see it, Rowan.] [I gave you five years. And you still couldn't hold onto a single person's heart. Since you're that useless, I'm just taking back everything that was supposed to be mine.] Rowan looked at the carefully angled photos and venomous captions, his face as calm as if he were scrolling through a stranger's social media feed. Finally, he tapped into the message thread with Desmond and typed one word. [Sure.] Then he turned off his phone. Set it to silent. No matter how many more messages Desmond sent, no matter how many photos came through, he never opened a single one again. ###Chapter 5. The day Rowan got discharged, the weather was perfect. He handled the paperwork himself and drove slowly back toward the Ashford Estate. The car had just turned onto the tree-lined road at the entrance of Brookridge Estates when a figure suddenly lunged out from the bushes and threw himself straight at the front of the car. "Crash—!" Rowan slammed on the brakes, yanked the wheel hard, but the bumper still clipped the figure. The guy crumpled to the ground. Desmond. Rowan's heart skipped a beat. He unbuckled and got out fast. Desmond was sprawled on the pavement. His temple was scraped raw, trickling blood. His face was pale, his eyes shut—but his chest was still rising and falling. Rowan immediately called 911 for an ambulance and police assistance. The ambulance and police car showed up almost at the same time. Since he was the driver involved, Rowan had to cooperate with the investigation. He rode with the ambulance to the hospital and waited outside the Operating Room. Not long after, Adrienne and his parents came rushing in. Panic and worry were written all over their faces. They didn't even glance at Rowan standing off to the side. They went straight to the Operating Room door, grabbing the nurse who'd just stepped out. "How's our son? Is he going to be okay?" The nurse flinched at how frantic they looked. "He's still in surgery. You'll have to wait for the doctor." Adrienne paced by the door, restless. His parents leaned on each other, eyes rimmed red. From start to finish, not one of them asked Rowan: Are you hurt? Are you okay? Did that shake you up? Rowan stood quietly in the shadow of the hallway, watching them come apart over Desmond. That frozen wasteland inside his chest didn't even crack. Finally, the light above the Operating Room door switched off. The doctor stepped out. Adrienne and his parents swarmed him. "Doctor, how's our son?" The doctor pulled down his mask and exhaled. "Surgery went well. He's not in any danger. He'll wake up once the anesthesia wears off. We stitched up the cut on his temple. Just watch for infection and let him rest." The three of them barely got a breath in before the doctor added, "But... during the full exam, we found a lot of bruises and soft tissue injuries. Some old, some recent. They don't look consistent with a car accident. They look more like... someone beat him. You may want to get to the bottom of that with him later." Adrienne and his parents went rigid, their faces draining. Meanwhile, seeing that Desmond was out of the woods, Rowan turned to leave. "Rowan!" Adrienne finally noticed him. She grabbed his wrist, her grip tight, her voice like ice. "You hit Desmond like this and you're just going to walk off without one word of explanation?" Rowan stopped. He'd just opened his mouth when a weak voice drifted out from the hospital room. "Addie... Dad... Mom..." All three of them instantly left him behind and rushed inside. Rowan stood in the doorway. Through the glass, he watched Desmond—head wrapped in a gauze bandage, face pale—surrounded by their parents and Adrienne, all of them murmuring comforts to him. Inside the room, his parents asked carefully, "Desmond, what actually happened? Those bruises on you..." Desmond shot a nervous glance at Rowan in the doorway. He hesitated, then said softly, "It's... it's nothing. I was just being careless..." "Desmond, tell us the truth!" Adrienne walked back to the bedside, her voice hardening. "Those bruises. Where did they come from?" Under her pressure, Desmond finally cracked. His voice came out shaky, broken up. "It... it was Rowan. While you guys took me to the Maldives to get away, Rowan saw my social media feed and got really mad. He messaged me all day, cursing me out. The stuff he said... it was bad. When I came back, I just wanted to explain myself to him. I didn't expect... he got a bunch of guys together and cornered me in an alley. They beat me up..." His voice trembled. "I knew Rowan was getting out of the hospital today. I wanted to go home and talk to him. Tell him I swear I never wanted to take anything from him. I'd just gotten to the gate when I heard the car. I knew it was him coming back, so I went out to meet him... I didn't think... I didn't think the second he saw me, he'd just... floor it straight at me..." By the end, he couldn't hold it in anymore. He broke down sobbing. ###Chapter 6. "Rowan!!" Mr. Ashford Sr. exploded, storming out of the hospital room. He jabbed a finger in Rowan's face, shaking with rage. "You ungrateful bastard! What the hell has Desmond ever done to you? So he took a little of our attention, a little of Adrienne's concern! Everything else is yours! Why can't you just share this family with him?! Do you have to drive him into the ground?!" Mrs. Ashford came out too, tears streaming down her face, staring at him with bitter disappointment. "Rowan, how did you become this person? We always thought you were just a little willful, a little jealous of Desmond. We never imagined... your heart could be this cold." Adrienne stood behind them, her eyes on Rowan—cold, disappointed, with that quiet look of I knew it, underneath it a flicker of exhaustion she couldn't quite hide. Rowan watched the whole show play out. Watched their furious, disappointed, heartbroken faces. Whatever small stir of numbness had still been left in his chest, it died right there. He didn't even bother saying "I didn't do it." "So?" His voice came out terrifyingly calm. "What are you going to do to punish me this time? Get on with it. I want to go home and sleep." That flat, couldn't-care-less attitude—like he was rushing them along—pushed every single one of them over the edge. "Crack—!" A hard slap landed across Rowan's face. Mr. Ashford Sr. His face was white with rage. But the second his hand came down, he froze, something like regret and panic flickering in his eyes. Rowan's head turned with the hit. His cheek flared red, swelling fast, burning. He slowly turned back and wiped the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand; the skin had split, leaving a faint taste of blood. He looked at his father, still calm, almost curious. "Done punishing me? Can I go now?" "You—!" Mr. Ashford Sr. was too furious to speak. Adrienne stepped forward, her chest heaving. She was clearly just as worked up. She looked at his red, swollen cheek. Looked at those terrifyingly calm eyes. Something snapped in her, and the words came out before she could stop them. "Punish you? Rowan, Desmond has one hundred and eight injuries on his body! You had the guts to do it, so you'd better have the guts to take it! Every single bruise he has, you're getting one too!" She raised her voice and called over the bodyguards who'd been waiting nearby. "Take him to the hospital entrance. Throw cash around. Tell people—hit him once, get fifty grand. Keep going until we match the count!" Even Rowan's parents were stunned. They stared at Adrienne like they couldn't believe what they were hearing. Rowan's head snapped up. He looked at Adrienne. No fear in his eyes. No begging. Just a dead, hollow wasteland and a deep, knowing kind of grief. That look cut into Adrienne's heart like an ice-cold blade, out of nowhere. Her chest seized. A sharp wave of regret and panic slammed into her. What was she doing? She corrected herself almost instantly, her voice shaking faintly. "...But if you're willing to admit you were wrong, apologize to Desmond, swear you'll never do it again—I'll take back what I just said." Rowan just looked at her. Watched her quietly for a few seconds. Then, very slowly, the corner of his mouth curled up in a mocking smirk. He didn't say a single word. That silence made Adrienne angrier than anything he could've said. She saw it clear as day—he was never going to back down. The last of her panic and pity evaporated. Humiliation and fury took over. She whipped around and shouted at the bodyguards, "What are you standing around for? Take him down there!" Two bodyguards moved in, grabbing Rowan by the arms, one on each side. He didn't fight and just let them drag him out. As they passed the hospital room, he caught sight of his parents back at Desmond's bedside, fussing over him with soft, worried voices, as if everything happening out in the hall had nothing to do with them. Rowan started laughing a low, quiet laugh, heavy with bitter, hollow mockery, while tears slipped down his swollen cheeks and hit the floor without a sound. They took him out to the most visible spot in front of the hospital. The bodyguards actually started throwing money. Stack after stack of crisp hundred-dollar bills were tossed carelessly onto the ground. A crowd started forming fast. "Hit this guy once, walk away with fifty grand! Cash on the spot!" one of the bodyguards shouted. At first, people just stared, whispered, and pointed, but nobody stepped up. Then a scruffy-looking man with hungry eyes pushed his way out of the crowd, gave Rowan a tentative shove, and actually received a thick stack of bills from the bodyguard... The crowd erupted. "It's real! He's really paying!" "One hit, fifty grand!" "Me next!" They surged forward like a wave. Fists, slaps, and shoves rained down on Rowan's thin body like a storm. He was knocked to the ground, curling up to cover his head and face. Pain came from everywhere. His bones felt like they were cracking. His organs felt like they were being shaken apart. His ears rang. All he could hear was the mob screaming and the rustle of cash flying through the air. His vision blurred. Red bled in at the edges. ###Chapter 7. When he came to again, he was in the VIP Ward. Every inch of him screamed with pain. His face and body were wrapped in gauze bandages. The room was quiet. Just the steady beeping of the monitors. He tried moving his fingers and managed to press the call button on the nightstand. He waited. Waited so long he almost drifted back into unconsciousness. Finally, a nurse pushed the door open, clearly annoyed. "What now?" "Water..." Rowan's throat was bone dry. The nurse rolled her eyes, poured a glass of cold water, and slammed it down on the nightstand hard enough that some of it sloshed out. "Drink it quick and stop ringing. We're busy!" She turned and walked out. Rowan looked at the glass, then looked at the door swinging shut. He understood perfectly. This was the Merritt Hospital. With the way Adrienne treated him—fiancé in name only, VIP Ward or not—why the hell would the staff go out of their way to be nice to him? He lay there in silence, riding out the pain and the thirst. The next few days went the same way. Food came cold. Bandage changes were rough. He'd hit the call button ten times and maybe get an answer twice. When the nurses did wander in, they'd cluster together and chat in voices just loud enough for him to hear. "Did you hear? The patient in Room 302 next door is the impostor heir from the Ashford Family? He's so gorgeous. And sweet too." "Right? Ms. Merritt's been there every day. She really cares about him." "We better take good care of him. If we keep Ms. Merritt happy, maybe we'll get promoted." "Unlike this one... Ugh. Brought it all on himself. Ms. Merritt obviously can't stand him anymore, and he's still acting like he owns the place." Rowan listened. His face didn't move. That day, a nurse came in to change his bandages, rushed through it, and started pushing the care cart out in a hurry. The wheel caught on his IV drip tube where it hung off the bed and yanked hard. "Ah—!" The IV needle got ripped clean out of his vein. Blood beaded up on the back of his hand. He felt a sharp, stabbing pain. He was already weak. The sudden pull dragged him right off the bed. He hit the floor hard. The pain shot up from his cracked ribs. His vision went black. He almost blacked out again. The two nurses were startled, glanced back, and instead of helping him up, they actually snapped at him. "What's wrong with you? Watch yourself! We gotta get snacks over to Young Mr. Desmond! If this makes us late, are you gonna take the heat?" They pushed the cart out and didn't look back. Rowan lay flat on the floor, ribs screaming so bad he could barely breathe. He tried to get up a few times and couldn't. Right then, the door opened. Adrienne walked in. She took one look at him on the floor and her face drained. She rushed over. "Rowan! What happened?!" She carefully helped him up and got him back into bed. When she saw the blood on his hand and the pain twisting his face, she hit the call button instantly. Then she rounded on the two nurses who hadn't even made it out the door yet. "What the hell is going on?! Is this how you take care of patients?!" Both nurses went white and started stammering. Rowan leaned against her. He could smell that crisp plum blossom fragrance on her. And underneath it, faint but unmistakable—Desmond's scent. He spoke calmly, his voice weak but clear. "It's nothing. They bumped into me by accident. I just fell." Adrienne froze. She looked down at him. No self-pity in his face. No tattling. Just a flat statement of the facts. That thorn in her chest dug in harder. She snapped at the nurses. "You two. Go to the Finance Department and collect your checks. Get out of this hospital. And tell the Head Nurse—I want the VIP Ward reviewed top to bottom. One more incident like this, and every single one of you is gone!" The nurses ran out crying. The doctor got there fast, cleaned the wound on his hand, and checked his ribs. Thankfully, there was no new fracture. Once the doctor left, it was just the two of them. Adrienne sat by the bed, looking at his pale, hollowed-out face with a complex look in her eyes. She reached out like she wanted to touch his cheek, stopped halfway, and ended up just tucking the blanket around him. "These past few days... they've been pushing you around like this the whole time?" Her voice came out hoarse. "Why didn't you tell me? I was right next door... with Desmond. I dropped the ball on you, I know. But you could've come to me..." Rowan closed his eyes. "No need." ###Chapter 8. "What do you mean, no need?" Adrienne's temper flared at his attitude. She forced it back down. "I'm your fiancée! Whatever you're going through, you can tell me! Are you still mad about... about last time? That time, I... I lost my head. I shouldn't have done that... But you really shouldn't have gone after Desmond like that either..." "Adrienne," Rowan cut her off. His eyes opened, landing on her flat and calm. "You done? If you're done, I want to rest. Thanks for helping me up." He lightly pushed her hand away from where it was tucking in his blanket, rolled over, and turned his back to her. Adrienne stared at his back. That same familiar, overwhelming wave of irritation and unease crashed over her all over again. She opened her mouth. Nothing came out. Right then, her phone rang with a call from Desmond: "Addie, where'd you go? My wound's hurting again..." Adrienne glanced at Rowan's back. He looked like he was already asleep. Finally, she stood up, quietly said, "Get some rest. I'll come back later," and hurried out of the ward. The next few days, Adrienne really did come by every day. She'd stay for hours, fumbling her way through taking care of him, trying to make conversation. She even offered to take him up to see the northern lights in Scandinavia once he got discharged—someplace he'd mentioned wanting to go before. Or to spend some time in one of those old European towns he liked. Every time, Rowan just shut her down, flat. "No thanks." "Not interested." "Go do your own thing." His attitude never changed: calm, distant, as if he were dealing with a stranger who didn't matter. Finally, after she suggested taking him to France to get away, and he turned her down with a simple "I'm tired," she lost it. "Rowan!" She shot to her feet, standing over him, anger and confusion barely contained behind her eyes. "What the hell do you want from me? I apologized. I made it up to you. I'm here every single day! What else do you want me to do? Just say it!" The ward went dead quiet. Just the sound of her breathing. Rowan slowly lifted his eyes, looking at her sharp, gorgeous face twisted with anger, and watched her for a long, long time. Then, quietly and very clearly, he said a single sentence. "I want you gone." Adrienne froze, like she hadn't heard him right. "...What?" "I said," Rowan spoke slowly, his voice calm but razor-sharp, "I want you to leave this ward. Leave my sight. And from now on, don't show your face in front of me ever again." Adrienne stood there like she'd been struck by lightning, staring at him in disbelief. Her chest heaved. The color drained from her face. "Rowan! Do you even know what you're saying?!" Rowan's expression didn't shift. He was about to speak again when the ward door slammed open. His parents and Desmond came rushing in, all three of them sobbing. "Addie! Something terrible happened! Desmond's in trouble!" Mrs. Ashford wailed. Adrienne forced down the storm inside her chest and turned to them, brows furrowing. "What happened? Slow down." Mr. Ashford Sr. was sweating through his shirt. "Desmond... he went out drinking with some friends at a lounge tonight. Got into an altercation with someone. He accidentally split the guy's head open. The cops are there now. They're saying they have to take him down to the Police Station!" Desmond cowered behind Mrs. Ashford, shaking all over. "Addie... I didn't mean to... I'm really scared... I don't want to go to the Police Station..." Adrienne listened, her brow knitting tighter, but her voice stayed steady. "How bad is he hurt? If it's a minor injury, we can settle through civil mediation—pay damages, apologize. As for the cops... standard procedure is they'll take him in for a police statement. He might be held for a few days. Don't panic. I'll get lawyers on it immediately. I'll have Desmond out as fast as humanly possible. I won't let him suffer in there." "No, Addie!" Mrs. Ashford clutched her arm, sobbing. "Desmond's so fragile. A Detention Center—cold, filthy, locked up with who knows how many criminals—how could he survive that? He'll get sick for sure!" Mr. Ashford Sr. jumped in right behind her. Then, like he suddenly remembered something, he looked over at Rowan, who'd been lying in the bed in silence the whole time. His eyes flickered with hesitation. But eventually, he spoke. "Rowan... Rowan's stronger than Desmond. He's... tougher. What if... what if we had Rowan take Desmond's place for a few days? Just until Addie smooths everything over, then we'll get him out..." Even Adrienne was floored. Her head snapped toward Mr. Ashford Sr. "Mr. Ashford! Rowan just had surgery! A few days ago he was... he was seriously hurt!" Desmond, though—Desmond latched onto it like a lifeline. He rushed to Adrienne's side, grabbed at her sleeve, begging. "Addie... please, I'm begging you... I'm so scared... Rowan... Rowan won't mind, right? Rowan, help me out, just this once, please..." Adrienne looked at Desmond's terrified, helpless face, then looked at Rowan, who lay silent on the bed with his eyes closed, and felt everything inside her at war. On one side was the person she loved, begging her as if his life depended on it, and on the other was that voice in her gut getting louder—the unease, the pull back. Right then, there was a knock at the door. Two uniformed officers walked in and flashed their badges. "Which one of you is Desmond Ashford? We need you to come back to the station with us for questioning." Desmond panicked completely. He latched onto Adrienne and wouldn't let go. His parents lost it too, pleading with the officers, shooting desperate looks at Adrienne and Rowan. A vein pulsed at Adrienne's temple. Caught between Desmond's pleading face and his parents' begging eyes, she finally... with great difficulty, very slowly... she nodded. She turned to the officers and slowly pointed at Rowan. "That's Desmond Ashford." ###Chapter 9. Through the whole thing, Rowan didn't say a word. He didn't even open his eyes. Not until an officer, polite but firm, asked him to stand up did he slowly lift his eyelids. His gaze drifted past his parents, who wouldn't meet his eyes, past Adrienne, whose expression was a mess no one could read, and finally landed on Desmond's face, which was flooded with relief. No hatred. No rage. No hurt. Just a dead, lifeless kind of calm. He quietly pulled the IV needle out of the back of his hand, slowly sat up, and got out of bed. Adrienne watched how terrifyingly still he was, and her heart felt like some invisible hand had clamped down on it, squeezing so painfully that she could barely breathe. As he walked past her, she suddenly shot her hand out and grabbed his arm. "Rowan..." Her voice came out rough, shaking in a way she didn't even notice. "You... just wait for me, three days max, I swear I'll get you out! After that... after that, wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do, I'll go with you! I'll make it up to you—whatever you want, you can have it!" Rowan stopped, looked down, and glanced at the hand gripping his arm. Then he raised his head and met her eyes. Gently, but firmly, he peeled her fingers off. One by one. Not a single word. Then he turned, followed the officer, and walked out of the ward, step by step. Behind him, Mr. Ashford Sr. and Mrs. Ashford stammered, "Rowan... we... we didn't have a choice... once Desmond's out of this, we'll spend real time with you, we promise..." Rowan's steps didn't falter, as if he hadn't heard a thing. Adrienne stood frozen where he'd left her, watching him disappear around the corner of the hallway. The hand he'd pried open was still curled in the air, trembling faintly. Three days in the Detention Center felt like three years. It was cold, damp, and loud, with the cellmates giving him hostile looks and running their mouths. The food was rough and simple, and the bed was a slab of wood. His injuries still hurt. The conditions were brutal. Rowan barely slept at all. But he stayed quiet. No crying, no outbursts, no talking to anyone. He just sat silently in his corner, staring up at the small, barred window near the ceiling. Late on the third afternoon, he was finally released. He stepped out through the heavy iron door, and the sunlight hit him hard. He squinted, letting his eyes adjust. He powered on his phone. Two messages were waiting. One from Mrs. Ashford: [Rowan, your dad and I have to attend a really important charity gala. We won't be able to pick you up. Just grab a cab home, stay safe. Mom'll cook you something good when you're back to make it up to you.] One from Adrienne: [Rowan, something urgent came up at the company—a major cross-border M&A meeting. I genuinely can't leave. Just head home first and rest up. I'll come see you tonight. After that, wherever you want to go, I'm there. Wait for me.] Rowan read through both with zero expression. Then he opened his social media feed. The first post that refreshed to the top was Desmond's, posted ten minutes earlier. [Just a little cold, and everyone's treating me like I'm made of glass. Being loved like this, held like I'm something precious—nothing feels better. So grateful for everyone who loves me.] In the photo, Mr. Ashford Sr., Mrs. Ashford, Adrienne—all of them were right there with him. Rowan stared at the post, at the genuine smiles and contentment on every face in the picture. And suddenly, he let out a quiet laugh. His soft laugh was quickly swallowed up by the wind on the empty street. He kept laughing, yet as he laughed, a cold liquid slid down from the corners of his eyes. It was not sadness, nor was it grievance. It was just a complete, final kind of peace, as if everything had settled and was done. Right then, his phone buzzed again. A new email notification. He opened it. From the Immigration Agency: [Mr. Ashford, congratulations! Your permanent residency application has been officially approved! Wishing you a wonderful new life in your new country!] Rowan stared at that line for a long, long time. Then he slowly exhaled, long and deep. That breath felt like it took five years of suffocation, pain, struggle, and hopelessness with it. Finally. It was over. He flagged down a cab and rode back to the Ashford Estate. The house was empty. Everyone was clearly off with Desmond. He walked into his cramped Guest Room, pulled two documents out of the drawer, and laid them neatly on the most visible spot on the coffee table in the living room. One was the Voluntary Declaration of Severance of Parent-Child Relationship. One was the Engagement Dissolution Agreement. At the bottom of both, his name was already signed, clean and clear—Rowan Ashford. Finally, he took one last look at this lavish, ice-cold house that had never once given him real warmth. He grabbed the handle of his suitcase, turned, and walked out without looking back. Night had settled in. The cab sped toward the airport. The Departure Hall was packed with people moving in every direction. Rowan took a seat by the window, watching planes take off and land out on the runway, their lights blinking like distant stars. The boarding announcement started coming over the speakers. He picked up his phone and opened his messaging app one last time. Pinned at the top of the chat were his parents and Adrienne. His finger hovered over the screen for a few seconds. Then he closed the app, pulled out his SIM card, snapped it cleanly in half, and tossed it into the trash can beside him. He grabbed his suitcase and walked toward the gate. He never looked back.
