1 “I need you to fake a private plane crash for me. It’s the only way I can leave Adrian Lyons for good.” My best friend Gillian’s jaw nearly hit the floor. She looked at me as if she’d misheard, the same stunned expression she’d worn when I told her Adrian and I were getting married. A penniless girl from the mountains and the golden heir of Zenith City. We were from two different worlds, a match no one saw coming. The gossip had been relentless. Some said I was just a novelty for him. Others whispered I was a stand-in for a lost love. A few even wagered our marriage was the result of a drunken bet. But for three years, Adrian silenced them all. His actions screamed a simple, undeniable truth: he married me because he loved me. Loved me to the point of madness. He’d claimed it was love at first sight, launching a courtship of breathtaking intensity. He donated billions in my name to charities and built a global network of schools, all named ‘The Luna Project.’ He wanted the world to know me, so that if I ever stumbled, a helping hand would be there. He gave up his high-society life to work part-time jobs with me—waiting tables, sorting packages. The hands that once coaxed symphonies from a violin grew calloused and rough, all just to be near me. His devotion won me over, but the chasm between our families was too vast. To win his parents’ approval, he endured their brutal discipline sixteen times, his back a latticework of scars. When that failed, he renounced his inheritance, walking away from a fortune that could last lifetimes, all for the freedom to marry me. Our life together was a dream. He replaced his entire staff with men, installed a tracking system on his phone for me to check anytime, and reported his every move without me ever having to ask. The world called it a fairy tale. But the world didn’t know that my perfect husband had a secret family, that he’d fathered a set of twins with another woman. When I found out, the pain was so visceral I coughed up blood and collapsed. Adrian rushed back from an overseas deal, abandoning billions to sit by my bedside. He held my hand, warming the IV fluid with his own body heat, his eyes filled with a terror that was achingly real. His love was real; I could see it. But as I looked at him, a new, agonizing thought twisted in my gut: had he looked at her—at Isabella—with this same devotion? Isabella. His childhood friend. The same woman who had bullied me relentlessly, who had even hired thugs to assault me—an attack Adrian had thwarted by sheer chance. He had ruined her family for what she’d done. I never would have believed he could betray me with her. Not until I saw the videos. And the paternity test. I turned my head away, tears soaking the pillow. "Luna," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion, "the doctor said... you’re two months pregnant. We’re going to have a baby." His joy was childlike, pure. "Our anniversary is in five days. This is the best gift imaginable." My eyes snapped open. I’d been told I might never conceive. Now, a child was coming. At the worst possible moment. A sob escaped my lips. He pulled me into his arms, murmuring comforting words. But all I could smell was a faint, unfamiliar perfume on his collar, mingled with the scent of baby formula. I shoved him away, a wave of nausea overwhelming me. He thought it was morning sickness, cupping his hands to catch my vomit, completely unconcerned about himself. He had a severe case of germaphobia, yet for me, he would do anything. For a moment, a desperate hope flickered within me. Maybe we could fix this. If he would just leave her... Then his phone buzzed. "An urgent matter at the office," he said. He kissed me and hurried out. Half an hour later, a photo arrived from Isabella. It was Adrian, holding the twins, kissing their foreheads. My last illusion shattered. I left the hospital and went straight to Gillian. I needed an escape. A permanent one. 2 After leaving Gillian’s, I scheduled an abortion in another city. The Lyons family’s reach was too long. Just before I went into the operating room, Isabella sent another video. It was two and a half hours long. In it, she was in lingerie, and Adrian was in a suit, a table of sex toys beside them. They were in our home, their bodies entwined in a display of raw, unrestrained lust I had never seen from him. It was torture, but I watched every second. “Ma’am,” the doctor said gently, “are you sure you’re ready?” I hadn’t realized I was crying, shaking from the horrifying realization that even now, I still loved him. Ripping him from my life felt like tearing out my own heart. I decided to give him one last chance. I called him. “Where are you? I miss you. Can you come back?” His voice was tense. “Honey, something really important came up. Tonight… ah!” He let out a muffled groan. “I won’t be home tonight!” He hung up. He had never, ever hung up on me before. “I’m ready,” I told the doctor. “Let’s begin.” I returned home late, exhausted. A message from Gillian was waiting: “Baby, it’s all set. Showtime in two days.” I spent the night in tormented wakefulness. Adrian came home the next morning, full of plans for our baby and the island he had bought for us. He didn’t notice my silence until he saw the tears streaming down my face. “What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice trembling with panic. “Nothing,” I said. “Pregnant women get emotional.” I told him about my plans for the day—a class reunion, visiting old professors. It was my farewell tour. 3 He insisted on coming with me to the reunion. The moment we walked in, the room erupted in good-natured teasing. Adrian just smiled, handing out lavish gifts. “You’re so lucky, Luna,” one of them sighed. “To have a husband who loves you so much.” I managed a polite, empty smile. Suddenly, the door swung open, and Isabella strode in, dripping with jewels. “Having a reunion without me?” The mood soured. Isabella, uncaring, sat down. “Chanel,” she mused, eyeing the gifts. “Famous brand. But I suppose none of you knew that I founded it.” She explained that her new “husband” had invested billions to set up twenty-six companies for her two years ago. Her gaze flickered to Adrian, then back to me, a triumphant smirk on her lips. Two years ago. Adrian had been incredibly busy then, claiming he was expanding the business overseas. But he had been building an empire for her. A sharp pain lanced through my chest. Adrian rushed to my side, but I pushed him away. In the hallway, Isabella cornered me. “Don’t think you’re important,” she sneered. “I gave him children. His heart is already mine. All I have to do is say the kids have a fever, and he’ll come running.” When I returned, Adrian was agitated. “Honey, something urgent came up at the office.” I grabbed his sleeve. “You said you’d stay with me. Please, stay.” He hesitated, a flicker of panic in his eyes, as if he knew that if he left, he would lose something irreplaceable. But he chose her. He gently pried my fingers from his sleeve. “I’ll be back tonight, I promise.” Half an hour later, Isabella sent me a video of Adrian doting on her, promising her the very island he had just gifted to our unborn child. “See?” her message read. “You’ve lost, Luna.” 4 That afternoon, an old professor took me to a temple. A monk there recognized my name. A year ago, Adrian had come, kneeling all the way up the mountain to pray for a protective charm for me. As I was leaving, the monk handed me three other charms Adrian had requested. The names on them were Isabella and the twins. That night, Adrian came home to find me already in bed. This was a first. He held me close, whispering how much he missed me. Then he lied about the island, claiming the feng shui was bad and he’d bought me two others instead. “I want to take the private jet abroad tomorrow,” I said, forcing a playful tone. “I’ve ordered a special gift and want to pick it up myself.” He was hesitant but eventually relented. The next morning, after he left for “the office,” I began to erase him. I shredded the clothes I’d made him. I gave away the jewelry he’d bought me. I threw our photo albums into the fireplace. He returned unexpectedly and saw the last of our memories being consumed by flames. He plunged his bare hands into the fire to save a single charred book. “Why?” he choked, his voice trembling. “They were ugly photos,” I said lightly, hiding my true intentions behind a mask of concern for his burned hands. After he left again, Isabella texted. “Grand Luxe Hotel. Your husband is here. There’s a good show waiting for you.” I knew it would destroy me. But I went anyway. It was the twins’ birthday. Adrian, his parents, his friends—all of them were there, celebrating. The staff called Isabella “Mrs. Lyons.” Adrian didn’t correct them. His mother praised Isabella for giving them grandchildren. Adrian just smiled. “Everything Luna has, she has too. I always buy two of everything.” I thought I was prepared. But in that moment, something inside me exploded. All the love, all the tenderness—it all shattered, the shards turning inward, leaving me bleeding. They all knew. My one-of-a-kind love was just one of a pair. 5 I hid behind a pillar, overhearing Adrian talking to his cousin. “I love Luna,” he’d said. “But Isabella gave me children. I can’t abandon her. This works for me. She won’t find out.” I stumbled out of the hotel. The relentless emotional assault had taken its toll. My vision tunneled, and the world went black. I awoke in an unfamiliar room. A man in a sharp suit sat on a sofa nearby. It was Adrian’s uncle, Dominic Lyons. “You’re awake,” he said, his voice calm. “The doctor said you fainted from emotional distress, compounded by a recent miscarriage.” He saw the question in my eyes. “Adrian doesn’t know, does he? If he did, he wouldn't have let you collapse alone on the street.” I begged him to keep my secret, and for some reason, he agreed. When I returned home, Adrian was there, ready to cook for me, offering me yet another piece of jewelry identical to one he’d given Isabella. I just laughed, the sound hollow and brittle. “I want to go to the ‘Little Grotto’,” I said. It was the estate he’d built for me, a place filled with memories. It would be my final goodbye. He paled. He’d given Isabella the keys. He made an excuse and sent her a frantic text to leave. When we arrived, the place was changed. Her flowers, her curtains, her children’s toys. I pretended not to notice and went to the bedroom to retrieve our last photo albums. But when I opened one, I froze. It was filled with pictures of Adrian and Isabella and the twins. In all our special places. Defiling every last sacred memory. As I turned to leave, his phone pinged. He excused himself to the restroom. I followed. Outside the door, I heard his frantic voice, then hers, sultry and suggestive. “With her just downstairs… isn’t this even more exciting?” I heard his breathing grow heavy. “...You little vixen.” The sounds that followed were unmistakable. I stood outside the door, my heart a dead, still thing. I had come from nothing, taught myself to love, and he had taught me how to break. 6 A few minutes later, Adrian emerged. I looked at him, then held up my wrist. “This bracelet you made for me… it’s faded. Will your love for me fade, too, Adrian?” “Never!” he declared, pressing a reverent kiss to my hand. I had planned to leave quietly. But now, I changed my mind. I would make him pay. I wrapped my arms around him. “I love you too, Adrian. So you have to wait for me, and for our baby, to come back.” I handed him a file. “A gift. Don’t open it for two days.” Inside was the report from my abortion and screenshots of Isabella’s taunts. When the news of my “plane crash” reached him, he would open it. He would know his betrayal had cost him everything. “I’ll wait for you,” he said, his eyes shining. As I walked away, I took one last look at him. He had already turned his back to me. “Goodbye, Adrian,” I whispered. “Goodbye, forever.”
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