To be with Vincent Dallman, Eline Cazemier pretended to be a tomboy for 12 years.

When Vincent skipped school by climbing over the walls, she went with him.

When Vincent hit the bars and drank, she followed.

When Vincent said her long hair drew too much attention, she cut off the hair she'd cared for all these years without hesitation.

When Vincent was forced into marriage by his family and couldn't take it anymore, he turned to her.

"If I have to marry someone, I'd rather marry you. So, will you?"

She didn't think twice and nodded.

Everyone around them said Eline played the "bro" role perfectly.

And she really did.

By day, she was Vincent's best buddy.

By night, she gave in to his every whim and desire.

Their moans filled the nights, box after box of condoms used up.

Then came Chelsea Oliver, the "dumb secretary" at Vincent's company.

She couldn't do anything right, constantly screwing up his plans.

But the hot-tempered Vincent never got mad at her.

Every night when he came home, he talked endlessly about this "dumb secretary."

Vincent went on a business trip and assigned Chelsea to Eline's project team.

But on the day of the handover ceremony, 999 private photos of Eline suddenly popped up on the big screen.

Her mind went blank. Her hands became as cold as ice.

Only Vincent could've had those photos...

The audience erupted.

Chelsea ran to the stage in tears, apologized, and yanked out the flash drive.

If not for the fact that every photo was crystal clear with Eline's face in full view, people might've mistaken her as the victim.

The blood drained from Eline's body. She trembled uncontrollably.

Strange stares pierced her from every direction, exposing her to a crowd like she was naked under the blazing sun.

The partners stood up and left. Their mocking words felt like dozens of slaps across her face.

Yet all she could do was swallow the humiliation, bow deeply, and say, "I'm sorry."

Again. And again.

She numbly waited for Vincent to come back and give her an explanation.

But the first thing he said was...

"Don't scare Chelsea. She's just a girl; she can't handle being yelled at."

Suddenly, Eline felt exhausted. Chasing someone with all your strength...

It was just so tiring.

"Eline, do you have anything to say?"

Vincent's cold eyes looked her way from across the room.

Yet, she didn't even blink.

Her stomach was empty, filled only with endless grief, anger, and helplessness.

What was there to say?

What could she even say?

The moment Vincent returned, he dumped all the blame on her.

To help Chelsea, he kept reminding everyone that Eline was the woman in the photos.

Seeing her silent, Vincent lowered his eyes and looked away.

"Starting today, Chelsea will be the director of Group A."

The members of Group A in the room gasped.

Someone wanted to speak up for Eline, but their colleague quickly pulled them back and shook their head.

Once everything was settled, Vincent left with Chelsea.

Everyone in the meeting room instantly lost their composure.

"Why did you stop me? Chelsea's barely been here and has already caused so much trouble. Now Ms. Cazemier has to take the blame for her—how is that fair?"

The colleague shot Eline a sympathetic glance and whispered, "Because of favoritism."

"Come on. Let's go. Things will only get worse."

Soon, Eline was the only one left in the room.

She sat there for a long, long time.

So long that the entire building was empty except for her and the security guard.

Clutching her aching stomach, she drove home.

But the moment she opened the door, she saw them laughing together at the dining table.

Chelsea was wearing the matching slippers she and Vincent used to wear.

The shirt on her was the one Eline recently bought for Vincent—he'd only worn it twice.

Now, it had a new owner.

Seeing her, Chelsea quickly pulled her hand back, like a frightened rabbit.

Vincent chuckled and pinched her cheek.

"What are you so scared of? Eline is not a predator. She's my buddy!"

As if nothing had happened earlier that day.

Eline felt a sharp sting in her chest. Her face turned pale and sickly.

She stood frozen at the door.

Chelsea flustered, stood up to apologize.

"Sorry, Ms. Cazemier. I forgot I was wearing your slippers. I'll take them off right now!" She bent down, ready to remove them.

But Vincent pulled her up.

"Eat first. You've been scared enough today. There are disposable slippers inside. She knows."

Yes, she knew.

She silently set down her bag and walked barefoot to her room.

Eline had been pursuing Vincent for 24 years, which was also 8,766 days...

She once thought she would never give up on loving him.

But hearts get tired too.

Eline opened the drawer and pulled out the divorce papers buried at the bottom.

This time, she didn't hesitate. She signed it.

The divorce papers were tossed aside.

Eline lay on the bed, her mind drifting back to the night she married Vincent. He had pulled her into the study and handed her a divorce agreement already signed by him.

"I see you as a buddy. How could I sleep with a buddy?

"I'll sign this first. Once I break free from the Dallman family, we'll divorce."

***

Since then, they'd had sex together more times than she could count. Vincent was now firmly in control of the Dallman family. But he never brought up divorce again.

Eline had naively believed their years together meant something. But now she realized—it was just that he'd grown used to having her around.

Her presence or absence made no difference to him.

Tear stains still streaked her face, but exhaustion quickly pulled her into sleep.

Suddenly, the lights snapped on.

Vincent yanked her blanket away, jolting Eline awake. Dark circles shadowed her eyes.

"Chelsea made a whole table of food to apologize to you, waiting for you to come home. And you? You storm off without a word, throwing a tantrum, huh?"

He dragged her out of bed.

Eline's body went limp. Her knee slammed into the corner of the cabinet with the force of his pull, making her wince in pain.

Vincent didn't even glance at her. He hauled her straight to the dining room.

Chelsea shrank like a timid cat when she saw her.

"Ms. Cazemier, I'm so sorry! It was my fault—I grabbed the wrong flash drive. I didn't know it was Mr. Dallman's. I'm really ashamed."

Exhaustion weighed heavy on Eline's face. She blinked her dry eyes and spoke slowly, "Was it really just a mistake?"

All of Vincent's important files were password-protected. Even though she didn't know the passwords, Chelsea did.

She knew Chelsea's apology wasn't sincere.

If Chelsea truly felt guilty, she wouldn't have left the mess behind and gone straight to Vincent to request leave after screwing up.

Chelsea's eyes reddened even more. She glanced at Vincent, full of grievance.

"Enough. She already admitted her mistake. Stop pushing it," Vincent said, narrowing his eyes at Eline, annoyed.

Then he stepped forward and pulled Chelsea to sit beside him.

"And you, silly girl, forgot again? Eline's not the director anymore."

Chelsea blushed, head lowered.

"Mr. Dallman, isn't that a bit much? Ms. Cazemier has been in that position for so long. Everyone respects her."

"What's wrong with it?" He scoffed and turned to Eline, her face pale.

"Eline, do you have a problem with that?"

She stood still, silent.

The tenderness in Vincent's eyes as he looked at Chelsea didn't escape her.

Her chest ached, but she forced a smile and spoke softly, "No problem."

She had already made up her mind to leave.

From now on, Vincent and the Dallman Group had nothing to do with her.

Seeing this, Chelsea beamed and pushed the dishes toward her.

Eline glanced down. Every dish was loaded with chili. She couldn't eat any of it.

Her brows furrowed instantly. "You guys eat. I'm not hungry."

She wasn't actually full. But eating this on an empty stomach was basically suicide.

Just as she turned to leave, Vincent slammed his fork onto the table.

"Eline, enough with your tantrum!

"If you don't eat, you and your whole team can pack up and leave!"

Eline stared at Vincent in disbelief.

Those employees had worked for him, the shortest one for three years.

And just because she refused to eat the food Chelsea made, he wanted to fire them?

Eline clenched her fists.

Forcing herself, she stepped back to the table.

Chelsea smiled as she put food on Eline's plate.

Every dish was spicy and oily.

When she looked at Chelsea, the woman's smile only grew wider.

Seeing her sit down and eat, Vincent's irritation finally faded.

He got up, poured a glass of water, and handed it to her.

"Look at you, Eline. I have to threaten and bribe you just to make you eat."

Her stomach burned like fire, stabbing with pain, but her face stayed calm.

She numbly put food into her mouth.

Vincent, satisfied, turned back to flirt with Chelsea.

Late that night, Vincent drove Chelsea home.

Eline lay alone in bed, clutching her stomach.

Sweat drenched her clothes. Her trembling hand reached for the phone.

She accidentally dialed the emergency contact.

The call connected quickly, but before she could speak, Vincent's rushed voice cut in, "Chelsea twisted her ankle. I'm taking her to the hospital. I'll call you later!" Then, he hung up.

Tears mixed with sweat-soaked her face. Enduring the pain, Eline called for an ambulance.

At the hospital, they rushed her into surgery.

The operating room lights blazed on.

Her consciousness blurred from the pain. In the haze, she saw Vincent again—the boy who had always protected her since she was young.

Her parents were always busy. The nanny watched over her, but only at home.

At school, bullies locked her in the bathroom, dumped dirty water on her, and beat her up outside school. The nanny couldn't help, and her parents' phones were always busy.

When she was most desperate, it was Vincent who stood in front of her, fists raised.

He smiled, pulling her out of every mess.

He'd wrapped his arm around her and forcefully set his number as her emergency contact.

He curled his lips, pinched her cheek, and said, "Eline, from now on, I've got your back. You better stick close!"

And she did.

She stayed by Vincent's side for 24 years.

Whatever he did, she followed. When he needed a wife, she agreed without hesitation.

When he first took over the Dallman Group and had no trusted allies, she gave up her dreams and fought beside him in the business world.

One of her closest friends once asked, "Eline, aren't you tired?

"Vincent still sees you as one of his buddies. You've done everything a couple would do, yet he pretends not to see it. One 'good buddy' is all you ever get from him."

Tears slid down her cheek.

Eline's dream was over.

On the third day in the hospital, she could finally get out of bed and walk a little.

A nurse, noticing the wedding ring on her finger, couldn't help but speak up.

"You've been here so long. Why hasn't your husband visited?"

Eline followed her gaze to her ring finger.

Then calmly took off the ring.

"We got divorced."

The nurse felt awkward, mumbled a few words of comfort, then suddenly thought of something.

"Sigh, men are all the same. But I've actually seen one different recently. There's a woman in orthopedics next door. She just had a sprained ankle, but her boyfriend brought in retired top specialists. The whole hospital's in a frenzy!"

Another nurse walked in, overheard, and joined quietly.

"Of course, it's a frenzy. Do you know who her boyfriend is? Vincent from the Dallman Group! Even our directors respect him.

"Ugh, I'm so jealous. Who says rich men don't have real feelings? That woman hit the jackpot.

"I heard he's married. Could that be his wife? She must've saved the world in her past life to deserve this."

Eline sat motionless on the bed, her face calm.

But inside, a bitter taste filled her chest.

She'd been married to Vincent for years.

Yet he always treated her like one of the boys.

When she got hurt, he never worried.

Never once came to take care of her at the hospital.

"What are you doing here?"

Suddenly, a voice sounded beside her.

The hospital room door was wide open.

Vincent stood there, stunned, staring at Eline.

She, on the other hand, was looking at the lunchbox in his hand.

She never thought she'd live to see Vincent trying to take care of someone.

Too bad that someone wasn't her.

The stomach pain twisted together with heartache, pulling at her nerves.

The nurse, realizing Eline actually knew the man they'd just gossiped about, froze awkwardly.

Vincent frowned, stepped forward, and asked the nurse, "What happened to her?"

The nurse blinked, then quickly answered, "Acute gastritis. She was barely conscious when she came in. It was serious, but we managed to save her in time."

Something lodged in Vincent's throat.

His mind flashed back to that day.

He turned to Eline, but she was still calm.

He frowned deeper, confused. "Why didn't you tell me you can't eat spicy food?"

His voice landed softly in her ear.

The truth was, she'd never been good with spicy food.

But Vincent liked it.

So she faked it. Pretended she liked it too. Pretended it didn't bother her. Pretended to share his taste.

Honestly, it wouldn't have been hard to notice.

He just never cared enough.

Eline lowered her head and let out a bitter laugh. "I did. You just didn't believe me."

The lump in his throat grew. He was about to speak, but his phone rang.

"You want water? Wait for me. Don't get up by yourself, you hear me?"

He hung up in a hurry and didn't say much else to Eline.

He only tossed out, "I'll come back later to get your meal," before turning and leaving.

The two nurses exchanged glances, then quietly slipped out.

The room fell silent.

Suddenly, the phone rang. She slowly answered.

"The lawyer handled everything. I've told you before, that you and Vincent were never meant to be."

For the first time, Eline lowered her eyes and didn't argue.

Late at night, Vincent never returned.

Instead, Chelsea showed up, wheeling herself into the room.

As soon as she entered, she dropped to her knees in front of Eline.

Eline frowned, staring down at her, but before she could speak, Chelsea burst into tears.

"Ms. Cazemier, I... I didn't know you couldn't eat spicy food. It's all my fault. I made you sick. And I'm useless—I sprained my ankle, kept Mr. Dallman by my side, and made him feel guilty and unable to take care of you.

"It's all my fault. Please don't blame Mr. Dallman!"

Eline didn't even glance at her tear-streaked face.

"Chelsea, Vincent's not here. You don't have to put on a show for me."

Everyone in Group A knew Eline had stomach issues and couldn't eat spicy food.

But Chelsea pretended like she had no clue.

She kept provoking Eline, flaunting how much Vincent spoiled and adored her in front of her...

Suddenly, Chelsea laughed.

"Eline, I wanted him to hate you, to get tired of you!

"But look at you—I didn't even have to do anything, and he's already fed up. He never loved you. What do you have to compete with me?"

As soon as she finished, Chelsea slapped herself hard.

Smack! Smack! Smack!

Her cries instantly filled the room.

"I was wrong! I don't want the director position anymore. Ms. Cazemier, please don't be mad!"

The door suddenly burst open with a loud kick.

Vincent stormed in, throwing the lunchbox at Eline's feet.

Soup splashed everywhere, spilling onto her feet.

He scooped Chelsea off the floor, his face dark as thunder, and stared coldly at Eline on the bed.

"Apologize, Eline!" he barked, his voice like ice.

Eline clutched her aching stomach, eyes full of defiance.

"She hit herself. Why should I apologize?"

Rarely did she ever talk back to Vincent like this.

His pupils flared with rage.

But the woman clinging to him only wanted to fan the flames higher.

"Mr. Dallman, it's true—I hit myself. It has nothing to do with Ms. Cazemier!

"Please put me down. Ms. Cazemier is still angry. Let me apologize again. It's all my fault!"

Vincent looked down at her, his eyes full of pain.

Chelsea's face was already red and swollen from her own slaps.

Her sharp nails had even left bloody scratches.

His gaze toward Eline turned even colder.

"Eline, I'm the one in charge of the Dallman Group. If you want to act high and mighty, you better know your place.

"You're this unforgiving for a mere director title? Fine. Since you won't apologize, hand over your 30% shares to Chelsea as compensation!"

Eline's eyes widened sharply.

Thirty percent of the Dallman Group's shares were part of Vincent's wedding gift to her.

Now, he was taking them back—and giving them to Chelsea.

The woman in his arms lit up inside.

But then she pouted, sounding wronged.

"Mr. Dallman, how could I accept Ms. Cazemier's apology gift? Besides, everyone knows Madam Dallman said on her deathbed those shares were for her granddaughter-in-law. I don't deserve them—"

"You do," Vincent cut her off softly.

"You're the one I care about most. Eline was just a stand-in."

Stand-in...

Eline's body trembled.

She bit her lip so hard it bled, the taste of metal spreading in her mouth.

Then, suddenly, she laughed.

"Right. I was just a stand-in. Those shares were never mine.

"And this bag—your birthday gift to me last year—take it.

"This necklace, the bracelet..."

As she spoke, she took everything off, one by one.

She emptied her bag, kept her things, and stuffed all the gifts from Vincent inside.

Then, she slowly walked over to Vincent and Chelsea.

Chelsea stared, stunned, as Eline draped the Hermès bag onto her.

Eline took a deep breath, forcing a smile.

"They're all yours now."

Then, she continued inwardly, "Vincent is yours too."

Vincent's eyes darkened. "Eline, have you lost your mind?

"Go get help. Don't scare Chelsea!"

He snatched the bag off Chelsea and threw it aside like trash.

The limited edition bag landed hard on the floor.

Vincent left. Eline clutched her stomach, crouching down as pain shot through her.

She sat on the floor in a mess. Tears streamed uncontrollably.

The day she heard Vincent would marry her, she was overjoyed.

She had smiled like an idiot all night in bed.

On their wedding day, the groom kissed the bride.

Her lips trembled. Eyes shut tight.

No one could understand how she felt at that moment.

Vincent's warm palm cupped her cheek.

Smiling, he gazed at her flushed face.

"Eline, I didn't expect your lips to be this soft. It feels nice to kiss."

She loved him, humbly.

Every half-hearted gift he gave, she cherished for days.

She treated them like treasures, carefully keeping each one.

But now, looking at these things, they felt like heavy stones, crushing her.

After being discharged, Eline went straight to the law office.

She asked the lawyer to draft a share transfer agreement and then inquired about the divorce papers.

The lawyer said the documents would be ready in ten days.

She nodded, took the transfer papers, and went to the company.

When she placed both her resignation letter and the transfer agreement in front of Vincent, he leaned back slowly, fingers interlaced.

"Eline, is it that hard to just say sorry?"

She stood there, her fingertips digging deep into her skin.

"Vincent, because of Chelsea's mistake, 999 of my private photos got leaked. Even if you silenced the gossip, my name's still in the dirt. The rumors, the humiliation—and you, hiding behind our secret marriage, stayed untouched. Can't I at least ask for one sincere apology from you and Chelsea?"

Vincent's dark eyes stared right through her.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he picked up his pen and signed the documents.

"You've changed."

He tossed the pen aside, his voice cold.

Eline smiled bitterly, no longer willing to argue.

There were two copies. She grabbed her own and walked away.

"Vincent, I didn't change.

"You just never cared to know the real me," she told herself.