Scarlett’s POV
“Miss Taylor, did you come alone? Why don’t you call your husband?”
The doctor glanced at the report in her hand, then looked up at me with eyes full of pity.
That look. That damn look.
For the past few months, I’d had constant stomach pain. At first, I brushed it off, popping painkillers like candy to get through the day. I told myself it was probably just stress or diet—something temporary. But the pain had grown worse… unbearable. So, today, I finally dragged myself to the hospital.
I thought I’d walk out with some prescriptions and rest orders.
Not this.
“I’m already divorced,” I said firmly, lifting my chin. “So just tell me the truth.”
I had signed the divorce papers this morning. My hands had trembled slightly, but my resolve was steady. There was no point holding on to a marriage that had already withered. And even if I hadn’t signed them, Everett wouldn’t have come. He hadn’t shown up for me in months.
The doctor hesitated. “Miss Taylor… based on the test results… You have stomach cancer.”
My breath caught. The room felt suddenly cold. I clutched the arms of the chair, my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
“It’s… already at the last stage.”
Her words crashed over me like a tidal wave. Cold. Merciless. Crushing.
Last stage.
I didn’t remember how I left the room. I just remembered the test reports digging into my hand, crumpling under the pressure of my clenched fist.
My feet led me to the hospital lobby like I was sleepwalking, my vision swimming. And then, a voice from the television snapped me back into the real world.
“Breaking news: Famous ballerina Amelia Martin was injured after a fall from the stage earlier today. She was quickly taken to the hospital by an unknown man—”
The screen flickered, showing a blurry video clip of a man carrying her. His face wasn’t visible. But I didn’t need to see his face.
I knew him by the curve of his shoulders. The way he walked. The way his hand cradled her head so protectively.
Everett Robinson.
My husband. The man I had loved since my youth. The man I had shared three years of marriage with. The same man who looked me in the eyes this morning and said coldly, “I don’t have time for your nonsense, Scarlett. I have an important meeting.”
But he had time for her.
I stared at the screen as my heart twisted. Pain bloomed in my chest—far worse than anything the doctor had just told me. I clutched the test reports tighter. My nails dug into the paper, but the real wound was inside.
Tears blurred my vision, uninvited and unwanted. I blinked them away, furious at myself for still caring.
I had loved him so deeply. And he had already replaced me.
Enough.
I wiped my tears and inhaled deeply, steadying the storm in my chest. I didn’t have time for heartbreak. Not anymore.
I had only a few months left to live.
And I refused to spend them crying over a man who couldn’t even take me to the hospital.
The taxi stopped outside Heavenly, the most luxurious beauty salon in the city. For years, I’d had their VIP Black Card sitting in my wallet—untouched. I never used it once during our marriage. I was too busy cooking, cleaning, and being the perfect wife.
But today? Today, I would use it. For me.
I walked in, head high.
“Good afternoon, Madam. Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist asked politely.
“Yes.”
“Your name, please?”
“Scarlett Taylor.”
The moment she typed it in, her expression shifted. “Ah, Miss Taylor. You’re fifteen minutes early. Please wait in the lounge, and I’ll have someone bring you refreshments.”
I nodded and moved toward the plush velvet seating. A few young women were already seated there, chatting animatedly. I wasn’t interested in their gossip—until I heard that name.
“Did you see the latest news about Amelia Martin?” one of them giggled.
“Yes! The guy who carried her to the hospital like a princess? So romantic!” another swooned.
“I heard from someone inside WS Group that it was Everett Robinson! Can you believe it? The CEO himself?”
“Oh my god, he’s so dreamy. Rich, handsome, and now this? Amelia is so lucky. I would die to marry someone like that.”
I closed my eyes.
Lucky?
They didn’t know him. They didn’t know the cold, detached man who would leave his sick wife alone but rush across the city to cradle another woman like she was made of glass.
I let out a bitter laugh under my breath, catching their attention briefly. One of them glanced at me, confused, but I ignored her.
Lucky?
No. I was the lucky one.
Lucky to finally be free of a man who could never love me the way I loved him.
I pulled the test results from my purse, unfolded them slowly, and stared at the cold, printed words again.
Stomach carcinoma. Stage IV.
Death was already knocking at my door, and yet… I’d never felt more alive than I did now—ready to shed the old Scarlett who waited, begged, hoped, and cried.
It was time to live on my own terms, even if the time left was short.
Let Everett play hero in someone else’s story.
I had just begun to write the ending of mine.
And this time—it would be mine alone.
