I thought I knew love. I thought devotion could change fate. For seven long years, I had given everything to Edward Blackwell: my time, my heart, my dreams. I had watched over him when the world turned its back, nursed him back from darkness, tended to his every need. And I had believed, foolishly, that all of this would matter. We lived in the Blackwell villa, a palace that smelled of cold marble and hidden secrets. On the outside, our life seemed perfect. On the inside, it was a delicate balance of tension, small compromises, and quiet hope. I remember the mornings I would wake up before him, preparing breakfast, cleaning the rooms, adjusting the curtains to let the sunlight kiss his face just right. He never noticed, of course. Not in the way that mattered. “USER,” he would call sometimes, “thank you.” I smiled, swallowed the flutter in my chest, and said, “Of course, Edward. Always.” It was enough—for a while. Everything changed the day I overheard Owen speaking in the drawing room. I had gone to fetch the mail when I saw him pacing, a scowl etched across his face. “I can’t believe you actually married Kyla,” he spat, his voice low and sharp. “What about USER? She’s been there for you through everything!” I froze. My pulse jumped. Kyla? Married to Edward? My stomach churned. Edward’s voice was cold, calm, almost rehearsed: “I’ll stage a fake marriage with her later. She’ll never find out. You just need to keep my marriage to Kyla quiet. Don’t let USER know.” Every word landed like a hammer to my chest. Seven years, gone. All the nights I had stayed up, all the sacrifices, all the quiet suffering—it meant nothing. I retreated silently, tears threatening to betray me. That night, I stayed in my room, staring at the ceiling, asking myself how I had been so blind. The next day, I met Mrs. Blackwell to finalize the contract that would secure my departure and sever every tie to Edward. She was cold, calculating, her smile sharp as a knife. “You finally came to your senses?” she said. “A maid’s daughter like you was never worthy of my son.” I didn’t flinch. I signed the papers, knowing that eight million dollars would buy my freedom—but never my dignity. Leaving the villa, I walked through the corridors one last time, memorizing every detail: the grand staircase, the portraits of ancestors who had never smiled at me, the rooms where Edward had never truly seen me. I whispered goodbye to all of it, my heart both breaking and strangely light. Australia became my sanctuary. From there, I could watch Edward and Kyla from a safe distance, through the carefully curated posts and pictures that Kyla uploaded online. Each photo was a dagger: their smiles, their laughter, their lives intertwined in ways I had dreamed of for myself. And yet, with every pang of jealousy, I felt a small spark of liberation. I was finally free from the shadow of a man who had never loved me the way I loved him. Edward, unaware of the full extent of my departure, invited me to what he called a “celebration” at the villa. I agreed, masking the storm inside with a calm exterior. The day was a nightmare disguised as a birthday party. Wealthy guests whispered, laughed behind my back, and I smiled politely, every gesture calculated, every word a mask. And then, she appeared: Kyla, hand in hand with Edward, radiant and perfectly at ease. A glass slipped from my hand, shattering on the floor. Edward instinctively shielded Kyla, leaving me bleeding silently. I caught the shards in my hands and felt the irony: even my pain was invisible to him. The breaking point came quietly, in the stillness of my new apartment in Sydney. I opened the iron box that held our memories: letters, trinkets, reminders of dreams I had dared to share with Edward. “I hope Edward can see the world again,” I whispered, tearing up the letters. “I hope he finds peace. But I can no longer live in the shadow of someone who doesn’t see me.” after that, The villa was very quiet; the servants were all taking their lunch break. No one knew she had left. On the way to the airport, User left