The Snow Mountain Lie Can’t Be Mended, Iodine Coolness Weaves into the Strings

High above, search and rescue drones circled, their lenses fixed on the snow-capped peak where Arthur had wrapped his black windbreaker tightly around Barbara. He’d shielded her in his arms, then lowered his head for a kiss.

It was lingering. Tender. As if they were lovers who had survived a life-and-death ordeal.

And I, Rebecca—Arthur’s official fiancée—became the biggest joke among Crestwood’s elite on the eve of our wedding.

**[Holy shit! I thought Arthur was allergic to women. Is Barbara some kind of miracle cure?]**

**[Feel bad for Rebecca for a sec. The real deal can't even beat a stand-in.]**

**[Stand-in? More like he got bored and wanted a change of flavor.]**

Every comment scrolling across my phone screen slapped me in the face.

I turned off the phone, covered the painting with a white cloth, and dialed a number.

"Jonathan, is our earlier discussion still on the table?"

A calm, steady voice came through, touched with concern. "Rebecca, my promise stands."

"Good." I took a deep breath. "Our wedding will proceed as scheduled."

When they brought Arthur to the hospital, he was barely clinging to life.

Not from the avalanche—but from a severe allergic reaction.

Horrifying red rashes covered his body; his breathing was shallow. They rushed him straight to the ICU.

Barbara, meanwhile, had only caught a mild chill. She was in a standard ward, weeping dramatically.

Walking into her room, I found her clutching the Chief of Staff’s hand, sobbing. "It’s all my fault. If it weren’t for me, Arthur wouldn’t be like this… What do I do? I can’t even give him a child now…"

I let out a cold laugh.

"Barbara, is it? Not bad on the acting. Your script could use work, though."

She flinched like a startled rabbit, tears speeding down her cheeks. "Miss Rebecca, please don’t misunderstand. Arthur and I—we’re innocent—"

"Innocent?" I raised my phone, the screen glowing with that high-definition photo of their passionate kiss on the mountain. "Was this some kind of soul communion?"

Her face flushed crimson.

Just then, the ICU doors opened. A nurse announced Arthur was awake—and asking for me first.

I stepped into the sterile-smelling room. Arthur lay on the bed, his face paper-white, each breath a faint rasp. When he saw me, something complex flickered in his dark eyes.

"Rebecca…" His voice was scraped raw.

I said nothing. Just watched him.

He struggled to sit up, but stopped under my cold gaze.

Gasping, he managed, "Barbara… she just wanted to have my child. She thought if she could conceive, it might cure my allergy for good. Please—don’t make things difficult for her."

In that moment, my heart turned to ice.

His first words upon waking weren’t an explanation. Not an apology. They were a plea for another woman.

He had even tacitly accepted her absurd, ridiculous reasoning.

"Arthur," I said slowly, deliberately. "Should our wedding be postponed?"

He avoided my gaze, speaking with difficulty. "Rebecca, once I’m better—"

"Fine." I cut him off, a strange smile touching my lips. "I understand."

With that, I turned and walked out without a backward glance.

Outside, in full view of Barbara, I addressed Arthur’s Chief of Staff. "Make the announcement. The wedding in one month will proceed as planned."

A flash of triumph crossed Barbara’s face. The Chief of Staff looked uneasy.

I looked at them and finished clearly:

"The groom has been changed."