Chantelle’s POV

“Ah!”

Kirsten let out a shriek as she stumbled back—straight into Lachlan’s arms.

He caught her instantly, his eyes burning when they snapped to me.

“Damn it, Chantelle!” His voice cut through the air like a whip. “You still haven’t learned your lesson, have you? You laid a hand on Kirsten again?! Falling from ten thousand feet clearly wasn’t enough to knock sense into you, huh?”

I stood my ground, though my voice wavered. “She was the one who bullied me. Back then… in school.”

For a second, something flickered in his eyes. Doubt? Memory? But it vanished almost immediately.

“I… I don’t know what she’s talking about,” Kirsten whispered, her voice trembling.

“Why would I ever do something like that?” In his arms, she looked up at him with wet eyes. “I… I really don’t know how else to prove myself, Locke.”

Her sobs grew louder, as if on cue. A heartbeat later, the twins started crying too, clinging to her legs and wailing.

Lachlan looked torn for only a heartbeat—then wrapped them all in his arms like some kind of savior.

“I know,” he murmured gently. “I know you’re not like that.”

When he glanced at me, his voice sharpened. “Chantelle’s clearly lost it. I should’ve taught her a harsher lesson the first time.”

The way he looked at me—it was frighteningly cold.

Before I could move, two bodyguards stepped forward. I barely had time to flinch before they grabbed me by the arms and dragged me down the hallway.

“Take her to the storage room,” Lachlan ordered. “And bring in nine hundred and ninety-nine jasmine flowers.”

He didn’t even glance my way. His voice left no room for mercy.

“You hurt Kirsten and the children, and now you’re trying to pin the bullying on her? Looks like you deserved it back then.”

With that, the door slammed shut behind me with a heavy thud.

Within seconds, the scent hit me—thick and suffocating. My throat closed up almost instantly, panic rising fast.

I staggered back, coughing hard, my lungs refusing to work. My eyes burned. My skin prickled.

Jasmine.

The one thing I couldn’t be around. My allergy—my worst episodes—started because of the flowers Kirsten used to stuff in my locker every single day in high school.

Back then, the doctors called it stress-induced. Lachlan had called it cruelty when he found out. He banned jasmine from the estate and the company after we got married. Even patterns on curtains weren’t allowed.

Now he’d locked me in with nearly a thousand of them.

Because of her.

My eyes swelled shut. I couldn’t even cry.

Whatever part of me had still been holding onto hope for Lachlan…

It broke.

I woke up in a hospital bed, throat raw, eyes swollen. My chest ached like it had been scrubbed raw.

Lachlan sat at my side, typing something on his laptop. Business as usual.

When he noticed I was awake, a flicker of something soft passed through his eyes.

He set the laptop aside and picked up a bowl of soup.

He brought it to my lips, but I turned my head away.

His hand froze mid-air. That brief flicker of warmth in his eyes? Snuffed out in an instant.

“You went too far this time,” he said quietly, the edge returning to his voice. “I’ve already been more than tolerant.”

I didn’t answer. Just kept my gaze on the ceiling, refusing so much as to glance at him.

The silence must’ve gotten under his skin, because the next moment, he yanked the pendant from around my neck.

His tone turned cutting, bitter. “You seem perfectly fine to me. From now on, this pendant belongs to Kirsten. You’re not getting it back.”

He stared at me, like he was waiting—daring me—to protest. To react.

I didn’t give him the satisfaction. Just met his gaze and nodded once.

For a split second, something shifted in his eyes. Panic? Guilt? Whatever it was, it vanished almost instantly, replaced by rising fury.

“Chantelle! How long are you planning to keep this up? I’ve already humbled myself enough, and you’re still acting like some victim—still playing hard to get?”

I didn’t answer. Just pointed at his phone on the nightstand.

The screen was lit up.

Kirsten was calling.

His expression changed immediately. He snatched up the phone and walked out without another word, voice soft and coaxing as he answered her call.

It never even crossed his mind that I wasn’t talking because I physically couldn’t.

Back then, he would’ve noticed the moment something felt off—would’ve dropped everything to ask what was wrong.

Now? Even if I died right in front of him, I wasn’t sure he’d flinch.

Before he returned, I checked myself out of the hospital.

Back at the estate, I moved on instinct.

Seven years of memories with Lachlan—all of them packed into drawers, boxes, albums. I dragged them out one by one.

Photos of us laughing at the beach.

Ninety-nine love letters, all in his handwriting.

The journals I’d filled every single day we were married—tracking the highs, the lows, the quiet mornings where I thought we’d grow old together.

I stood by the fireplace and fed them in, page by page, memory by memory. Watched it all curl and blacken into ash.

I was tossing in the last journal when the front door slammed open.

“Chantelle!”

I turned, just as Lachlan walked in with Kirsten and the twins behind him.

His eyes landed on the fire—and what was burning inside.

“What are you doing?!”

Chantelle’s POV

I kept my face blank as I casually dropped the journal into the fireplace. But my voice came out hoarse, betraying me.

“Just burning something.”

Lachlan frowned, clearly unsettled. He looked like he wanted to say something, but Kirsten tugged at his sleeve.

After a moment, he finally spoke, his tone stiff.

“The twins will be staying here for a while. We’ll let them use the nursery we set up.”

My body went still, only my fingernails moving, digging into my palm.

“That nursery was meant for our child.”

His expression didn’t change. “They’re my children too.”

A bitter smile tugged at my lips at that announcement. I could only rest a hand over my belly, a habit I hadn’t quite shaken.

Seeing I didn’t reply, he softened his tone like he was trying to be kind.

“They can be your children too, you know.”

I looked him in the eye. “They’ll never be mine.”

And with that, I turned and headed upstairs, ignoring the fake whine of Kirsten’s voice drifting behind me.

Back in my room, my phone wouldn’t stop buzzing.

Every notification was from her.

[That necklace he gave you after your miscarriage? Just a freebie I didn’t want.]

[Every time he told you he was on a business trip, he was actually with me. You didn’t know? He’s already introduced me to his friends, business partners, even clients. In their eyes, I’m his wife. You? You’re just the secretary he married in secret!]

One photo after another followed—her with Lachlan.

The most recent one was from last night.

While I was trapped in a dusty storage room, struggling to breathe through a cloud of allergens…

He was with her. In bed.

Time and again, at my worst moments, he had been with her.

The realization hit hard, but the pain didn’t linger.

It faded fast, swallowed by numbness.

By the time Lachlan returned, it was already midnight.

He smelled faintly of jasmine. Red marks were still fresh on his neck.

When he saw me sitting in silence, he pulled a crooked smile.

“Hey, I know what happened today was a bit much. But think of this as me atoning on your behalf. Look, Kirsten has already agreed to forgive you—just apologize tomorrow, and it’ll all be over.”

I let out a soundless laugh.

He hadn’t even asked what really happened.

Didn’t need to, I guess—he’d already made up his mind.

‘So this is how he sees me now—a malicious woman through and through.’

But I’d stand my ground. “I’m not apologizing for something I didn’t do.”

His jaw tightened, but before he could shoot back anything, his phone lit up.

Through the glare of the screen, I saw a photo—her in a sheer, lacy nightgown, barely covering anything.

Something flickered in his eyes—lust. And just like that, he shut the phone and moved straight for the door.

“Stop making this harder than it needs to be. Think of your mom’s medical bills. Just apologize and it all goes away.”

He didn’t wait for a response. The door slammed behind him.

Ten minutes later, I got a video from Kirsten.

In it, Lachlan’s eyes were filled with hunger as he ran his hands over her body.

I turned off my phone and shut my eyes tight.

The next morning, just as I came downstairs, Lachlan grabbed my arm.

“Like we talked about—just apologize, and it’s over.”

I couldn’t shake him off. He was forceful enough to drag me in front of Kirsten.

He pressed a bowl of steaming soup into my hands, his voice soft but edged with warning.

“Think of your mom. Say sorry and give this to Kirsten, and I’ll keep covering your mom’s medical bills.”

The heat from the bowl stung my palms, but it was nothing compared to the cold settling in my chest.

Swallowing the last of my pride, I stepped forward and held the bowl out to her—but no apology left my lips.

Kirsten smiled, a flicker of triumph in her eyes. “I’ll make sure you’re out of the picture for good,” I heard her mumble.

The next second, she suddenly knocked the bowl from my hands, sending a scalding soup splash across my front. Before I could react, she let out a sharp scream—as if she’d been the one burned.

Lachlan turned on me instantly.

“Damn it, Chantelle!” he shouted, shoving me to the ground. “I told you to apologize—and now you’re attacking her again?!”

The pain hit fast, stealing my breath. I could only curl in on myself, trembling.

Kirsten clung to his sleeve, tears flowing freely.

“Forget it, Locke… I don’t need her apology anymore. I’ll take the twins and leave. I’m pregnant now. I… I don’t feel safe.”

His expression shifted in an instant—fear, anger, protectiveness—all for her.

After making sure she was settled, he came back.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t hesitate.

He just yanked me up by the hair and dragged me into the kitchen.

Then he forced my hands into a bowl of boiling soup!

The agony stole my voice—I couldn’t even scream.

He looked at me—eyes full of cold judgment, with the faintest trace of pity that meant nothing at all.

Only when I was on the verge of passing out did he finally let go.

“From now on,” he warned, “whatever you do to Kirsten, I’ll make sure you pay it tenfold.”

He then kicked me aside like trash and rushed Kirsten—perfectly unharmed—to the hospital.

I made my way there alone, half-stumbling, half-limping, looking more like a madwoman than a patient.

Once they finished treating my burns, I didn’t go home.

I went straight to the office, resignation papers in my hand.

When I saw Lachlan, I tried to hand them over. He didn’t even look at me; he just stepped around me like I wasn’t there.

An assistant glanced over awkwardly.

“Secretary Segerblom… President Gurfinchel said if you have something to say, please wait until after the meeting.”

I numbly nodded and stood off to the side.

Midway through the meeting, the projector flickered—and suddenly, photos of me and Lachlan appeared. Some of them… far too intimate.

Under everyone’s stares, I shook with humiliation, rushing to shut it off.

“So it’s true… the secretary really is sleeping with the CEO.”

“Didn’t see that coming…”

Lachlan turned toward me, frowning—like I was the one responsible.

The slideshow kept going behind me, each photo more damning than the last.

Suddenly, the door burst open—Kirsten walked in, holding the twins by the hand.

The boy and the girl broke into smiles the moment they saw the familiar face of Lochlan in the room.

They ran straight to him.

“Daddy!”

Chantelle’s POV

Gasps echoed through the room as every head turned, eyes wide in disbelief.

“If she’s the real wife, then Secretary Segerblom must be—”

“I used to think she was just sharp at work. Turns out she’s just as skilled in bed.”

The air thickened with sleazy whispers. One man openly leered, while another reached toward me from behind.

“She’s got a body like that and still acts innocent? I’d pay ten grand for a night with her.”

The murmurs swirled around me like a storm, each one more venomous than the last. I stood there, frozen—humiliated, powerless.

Lachlan’s brows drew together. For a brief second, something flickered in his eyes—anger, maybe even pity. He looked like he was about to say something.

But before he could, Kirsten slipped her arm around his and whispered, “Locke, the kids are here.” Her eyes were soft, pleading.

Lachlan hesitated. Then his expression hardened, turning cold and unreadable.

“Secretary Segerblom,” he said, voice cold, “please have some self-respect. Stop spreading fake photos. I’m loyal to my wife—only my wife.”

And just like that, he took Kirsten’s hand and walked out, their two children trailing behind. He didn’t spare me a single glance.

It felt like lightning had struck me straight through the chest. I couldn’t move.

I had always known Lachlan didn’t love me—but I never imagined he’d be the one to strip away even the last shred of my dignity.

Just before leaving, Kirsten cast a brief glance at one of the women across the room.

Minutes later, I was dragged into the break room by a group of women.

They were familiar faces—women I’d once helped, even covered for. Now they looked at me with thinly veiled guilt and disgust.

“Sorry, Secretary Segerblom. Orders from the president’s wife,” the lead woman said coldly.

Then her hand swung through the air and slapped me across the face.

The others followed. Slap after slap, like falling rain.

By the end, they weren’t just obeying orders—they were enjoying it. I could see it in their eyes.

Only after what felt like the 990th slap did they finally stop.

The lead woman looked at me with a strange mix of pity and contempt.

“If you’re gonna blame someone, blame yourself. You ruined a family.”

I couldn’t even argue. Every ounce of strength drained from my body. My knees buckled, my vision blurred, and I collapsed.

When I opened my eyes again, it was night.

No one had taken me to the hospital. I’d been locked in the break room, left to freeze on the cold floor.

I was starving, bruised, in unbearable pain.

It wasn’t until the cleaners arrived the next morning that someone finally opened the door.

Under the judgmental stares of my colleagues, I stumbled out and made my way to the nearest hospital.

After getting patched up, my phone buzzed. I received another message from Kirsten.

[Last night must’ve felt familiar, right? Well, today, I’ve got a special surprise just for you.]

A second message came in—a photo.

It took me a moment to realize what I was looking at.

‘Mom’s hospital room!’

Not long after, another notification popped up—a payment alert from the hospital.

‘Lachlan… He actually cut off payments for Mom’s medical expenses?!’

Ignoring the pain in every step, I rushed to the hospital, using the last of my strength.

When I burst into the room, I saw my mother slowly open her eyes.

Relief flooded me—but before I could take another step, Kirsten appeared at the bedside.

She looked smug and victorious.

“Old hag,” she sneered, “look at the daughter you raised—so cheap she ended up as my husband’s mistress. I’ve got two kids with him already, and now she’s the one being torn to pieces. Honestly, if I were you, I’d die of shame. After all, your husband had a mistress too, didn’t he? I’m sure of all people, you understand how that feels.”

I rushed forward and slapped the phone from her hand, trembling with rage. But it was too late.

Mom turned to look at me, her eyes filled with nothing but heartbreak and disappointment.

The next thing I knew, she was clutching her chest, gasping for air. Within seconds, she collapsed back against the pillow.

“Mom!” I screamed, seeing her breathing grew faint.