On the day I married Dominic Westwood, my mother was killed in a hit-and-run.

The driver? Ivy Mercer—the little princess Dominic had raised with his own hands.

The traffic police released the dashcam footage. Ivy had been driving a Maybach. She hit my mother, dragged her for dozens of kilometers. By the time the car stopped, there was barely anything left of her body—bones exposed, beyond recognition.

“She went too far this time. No matter what you decide, I’ll stand by you,” Dominic told me.

It was the first time in our eight-year relationship that he actually took my side.

I filed a lawsuit against Ivy for intentional homicide.

But the night before the trial, Dominic handed me a blank check and said coldly,

“Ivymade a mistake. She was young and reckless. I’ve already punished her.”

“Elena, if she goes to prison, her life will be ruined.”

To stop me from showing up in court, he locked me—pregnant—in the basement for three days and nights.

That was the moment I finally understood: Dominic would never choose me. Not when it really matters.

——

Three days later, he opened the heavy basement door and stepped in.

“Elena,” he said, sitting down across from me. “Have you thought about withdrawing the lawsuit?”

No concern. No apology. Just another plea—for her.

I looked up, jaw clenched, voice shaking with resolve.

“I will never drop the charges.”

“I will make Ivy pay.”

In the dim light, I could barely see his face. But his eyes were cold and unreadable.

“She’s young,” he repeated, as if that excused everything. “She had a few drinks and hit your mother by accident. I’ll pay compensation. Write whatever number you want on the check.”

“Your mother was 60. At most, the payout’s a million.”

“You’re still coming out ahead, Elena.”

Coming out ahead?

The words punched the air from my lungs. My stomach turned, cold sweat soaking my back.

“Dominic, that was my mother! She gave me life, raised me—how dare you put a price on that?”

“Ivy knew she hit her. She kept driving. She dragged her. That’s not a mistake—that’s murder!”

Dominic’s patience snapped. His brow furrowed, voice harder now.

“Elena. I’m giving you one last chance.”

His assistant placed a tablet in front of me. The screen lit up with a video: a feed from the hospital.

My father—now a vegetable—lay alone in his bed. A shadowy figure stood beside him, holding a pair of scissors pointed at his oxygen tube.

“Drop the case, or save your father. Choose.”

I froze.

My blood surged in reverse, flooding my brain. I screamed, but Dominic grabbed my arms, forcing me still.

“Think carefully,” he said coldly. “Are you really going to throw your life away over a dead woman?”

His words sliced through me like ice.

Back when Dominic first inherited the Westwood family business, he made enemies with his iron-fisted, no-compromise style. At a trade fair, someone retaliated—he was kidnapped.

My father, a senior police officer, led the rescue mission.

He took a bullet to save Dominic’s life.

After that, Dominic brought us—my mother and me—into his world. He paid for all of my father’s medical care. Treated me like family.

For five years, he cared for me. Showed up for every little thing in my life. I fell in love without even realizing it.

When I graduated college, he proposed in front of the entire school.

He promised me the happiest marriage in the world.

And now, here we are.

He broke that promise.

The day Dominic’s precious Ivy returned from studying abroad, he made his choice.

And it wasn’t me.

I stared into his dark eyes, my voice trembling with fury.

“Dominic, have you forgotten? My father became a vegetable saving your life.”

“And now you’re letting them pull his oxygen tube—for her? For Ivy, who has lied, cheated, and killed?”

I was shaking, my lips quivering. Even with the truth in front of me, I still couldn’t believe it. That he would go this far. That he would do this—for her.

Dominic closed his eyes and exhaled, slow and heavy.

“Elena, I’ve punished her. She knows what she did was wrong.”

“We’re all family. There’s no need to drag this through court and make it ugly.”

I knew exactly what his so-called punishment meant.

A few days locked up. Her card was suspended for a week. The same meaningless gestures I’d seen a dozen times in the past eight years.

After Ivy returned, anytime Dominic and I spent more than a few quiet minutes together, her phone calls would come.

Tears. Suicide threats. Scandals that needed cleaning up.

He always told me to ignore her. And then he’d disappear to be by her side.

Every time, he chose her. Every time, I was left behind.

And when I confronted him, he’d smooth it over with a few gentle lies:

“Elena, she’s been an orphan since she was a child. I raised her—she’s my responsibility.”

“She's a little spoiled, sure, but not a bad person. We should be more tolerant. We’re older.”

I believed him—until she killed my mother.

She ran her down in the street, just to stop us from getting married.

Even then, I thought Dominic would finally draw a line.

But he didn’t.

All his so-called principles, all his promises—they were never for me. His heart had always belonged to her.

I stared at the video again, my mother’s final moments replaying in brutal clarity. And the tears I had held back for weeks finally spilled over.

“Dominic,” I whispered, voice hollow. “Fine.”

“I’ll withdraw the lawsuit.”

Surprise flickered in his eyes. A slow, triumphant smile crept across his lips.

“Elena, I knew you were the most sensible one.”

“Let’s have our wedding again in seven days, okay? A proper one this time.”

I didn’t nod. Didn’t shake my head.

I just picked up the pen and signed the withdrawal. Every stroke sliced through me like a blade.

That night, I saw her post on Instagram story: Ivy, smiling at a lavish party, toasting her freedom.

Surrounded by luxury gifts, the most eye-catching was a rare vintage watch—worth three million—auctioned by Dominic himself at his last charity gala.

[Thank you to my dearest uncle, for giving me countless lives.]

Dominic’s profile was among the likes.

Eight years. He never once liked my posts. But hers? He never missed a single one.

When I asked, he always said,

“She’s a little girl. If I don’t like her posts, she throws a tantrum.”

I never fought with him over her. I chose to believe his explanations.

But now, she had taken my mother’s life—and he was celebrating her freedom.

I stood by the window, hand resting on my belly.

This child… was once the gift I wanted to give him.

Now, I couldn’t.

Just like that half-finished wedding—we would never see the second half.

I picked up the phone and called the hospital.

“Hello. I’d like to schedule an abortion.”

My voice was calm. Quiet.

I looked down at my flat stomach. Then I looked away.

Later, I held a funeral for my mother. The funeral parlor was filled with her favorite gardenias.

That day, Dominic arrived.

And he brought Ivy—still holding her hand.

When I entered the funeral parlor, I saw Ivy stepping forward to light incense at the altar.

“Who told you to touch that?” I snapped.

I struck the incense from her hand with a sharp slap. Ash scattered, landing on the back of her hand. Ivy yelped and jumped back—straight into Dominic’s arms.

“Uncle… it burns!” she cried, cradling her hand.

Dominic looked at the slight red mark on her skin, his eyes darkening with anger.

“She was just trying to pay her respects, Elena. Did you really have to hurt her?”

Ivy turned her tearful gaze to me, pitiful as ever.

“Elena, I’m sorry. I only went to the wedding to bring you a gift… I didn’t know things would turn out like that!”

“Uncle’s already punished me. I truly regret what I did.”

She was playing innocent again—and, as always, Dominic fell for it.

I used to let it go for his sake. But not anymore.

I turned to him, my voice cold.

“Dominic, I’ll say it one more time. Take her away.”

Everyone in the hall knew it was Ivy who killed my mother. Whispers rippled through the crowd, and eyes turned toward her, full of blame.

Her pitiful expression twisted into rage.

“She was just an old woman! Even if I hadn’t hit her, she’d have died soon anyway!”

“And if Uncle hadn’t forced me to come light incense, do you think I’d want to be here?”

Before anyone could stop her, Ivy stormed forward and grabbed my mother’s urn.

“You don’t want me to burn incense?” she sneered. “Then no one will!”

My heart nearly stopped.

“No!”

The urn slipped from her hands.

A sharp crack rang out as it hit the ground—then silence.

Ash scattered in the air like dust in sunlight.

Gasps filled the hall.

I dropped to my knees, trying to gather what was left of my mother. My hands trembled. My eyes burned, but I forced the tears back.

Behind me, Ivy had gone mad—knocking over the mourning table, shattering vases, tearing down the wreaths. The funeral was ruined.

I gathered what ashes I could, placed them on a cloth, and walked out of the hall.

Dominic caught up with me.

“Ivy just has a bad temper… she couldn’t handle everyone blaming her,” he said quietly. “She went too far this time—I’ll take care of the funeral arrangements, don’t worry.”

His words made me sick.

I glanced at his hand gripping my arm.

“There’s no need.”

I pushed him away gently, my voice drained of emotion. I had no energy left to argue.

Dominic stared at his empty hand, stunned.

I hadn’t even made it down the steps when my phone rang.

“Ms. Shaw,” the nurse said urgently. “Your father’s oxygen tube was pulled out…”

Her words hit me like thunder.

I rushed to the hospital, clutching the bundle of ashes on my chest.

But when I arrived, his body was already covered with a white sheet.

“Who did this?!” I screamed. “Who got into his room?! I hired new guards, new nurses—how did this happen?!”

The head nurse knelt on the floor, trembling.

“It was Miss Mercer… she said your father was wasting hospital resources, and… the board agreed to stop treatment.”

“She has shares in this hospital… no one dared to say no.”

My vision blurred with rage.

“Stop fighting with her,” the nurse whispered. “Please, Miss Shaw. You’ll only make things worse.”

I couldn’t hear another word.

All I could see was Ivy’s smug face at the funeral. Her tantrum. Her hand destroys everything my mother had left behind.

I hailed a taxi and went straight home.

Before I even reached the door of the villa, I could hear laughter—music, people celebrating.

Then came her voice, loud and unfiltered:

“If Elena’s dad hadn’t saved my uncle, do you really think he’d ever have married her?”