Clutching my stomach, I begged weakly, “Zayn, I’m pregnant… Please, take me to the hospital. I think I’m losing the baby.”

His eyes flicked to the blood pooling beneath me and for a brief moment, the hardness in his face seemed to ease.

He started down the stairs to check on me, but Natalie quickly grabbed his arm. “Zayn, she’s not pregnant at all. That blood is just her period. She slapped me earlier and now she’s pretending to be hurt so you won’t blame her.”

She tightened her grip on him, tears glimmering in her eyes. “Zayn, if you don’t punish her, I’ll leave right now!”

Hearing that, all trace of emotion vanished from Zayn’s eyes. He ordered coldly, “Since you refuse to apologize, then get out and kneel. Reflect on your own behavior.”

Two bodyguards stepped forward and began dragging me away.

Seeing how tightly I clutched the box in my arms, Natalie suddenly said, “I want that box.”

It held my sister’s ashes and I refused without hesitation. “No! If you want an apology, fine—but this box contains my sister’s ashes. I can’t give it to you!”

A glint of cruelty flashed in Natalie’s eyes. She leaned toward Zayn, her voice soft and coy. “Zayn, I want that box.”

“And look at her,” Natalie continued sweetly, “She’s so desperate to keep that box, she’s even cursing her own sister. Besides, I got a call from the hospital not long ago—they said her sister was never sick to begin with.”

Zayn frowned, his voice firm. “If Natalie wants it, give it to her. As for your apology—you’re not going anywhere until she decides to accept it.”

I froze, stunned. My arms suddenly felt empty.

When I looked up, I saw Natalie turning the urn in her hands, a mocking smile playing on her lips.

Forced to kneel under the scorching sun for three hours, I could barely stand afterward.

The first thing I did when I got up was print out a divorce agreement—then head straight to the hospital for an abortion.

Looking at the tiny embryo that had almost begun to form, a sharp pain twisted in my chest.

Once I calmed down, I gently placed it into a foam box and arranged for a courier to deliver it.

When I arrived at Zayn’s office, he was smiling tenderly—watching Natalie shape little clay figures.

I still remembered the time I’d brought him chips while he was working; he’d flown into a rage, scolding me in front of all his employees.

He even ordered that both I and my dog were never to step foot in his office again.

Clutching the divorce papers tightly, I walked up to his desk, unsure how to begin.

But before I could speak, he signed it without even looking up, thinking it was just another document from his secretary.

Relief washed over me and I turned to leave quietly. But Natalie suddenly looked up, a sly, mocking smile curving her lips. “Mrs. Flynn, are you here to see how us regular people live?”

Zayn finally looked up and saw me. When my eyes met his—so distant, so utterly devoid of love—my chest ached faintly. “I just wanted to ask… could you give that box back to me?”

A flash of malice flickered in Natalie’s eyes as she toyed with the clay figurine in her hand, pinching it over and over.

“Oh, that box? I already threw it away,” she said with mock cheerfulness. “The garbage truck should be coming to collect it right about now.”

My breath caught. Without a second thought, I turned and ran.

By the time I stumbled home in panic, the garbage truck was just about to leave.

I rushed forward and stopped it, explaining my situation breathlessly.

After rummaging through the garbage for nearly three hours, I finally found the urn.

My hands trembled as I thanked the driver, clutching the urn tightly against my chest— terrified to let go ever again.

The relief of recovering what I’d lost steadied my trembling heart for a moment. But when I opened the box to check inside, it was empty.

I froze, staring in disbelief.

Then I realized—Natalie had tricked me!

A wave of humiliation surged through me, hot and choking.

Unwilling to accept it, I turned back to the office and confronted her. “Where are the ashes from that box?”

Natalie’s eyes reddened as she nestled pitifully in Zayn’s arms. “Zayn, your wife really is quite the actress. She’s so vicious that she can even curse her own sister.”

A sharp pain shot through my chest. “Natalie, you know how much that box means to me—”

“Have you made enough of a scene?” Zayn’s voice was cold, his gaze even colder. “Look at yourself—filthy from head to toe, reeking of garbage. Where do you still look like Mrs. Flynn? Get out. Now.”

I stared at the man I had loved for seven years, the man who now stood protectively beside another woman without hesitation.

It felt as if a rough rope had wrapped around my heart, tightening until the dull ache swallowed me whole.

From beginning to end, Zayn had only ever chosen Natalie. To him, I was nothing more than a dispensable joke.

Zayn’s brows furrowed tightly before he barked an order for the bodyguards to throw me out.

As I struggled to stand, a pair of high heels appeared before my eyes.

Natalie looked down at me with open disdain, the corners of her lips curling into a cruel smile.

“Weren’t you dying to know what happened to what was inside that box?” she asked sweetly.

I froze, forcing myself to breathe evenly.

The next second, Natalie lifted a clay figurine shaped like a pig and dangled it before me.

“Look,” she said, mockingly cheerful, “I used that to mold this little pig. Doesn’t it look just like your dead sister?"

My vision went red.

Natalie laughed, delighted by my reaction. “No need to thank me. I just thought I’d help restore your sister’s beauty, that’s all. Too bad I ran out of material halfway—otherwise, I could’ve made it look even more real.”

My whole body trembled with rage as I lunged to grab it, but Natalie easily dodged aside.

She sneered, her tone dripping with mockery. “What’s the rush? I haven’t even finished my masterpiece yet.”

As she spoke, Natalie pulled a black marker from her pocket and began scribbling across the pig-shaped figurine’s back — words that made my blood run cold. “Shameless woman.” “Cheap slut.”

When she was done, she held the pig up proudly for me to see.

“Well? What do you think?” she asked, her voice dripping with fake sweetness. “Imagine—hands trained to hold a scalpel, now wasting time scribbling for your pathetic family. You should feel grateful.”

I stared at her, grief and fury clawing at my chest. “Give it back to me.”

That was my sister’s ashes — I couldn’t lose her again.

But Natalie only let out a low, disdainful laugh. “Oh, you like it that much? Then…”

Before I could move, she flung the figurine hard toward the road. It hit the pavement with a dull thud — rolling straight into the street.

Natalie’s voice rang out, sharp and cruel. “If you’ve got the guts, go pick it up yourself — right there in the middle of traffic!”

She tossed her hair back, satisfaction gleaming in her eyes and walked away without a trace of remorse.

I stood frozen, trembling with rage and disbelief. Just as I rushed forward, a massive truck roared past — crushing the clay figurine to dust before my eyes.

For a moment, my heart simply stopped.

Kneeling on the cold pavement, I gathered the shattered remains piece by piece, my tears blurring everything. When I finally lifted my head, my gaze landed on the massive screen across the street—it was playing the video from two days ago.

In the video, Zayn stood beside me, smiling as we celebrated my birthday—playing the part of the perfect husband for all to see.

Countless people envied “Mrs. Flynn.” But behind that illusion was nothing but ruin.

If Zayn had never cared for me, then I would stop forcing myself to stay.

I took out my phone, wiped my tears and booked a flight for the next afternoon — 2 p.m., to Rosehill.

When I finally returned home with my sister’s ashes in my arms, I froze in the doorway.

Zayn was kneeling on one knee before Natalie, his expression soft and intent as he carefully wiped her smooth feet with a towel.

A dull ache spread through my chest, sour and suffocating.

In all our seven years of marriage, Zayn had never once treated me with such gentleness.

And now, all that tenderness belonged to Natalie.

When Natalie saw me return, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes. She drew her foot back slightly and looked at me with open provocation.

“Zayn,” she said coyly, “I told you there’s no need to wipe my feet…”

Zayn spoke without turning around, his voice so tender that it sliced through me like a whispering wound. “You’re always walking around barefoot. It’s easy to catch an infection or hurt yourself. I’ll have the butler lay down some carpets later. Go pick the texture you like best.”

Then Natalie deliberately called out, her tone dripping with false sweetness, “Yvonne, you’re back.”

Hearing the sound, Zayn stood and finally turned to look at me. His brows immediately furrowed.

“Go take a shower,” he snapped coldly. “You’re filthy—can’t you see that even one of Natalie’s toes outshines you?”

My chest tightened painfully. I fled upstairs in humiliation.

As I was gathering my documents, the door suddenly burst open and there stood Natalie.

She kicked over my suitcase with a sharp thud, her eyes glinting with venom. “Yvonne, you think copying my little ‘runaway act’ will make Zayn care about you?”

Her smile twisted, cruel and mocking. “What a pathetic fantasy! Zayn doesn’t love you—he never has. He won’t care even if you die, just like he didn’t care when your sister did.”

At the mention of my sister, my heart clenched violently as if countless fine, cold needles were piercing straight through it.

I stood frozen, unable to breathe, when Natalie suddenly kicked me hard in the chest. The pain burst through me and I stumbled back a few steps.

She folded her arms, her expression dripping with arrogance. “Yvonne, let me make this clear—Zayn loves me. He’ll only ever belong to me. If you have any sense left, you’ll obediently keep testing my drugs. Maybe, when I tire of torturing you, I’ll let you go.”

My trembling fingers tightened into fists. Quietly, without her noticing, I switched on the recorder hidden at my side.

My throat felt raw as I forced out, “So you admit it—you’ve been torturing me on purpose?”

Natalie answered without any shame. “Of course! I can’t stand women like you—ordinary or low-status people pretending to be noble, elegant, or high-class.”

She sneered. “I’m not worse than you, so why did you get lucky? I was so jealous that I joined your family as a doctor. I didn’t expect your relationship with Zayn to be so weak. A few words from me and you two fell apart.”

I stayed silent.

From the very beginning, my marriage with Zayn had been an accident—something I forced myself to believe in.

Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie noticed the urn. She stepped forward and kicked it over.

I rushed to protect the ashes, gathering the dirt and pieces in my hands. I didn’t notice that Natalie suddenly clutched her chest and dropped to the floor.

When Zayn arrived, she immediately started moaning in pain.

“Natalie, what’s wrong?” he asked, panicked, rushing to hold her.

Natalie leaned weakly against him, voice trembling just enough to sound pitiful. “I just came to tell her to rest for a few days… not to rush the medicine tests. But I found out she was stabbing my little doll—it was right behind the door.”

Zayn’s eyes snapped toward me, cold and sharp.

“I didn’t! It’s not me…” I tried to explain.

But before I could finish, he pulled out a small doll from behind the door—its face looked exactly like Natalie’s, even marked with her birth date and time.

“Still denying it? The proof is right here. What else can you say for yourself?”

Faced with his furious questioning, I stood frozen, unable to defend myself.