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.

“Zayn… my chest hurts so much… there’s a long needle stuck right in the doll’s heart…” Natalie collapsed weakly into Zayn’s arms.

He looked stricken with worry. “I’ll take you to the doctor right now.”

Without another word, he carried her out the door.

I stood there, staring at the empty room, a bitter smile tugging at my lips.

Just as I began to pack my things to leave, two bodyguards barged in.

My heart tensed. “This is the master bedroom! Aren’t you afraid Zayn will blame you for barging in like this?”

They stepped forward, one on each side, forcing down my arms.

“Mr. Flynn told us to punish you, Mrs. Flynn. You’d better behave.”

“You hurt Miss Summers so badly—Mr. Flynn said you should get a taste of what it feels like to be stabbed with needles.”

I was shaking all over with anger. I never imagined Zayn would go this far for Natalie.

I tried my best to fight back, but they held me down tightly.

When the cold needle pierced my skin, my already broken heart completely shattered. Even the last bit of feeling I had left for Zayn disappeared without a trace.

I didn’t know how many times they stabbed me— the pain was so sharp that I almost passed out.

Through my fading consciousness, I heard one of the bodyguards say, “Mr. Flynn said this thing needs to be thrown away too.”

The other replied, “Let’s just flush it down the toilet. It’s only a bunch of clay anyway.”

I realized they were talking about my sister’s ashes. With all my remaining strength, I grabbed one of the men by the pant leg.

I begged in a trembling voice, “Please… don’t throw them away… I’ll give you anything you want, just please don’t…”

The bodyguard kicked my hand off impatiently and said coldly, “We know what’s worth keeping and what’s just garbage.”

“Madam, these are Mr. Flynn’s orders—we can’t disobey.”

With that, he picked up the bits of clay and walked toward the bathroom.

I forced myself up despite the pain and struggled toward the bathroom. One of the bodyguards kicked me hard in the stomach and said with a mocking tone, “Sorry, you’ll have to wait until he’s done.”

I collapsed to the ground in despair and fainted from grief.

When I woke up, I rushed to the bathroom, but it had already been cleaned.

I leaned over the toilet, my stomach twisting from sadness.

I gagged and retched for over ten minutes before the truth hit me — I hadn’t even managed to protect the last shred of my sister’s dignity.

Numbly, I stood up and packed everything that Natalie had kicked over yesterday into my suitcase.

On the way to the airport, I saw Natalie’s new post on social media.

It was a photo of Zayn, dressed in a custom-made suit, kneeling devoutly before a Jesus statue.

The caption read: “Every princess has her own knight. I’m no exception.”

A moment later, I saw a familiar profile among the likes.

I let out a cold laugh. Zayn had never once liked any of my posts—he always said social media was childish and meaningless.

But for Natalie, he could post and even click “like.”

So it was true—someone who never even offered you a piece of candy was never really yours.

I opened our chat and sent him a message. [Your birthday is in three days. I’ve got a surprise for you. I hope you’ll like it.]

He replied quickly, [The best gift you can give me is to help Natalie test the medicine properly.]

I couldn’t help but sneer. I knew what he really meant beneath those words— “That’s all you’re good for now.”

To keep the last bit of dignity I had, I didn’t reply. Instead, I pulled out my SIM card, snapped it in half and threw it out the car window.

That was my farewell— to the past and to the version of myself who had spent seven years walking on eggshells.

Since Zayn loved Natalie so deeply, then I would let go and help them have their happy ending.