Marian Pruitt received an unusual tip: someone had reported that her husband was holding his fiancée captive at a suburban estate.

She had already slipped past the perimeter of the gated compound, crouching low in the shadow of a manicured hedge.

She pressed her fingers hard against the bridge of her nose. She had to be out of her mind.

Years on the force had taught her that bogus tips and malicious reports were a dime a dozen. Yet this one, for reasons she couldn't explain, she'd believed.

Believed it enough to sneak in here alone.

Half a day of staking the place out, and she hadn't seen a single soul.

Marian let out a dry, self-mocking half-smile. She really was losing it.

She knew exactly what kind of man Herman James was.

The man who comparison-shopped a bag of frozen ravioli, who checked three stores before buying a bottle of vinegar.

The two of them crammed into a run-down rental barely three hundred square feet, scraping by on nothing. He didn't own a single piece of clothing worth more than fifteen dollars. Dead broke.

And this neighborhood, this stretch of luxury estates where the smallest property ran north of seven million.

A lifetime of their combined earnings wouldn't come close to touching it.

Let alone holding someone's fiancée prisoner.

Herman revolved around her. His phone contacts listed “Wife,” the delivery guy, and the building super. He never went to office get-togethers. All he wanted was to stay home with her.

A man who loved her like that. How could he possibly betray her?

Marian exhaled, shoulders loosening. She straightened up and was about to turn and leave when a woman's voice, high and petulant, drifted from the garden.

“Herman James! How long are you going to keep me locked up in here? I'm suffocating!”

Marian froze mid-step. She spun around.

A girl in a scarlet dress stood beneath a rose trellis, her delicate face flushed pink with fury.

Before the last syllable faded, a tall figure strolled over, unhurried.

The man wore a bespoke suit, every line cut to perfection. He carried himself with the easy authority of old money, nothing like the sloppy, penny-pinching husband she saw every day.

He crouched in front of the girl and slid cashmere slippers onto her bare feet.

“Why do you never wear shoes? You'll hurt yourself.”

His voice was drenched in tenderness, coaxing, like he was soothing a ruffled kitten.

The girl didn't accept the gesture. She kicked the slippers off, puffed her cheeks, and glared at him with reddened eyes.

“What's the point of shoes if I can't go anywhere?”

He reached up and tapped the tip of her nose, sighing.

“There's a show in Milan next weekend. Armani's fall-winter couture. You've been dying to see it. I reserved front row. After the show, I'll take you down Via Montenapoleone. Buy whatever you want.”

The girl's eyes lit up, then she forced her face away, pretending she was still angry.

“Don't lie to me. Last time you promised to take me to that exhibition in Tokyo, and what happened? Just because I glanced at another guy, you had the whole exhibit shut down!”

“If you keep locking me up, I swear I'll sneak out and find my fiancé……”

She didn't finish. Herman gripped her face, cutting the words short. His eyes went dangerous.

“You're mine now. Mention him again, and you won't be walking out of bed tonight.”

He swept her up and carried her, still struggling, into the depths of the villa.

In the shadow of the trees behind them, Marian's nails had driven so deep into her palms that blood seeped through.

Her whole body went cold. Her throat sealed shut like it had been filled with lead.

She couldn't believe it. This man lavishing another woman with that kind of devotion was the same man who had held her like she was precious, who had been nothing but gentle for an entire year.

She knew Herman's past.

He was never some ordinary nobody. He was the eldest son of Sterling Enterprises.

But years ago, his father had ripped out his mother's kidney to save a beloved mistress. His mother couldn't endure it. She died broken and bitter.

Herman, shattered by grief and rage, severed all ties with the James family, abandoned every cent he had, and walked away for good.

Marian stood there, stunned. Had Herman gone back to them after all?

Her mind went blank. Then, from deeper in the garden, a cluster of voices carried over, laughing and gossiping.

“Herman's absolutely crazy about Sandra Fox. Think about it. Back when he hit rock bottom, she turned her back and ran. And did he hold a grudge? Not even close. He couldn't stop thinking about her. Then the Fox family collapsed, and they married her off to some nobody. The second Herman heard, he lost it. Showed up at the wedding and took her right back.”

“That's the thing. To give Sandra the life she deserved again, Herman swallowed every bit of hatred over his mother's death. He went back to his father, made peace, even had to bow and scrape and call the woman who killed his mother 'Mom.'”

“Nobody comes before Sandra in his heart. That Marian Pruitt out there could pour her whole soul into him and it still wouldn't matter. In the end, she was just a maid he picked up while he was slumming it.”

The chatter barely died down before Herman walked out of the villa. There were lipstick-smeared marks on his neck, unmistakable. He'd clearly just come from someone's bed.

The group swarmed around him, all smiles and congratulations.

“Congrats, Herman. You finally got the girl. Everything you wanted.”

“But what about that Marian Pruitt? What are you going to do with her? If she finds out you spent years playing poor, that you even staged those attacks so she'd throw herself in front of a blade for you, all of it just to get payback for Sandra, she'd probably throw herself off a roof……”

Herman stood at the center of the group, a cigarette between his fingers, smoke curling around him. His voice was flat and cold.

“Then she'd deserve it.”

“She fabricated evidence to make a name for herself, reported the Fox family for illegal organ trafficking, and got them wiped out. My Sandra grew up sheltered. She was treated like royalty. Never suffered a day in her life. And because of that woman, she went through hell. What Marian owes Sandra, she couldn't repay in a lifetime.”

He paused, as though something had crossed his mind, and flicked the ash from his cigarette with a thin, contemptuous smile.

“Besides, her mother was nothing but a cheap dancer. A whore's daughter, playing cop? Fighting for justice? The thought alone is a joke.”

Through the dense hedge, tears streamed down Marian's face. Every drop of blood in her body rushed to her heart and slammed against it, wave after wave of blinding pain.

No wonder.

No wonder every hired killer who came after them charged straight at her and her alone.

Herman used to tell her they were assassins sent by his father's mistress, people trying to eliminate him for good.

So every single time, she threw herself between him and the blade without a second thought.

She ran her thumb slowly across her palm. The scar was thick and rigid, left from the time she'd caught a knife bare-handed to shield him.

The knee that had been hacked through, treated with the cheapest medication because she couldn't bear the expense of anything better, had left her with permanent damage. She would never run or jump the way a normal person could again.

Her hand drifted to her lower abdomen. There had been a child once. But the hired men had carved it out of her, blade by blade.

And Herman, the whole time, had been hiding in the back of the closet. Silent from start to finish. Watching it all with cold eyes……

Every last bit of it had been a lie. One elaborate, carefully constructed lie.

Marian bit down on her lip until the sharp, coppery taste of blood flooded her tongue.

Something invisible closed around her heart and squeezed, a pain so deep it nearly doubled her over.

She walked out of the estate. She took out her phone and made a call.

“Captain, I'm accepting the transfer order. I'll leave Harbor City immediately.”

“You finally made up your mind!”

Captain Dickerson's voice burst through the phone, barely containing his excitement.

“I always said a criminal investigation talent like you shouldn't be wasting away at this precinct. But the division you're transferring into is special. Highly classified, completely off the books.”

“You need to understand what you're agreeing to. Once you sign that agreement, you cease to exist. Your name, your past, every social connection you've ever had will be erased.”

“I understand.” Marian lowered her eyes. Her voice was flat, still as dead water.

She had turned it down before without a second thought, because she believed Herman needed her.

Now there was no reason to stay.

“All right. Get your things in order. You leave in three days.”

She hung up and sat curled on the curb, alone, through the entire night.

Dawn had barely begun to lighten the sky when she dragged herself, bone-tired, back to the basement apartment. Less than three hundred square feet.

The place was crumbling, damp, paint peeling off the walls in strips. No windows.

Marian stood in the narrow entryway and looked around the room. No heat, either.

She almost laughed.

As the top forensic and investigative specialist at the precinct, she could have lived comfortably. More than comfortably.

But her salary always ended up in Herman's hands, drained away under one excuse or another.

Every few days he managed to get himself into some new disaster. Scratching someone's luxury car. Injuring a pedestrian badly enough to cause permanent disability……

In the end, every dollar she had saved over the years went into the bottomless pit of his debts, spent down to nothing.

She unlocked her phone. The image hit her like a blade: Herman with his arm around Sandra, walking back into the James estate together.

A glaring headline sat pinned at the top of the page.

【James Heir Sets Aside Blood Feud for Love, Willingly Accepts His Mother's Killer as Stepmother!】

Her fingertips were ice-cold. She opened a social media app and found Sandra's account with no effort at all.

Then she scrolled, punishing herself with every post.

Valentine's Day. Sandra beaming in front of a wall of 9,999 roses Herman had sent her.

That same day, Marian had been cornered in a filthy alley by men Herman sent, beaten until she couldn't stand.

Sandra's birthday. Herman had booked an entire private island for her. She sat at a table overflowing with delicacies, grinning as she held up a lobster the length of her arm.

That same day, Marian's freshly deposited paycheck had been siphoned off by Herman to cover yet another one of his messes. Penniless, she had gone to the farmer's market to fight with beggars over wilted vegetables no one else wanted……

Her grip on the phone tightened until her knuckles went white. Tears fell, heavy and fast, shattering against the screen.

She sat there from daylight into deep night.

The lock clicked.

Herman walked in wearing the same threadbare plumber's uniform he always came home in, a different man entirely from the one in the tailored suit that morning.

He saw her still sitting on the bed. His brow creased, and he opened his mouth to speak.

Marian thrust Sandra's profile page toward him, her voice cold and level.

“Stop pretending.”

Caught, Herman stiffened for a fraction of a second, so brief it was almost invisible. Then his expression loosened back into easy indifference.

He glanced at Sandra's page without interest, the corner of his mouth lifting.

“Look how gullible that woman is. Toss her a few scraps and she's over the moon.”

“When I got thrown out of the James family, she turned her back on me without blinking. Now her family's fallen apart, and it's the perfect time to settle old scores. You think I actually want her? Once I get bored, I'll kick her to the curb and let her find out what it feels like to be abandoned.”

He turned toward Marian and reached out, brushing his fingers across her brow. His voice went soft, dripping with tenderness that rang hollow.

“You know you're the only one I've ever loved.”

Marian slapped his hand away. ：“So that's why you went crawling back and made peace with the family? Herman, how can you face your mother? That woman had both her kidneys cut out of her, and you're calling her killer 'Mom'?”

“And what about me?!”

She paused, then said, ice in every syllable:

“I despise you.”

A flash of anger crossed Herman's face.

“The James empire was always mine!” He kicked the stool beside him and sent it crashing across the floor, his voice climbing. “I am the rightful James heir. You expect me to give up that kind of fortune and rot in this filthy, stinking basement with you forever? I am sick of living like this!”

He ripped the threadbare work jacket off his body and hurled it to the ground, then jabbed a finger at Marian. Undisguised revulsion filled his eyes.

“Look at you. You reek of poverty from three blocks away. You're not even fit to carry my shoes.”

Marian was shaking so hard she could barely stand.

She stared at the snarling stranger in front of her and could not recognize a single thing about him.

Was this the same man who used to make her porridge, who would crouch down to tie her shoelaces, who stayed up with her through late shifts even when he could barely keep his eyes open?

Something in her expression must have registered, because Herman's tone softened again.

He gathered her onto the bed and held her, stroking her back.

“When I lost everything, my friends, my uncles, even my fiancée all turned their backs on me. You were the only one who stood by me. I won't forget that. Bringing Sandra back is only about revenge, nothing more. Marian, you're my wife.”

“Besides, I went back to the James family for our future. Think about it. Once I take the company back, you'll be Mrs. James. No more hiding in this basement. No more running from the people trying to kill you. Isn't that what you want?”

Marian said nothing.

The room went dark. Beside her, he drifted off to sleep.

His arm lay across her waist like a brand fresh from the fire, burning so deep it scorched her soul.

She lay with her eyes wide open, staring at the pitch-black ceiling while cold seeped in from every direction, burrowing into the cracks between her bones.

The next day, Marian went to the precinct and finished her handover.

She let out a long breath. One more day, and she would be gone for good.

Back at the apartment, she began packing her things.

Herman's footsteps sounded behind her without warning.

Her heart lurched. She spun around.

“Marian, why are you packing?”

Marian forced herself to stay calm, keeping her voice flat. ：“It's nothing……”

Before she could finish, Herman stormed over, his face dark with rage.

Her chest tightened. She thought he'd found out.

Instead, he seized her wrist.

“Did you tell Sandra about us?”

She froze, unable to process the question.

“She's gone! No one can find her anywhere! Do you have any idea she's pregnant? She can't handle this kind of shock. How could you be so vicious?!”

Sandra was pregnant?!

Before she could think it through, the pain clamping down on her wrist made her gasp. She shook her head.

“I don't know what you're talking about! I never said a word to her!”

“Still lying! Go! Find her and bring her back right now! And apologize! If anything happens to Sandra or that baby, I will never forgive you!”

He dragged her toward the door without giving her time to put on shoes.

Marian stumbled out of the villa and into the car as it tore off.

Herman burned through every connection he had before they finally tracked Sandra down to a seedy bar tucked in a dark corner of the city.

The lighting was low and suggestive, the air thick with liquor, perfume, and sweat.

Shadows tangled in every corner, laughter mingling with whispers.

Through layers of pulsing neon haze, Marian spotted Sandra on the stage immediately.

Barefoot, Sandra dropped to her knees in front of the pole and rose again like a cat, all sinuous provocation, drawing wild screams and sharp whistles from the crowd below.

She looked nothing like the innocent girl she usually played. Heavy makeup, a cigarette pinched between her fingers, trading easy flirtation with the men around her as if she'd done it a thousand times.

Marian could feel the fury radiating off Herman beside her. His knuckles were white, his jaw locked so tight the muscle twitched.

He couldn't hold back any longer. He charged onto the stage in long, violent strides, ignoring the uproar around him, and yanked Sandra hard into his arms. Those eyes, burning with rage, swept the room like a threat aimed at every man who dared look her way.

Sandra shoved against his chest and broke free, her expression mocking. “What do you care?”

Herman's face went ashen. He snatched the cigarette from her hand and crushed it, his voice a low snarl：“You're carrying my child. How the hell do I not care?!”

Sandra laughed, but her eyes reddened almost instantly.

“A child? You have Marian Pruitt. What do you still need me for?”

She clapped both hands over her face, her shoulders shaking violently, tears spilling in heavy drops.

“You're with the one person I hate most in this world. I should have known. You only did this to punish me for leaving you back then. And I was stupid enough to still hope.”

She wrenched out a crumpled termination report and hurled it at Herman.

“You did this. You killed our baby!”

Herman grabbed the report, his eyes raking over it. He staggered back half a step as though the ground had been knocked out from under him.

Marian had never seen Herman lose control like this. His eyes were raw red, and tears fell without warning.

A sound tore from his throat, strangled and barely human.

“How dare you……that was my child too!”

The next second, he lunged forward like a man unhinged, scooping Sandra up despite her thrashing and cursing, and carried her out. Ruthless. Absolute.

A bodyguard locked onto Marian from behind, gripping her arms and forcing her into the car after them.

They returned to the villa.

Herman turned his head. “Brenda.”

A woman descended from upstairs.

Brenda Marsh had been the late Mrs. James's most trusted enforcer.

Back when the old Mrs. James cleaned house, no one could count how many mistresses had their faces ruined by those hands.

Herman's gaze settled on Marian, heavy and cold.

Brenda understood at once.

She closed the distance in quick strides, seized a fistful of Marian's hair, and wrenched her toward the door. “Shameless little homewrecker, showing your face here? Have you got no shame? Young as you are and already whoring yourself out as some man's side piece!”