In the days that followed, Jocelyn was listless. She spent hours curled up in the rocking chair without a word, refusing to touch even the sweet soups she'd always loved.

Ivor assumed it was nothing more than pregnancy hormones wreaking havoc on her mood. He cleared his entire schedule on the spot and planted himself in the villa, never leaving her side.

Worried she couldn't keep anything down, the man who had never so much as boiled water in his life stationed himself in the kitchen every day, simmering broths and soups from scratch. Hot oil spattered his fingertips and raised angry red blisters, but he didn't flinch. He simply carried a bowl of bird's nest porridge to her bedside and coaxed her to eat in the gentlest voice he could manage.

But that tenderness evaporated the instant he found the box of prenatal medication sitting untouched.

Ivor summoned the doctor to monitor the baby, then strode over and pinned Jocelyn down, ignoring every ounce of her struggle.

"Be good. Just bear with it for a second. I know you're uncomfortable, but I can't risk our child."

Her lower back slammed against the edge of the counter. Pain whited out her vision.

The needle pierced her skin. Her whole body seized, and tears fell before she could stop them.

In that moment, Jocelyn's mind hurled her back three years, to the Henson family's ancestral hall.

She had taken thirty lashes of the family rod to marry him. She'd knelt until she blacked out and still refused to give him up.

Ivor had scaled the Henson estate walls in the dead of night, gathered her into his arms, and wept as he swore, "Jocelyn, I will never betray you. Not in this lifetime."

She had believed those lashes were medals of honor, proof of what she'd sacrificed for love.

Now she knew the truth. Everything she'd gambled had bought her nothing but a ticket into the abyss.

The injection finished. Ivor finally exhaled. He pulled her limp body into his arms, fingers fumbling to wipe away her tears.

"Shh, don't cry. I'm only doing this because I'd hate for you to regret it later. It wasn't easy for us to be together. Getting pregnant was even harder. If something happened to this baby, you'd blame me for the rest of your life."

Jocelyn kept her eyes shut, smothering the hatred that churned behind them. Deep inside, she made a vow.

Ivor. Nellie. What you owe me, I will collect. Every last cent, a thousandfold.

After that injection, her morning sickness spiraled out of control. Even a sip of warm water sent her into violent, full-body retching. Ivor was beside himself, scouring Harbor City for every specialist he could find, glued to her bedside around the clock.

Then came another checkup at the private clinic. Jocelyn stepped out of the restroom and heard Ivor's voice drifting from behind the consultation room door, mid-conversation with the doctor.

"Mr. Sanchez, Miss Henson's physical reactions are abnormal. Frankly, that course of medication shouldn't be producing side effects this severe. We strongly recommend stopping it immediately and running a full panel of tests."

Ivor hesitated. When he spoke, his voice was low and firm. "No. If we stop the medication, I'm worried it'll affect the baby. Nellie's had a hard enough time these past few years. I don't want to disappoint her again."

Jocelyn went rigid. The hatred that flooded through her was so vast it nearly swallowed her whole.

That evening, the moment Ivor left to handle business, she picked up the phone and dialed.

"The woman in Switzerland. Nellie Harding. Bring her back to Harbor City. Now."

She hung up, crossed the room, and opened the safe. Inside sat Ivor's private seal, the one that granted access to every asset he owned. She took it without a second's hesitation and sent it straight to the divorce attorney she'd already retained.

When Nellie Harding was brought back to the Sanchez estate, she was trembling so violently she could barely stand. She assumed her affair with Ivor had been discovered by the Sanchez elders. Or perhaps Ivor had found someone new and intended to use the family's authority to dispose of his dirty little secret once and for all.

Then she saw Jocelyn, and every trace of panic vanished from her face.

"Well, well. If it isn't the Henson girl." A slow smile spread across her lips. "So you've finally figured it all out?"

Nellie braced herself against the floor and rose to her feet, taking her time, her gaze dripping with undisguised triumph and contempt.

"You went through all that trouble to drag me back here. Don't tell me you actually think it'll change anything?"

"Come to think of it, I really should be thanking you. If you hadn't arranged my return to Harbor City, I'd never have found such a perfect excuse to come back to Ivor's side. To stay with him for good."

"And don't go feeling sorry for yourself. The only person who's ever been in his heart is me. I may have been overseas, but even I know the Henson family isn't what it used to be."

"Everything you have now? He gave it to you out of pity. You'd be better off keeping me happy. Play your cards right, and maybe I'll put in a good word with Ivor. Let you enjoy a few more peaceful days."

Before the last word left her mouth, Jocelyn's hand cracked across her face.

The slap landed full and hard. Nellie's cheek swelled instantly, flushing an angry red. She stared at Jocelyn in utter disbelief. It was clear she had never expected this woman, who had been nothing but docile and obedient at Ivor's side, to strike with such ferocity.

"Do you have any idea what I was like before I married into this family?"

"I'm Jocelyn Henson. At sixteen, I walked into a gambling den alone and dragged my deadbeat cousin out by his broken legs for the whole street to see. At eighteen, I tracked a con artist all the way to Thailand, pinned him down on the banks of the Chao Phraya River, and cut off his fingers one by one with my own hands."

"Everyone in Harbor City knows I don't take losses lying down. Anyone who makes me uncomfortable for a single moment, I make sure they never know comfort again."

Fear flickered through Nellie's eyes, but she stiffened her neck and held her ground. "Jocelyn Henson, things are different now! You lay a hand on me, and Ivor will never let you get away with it!"

As if to prove her point, the front door slammed open. Ivor stormed in, his gaze landing on Jocelyn first, his expression a tangle of emotions. "Jocelyn, let me explain. It's not what you think—"

But before he could reach her, Nellie threw herself into his arms, eyes brimming red. "Ivor, thank God you're here! I was so scared... She was going to throw me into some gutter in Harbor City. She said someone as filthy as me only deserved to serve beggars covered in dirt!"

Ivor's entire body went rigid. He looked down at the woman sobbing in his arms, tears streaking her face like rain on pear blossoms, and the urgency in his expression melted into raw tenderness.

He turned to Jocelyn, whose face had gone white, and his voice dropped to a warning. "Jocelyn. Nellie is mine."

"Stay in your lane. Play the dutiful Mrs. Sanchez, and we can all coexist in peace. But from this day forward, if she loses so much as a single hair, if anything goes wrong at all, don't blame me for forgetting whatever we once had."

Jocelyn stood where she was, watching him shield that woman.

The scene was painfully familiar.

Years ago, when the Henson family relocated their operations inland, every socialite in Harbor City had lined up to mock and exclude her. Ivor had stepped in front of her just like this, time after time. Flipping tables. Seizing shares. Making threats. Making sure the entire city knew that Mrs. Sanchez was untouchable.

Now she finally understood. All that desperate protection had only ever served one purpose: to keep her content inside her cage. To make her the willing shield for the woman he truly loved. To raise the children. To stay quiet.

Every tenderness had been a lie.

Every act of protection, a calculation for better use.

Something inside Jocelyn went flat. Dead. Utterly spent.

"Ivor Sanchez. I've committed every word you just said to memory. I hope you never forget them either."

She turned and walked toward the staircase.

She had barely reached the landing when a tearing pain ripped through her lower abdomen. Days of medication had hollowed her body to nothing. Her strength gave out, and darkness swallowed her vision whole.

Ivor watched her swaying figure and felt a sudden, inexplicable surge of panic. He was about to step forward when Nellie went limp in his arms, her eyes fluttering shut as she slid downward.

"Nellie! Doctor! Get a doctor, now!"

He snapped his gaze back, swept her up in his arms, and rushed for the door.

Behind him, Jocelyn tumbled down the staircase. Blood seeped from beneath her, spreading across the floor in a widening stain.

No one looked back.

The acrid bite of disinfectant clawed its way into her nostrils. Jocelyn was about to open her eyes when she heard Ivor's voice, laced with concern.

"Doctor, how is she doing? She's not in any danger, is she?"

Before the doctor could answer, Ivor pressed on. "Skip the medical jargon. Just tell me—is the baby all right?"

Jocelyn's heart plunged into ice. She forced her head up.

"Get out. Get the hell out!"

Ivor turned to her, wearing that familiar mask of tenderness. "You're awake? How are you feeling? Does anything hurt?"

He reached out to touch her forehead, but she jerked her head away.

His hand froze in midair. Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.

"Jocelyn..."

"I said get out."

He withdrew his hand and sat on the edge of the bed, a thin veneer of pity settling over his features.

"Since you already know everything, let's stop pretending. Let's lay our cards on the table."

"You cut ties with the Henson family years ago. Without me, who's going to protect you?"

"I'll let yesterday slide. But from now on, you don't touch her."

"As for the baby—consider it my way of making things right with her. But the child will only ever call you Mom. That should satisfy you."

Jocelyn opened her eyes fully. Her voice was flat, almost serene.

"Are you done? Then get out."

Ivor's expression darkened.

"I'd advise you to know your place, Jocelyn. You know exactly how many women would kill to be Mrs. Sanchez. Keep pushing me, and—"

Jocelyn said nothing.

He stared at her ashen face, and whatever threat he'd been building died on his tongue. He left it at "Rest up," then turned and walked out of the room.

The moment he was gone, Jocelyn had someone dig up every last skeleton in Nellie Harding's closet.

She'd entered the red-light district at fifteen. Latched onto the Sanchez family's eldest son at eighteen. The three years in between produced a list of men long enough to fill a page. Several of them were still prominent figures in Harbor City.

Every damning photo, every sordid detail was fed straight to every media outlet in the city.

The articles lasted less than thirty minutes. Every reposted link turned into a 404 error. Every forum thread was scrubbed clean, as though none of it had ever existed.

The hospital room door was kicked open.

Ivor stormed to her bedside, radiating fury. Every trace of tenderness had been stripped away.

"I warned you not to touch her. You just had to push me, didn't you? You really think I won't do anything to you?"

"Since you're so fond of dragging people's pasts into the light, I'll make sure all of Harbor City sees exactly who the real lunatic is. The real vicious, scheming thing."

Before the sun had even set, the bombshell about Jocelyn Henson was all over the city. Fabricated psychiatric records circulated everywhere—official-looking documents declaring she suffered from severe paranoid personality disorder with uncontrollable violent tendencies.

Even the three childless years of her marriage were twisted into a narrative of mental illness ravaging her body. Rumors spread that she had repeatedly tried to harm the baby she carried.

Overnight, the woman every socialite in Harbor City had once envied became a madwoman no one would go near. The Henson family's businesses took collateral damage from the fallout.

Ignoring every objection from the doctors, Ivor seized the opportunity to have her transferred to Stillwater Abbey on the outskirts of the city, under the polished excuse of "rest and recuperation."

Jocelyn tried to escape multiple times. Each attempt was intercepted. Ivor never showed his face; he only sent someone with her medication each day.

The meditation chamber was cold and damp. Jocelyn stared at the occasional flash of headlights on the road below the mountain, trapped in that tiny room with nowhere to go.

Then, on her birthday, rain fell over Stillwater Abbey all through the night.

A sound came from outside the door. Jocelyn opened it, puzzled, and found an unfamiliar monk standing in the rain, holding out a letter.