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.

The letter bore no signature, only a few spare lines.

"Twenty years ago, I too believed I had found a good man. Then, seven months into my pregnancy, I overheard him discussing plans with someone else. Once I delivered the child, they would have me committed to Greenhill Asylum and tell the world I'd lost my mind. The baby would be handed to a woman he'd been hiding for years."

"The men of the Sanchez family have always excelled at one thing: using love as bait to lure a woman into a cage, then making her bear children for the woman they truly love."

"I know you're angry. But remember this: when you're crossing a swamp and a crocodile clamps down on your leg, don't waste your strength fighting it. Use the moment it has you in its jaws to get yourself out."

Something stirred deep in Jocelyn's chest.

Twenty years ago, the eldest daughter of the Henson family had married into the Sanchez household. Three years later, she perished in a fire. The Sanchez family had surrendered half a street's worth of property to settle the matter.

But everyone said it was an accident.

She lowered her gaze and tucked the letter away. Footsteps sounded outside the door.

The wooden door of the meditation chamber swung open. Ivor stood in the cold mountain rain, impeccably tailored in a black suit. When he took in Jocelyn's gaunt, hollow appearance, a flicker of surprise crossed his face, but it was quickly replaced by the magnanimous air of a man bestowing a gift.

"Jocelyn. You've had plenty of time to reflect. Surely you know what you did wrong by now."

"It's your birthday. I came to take you home personally. From now on, we'll keep up appearances in public, the loving couple, same as always. No more making us a laughingstock."

Jocelyn didn't respond. She didn't resist. Like a puppet with its strings cut, she followed him to the car, rode in silence across half of Harbor City, and returned to that gilded cage.

The moment she stepped onto the terrace, every light across Victoria Harbor went dark.

Then the sky exploded. Fireworks erupted across the horizon, cascading rivers of color that painted the night in blinding brilliance.

Yachts glided across the water in a slow procession, each one bearing an enormous illuminated sign: Happy Birthday to Mrs. Sanchez.

On the far shore, the same words blazed in towering letters across the face of a skyscraper, visible from every corner of the city.

Jocelyn stood perfectly still. The fireworks lit her face, but there was nothing in her expression at all.

The last time the sky had burned like this, she had gone from Miss Henson to Mrs. Sanchez.

But Ivor had never known that she hated fireworks.

When she was a little girl, her father had offered to set off fireworks for her birthday. She'd said no. All she wanted was a lamp that would stay lit.

Fireworks were beautiful, sure. But they didn't last. The moment they bloomed, they were already gone. You couldn't hold on to them.

Her father had laughed at her. So sentimental for such a little thing.

Now she finally understood. What she'd said back then had been a prophecy.

Her love hadn't even lasted as long as a firework.

Ivor wrapped his arms around her from behind, his voice a warm murmur against her ear. "Do you like it, Jocelyn? The whole city is celebrating your birthday."

Her gaze drifted to the last wave of fireworks waiting to launch in the distance. The brilliant points of light flickered in her eyes, bright then dark, bright then dark, without a trace of warmth.

"Ivor. Let's get a divorce."

The arms around her waist clamped tight. "What did you just say?"

She peeled his hands away. "I said drop the act. Let each other go."

A nameless panic spread through him. His expression darkened in an instant.

He was about to speak when the final firework screamed skyward, then suddenly veered off course, spiraling wildly as flames sprayed in every direction.

Ivor spun around and seized Jocelyn by the throat, fingers digging in. "This was you, wasn't it? When did you become this vicious? You won't stop until Nellie is dead?"

Jocelyn couldn't breathe. Her fingers clawed weakly at his wrists as she struggled.

Firelight danced across Ivor's face. That face, once the gentlest she had ever known, was now twisted beyond recognition.

"Nellie begged me for days to let her plan your birthday, to make you happy. She even stationed herself at the launch site personally to make sure nothing went wrong. And you tried to kill her!"

Jocelyn felt her neck creak under the pressure. Tears slid from the corners of her eyes, beyond her control.

"Let... let go! Even if I wanted her dead, I wouldn't use something this stupid!"

Ivor hurled her aside through clenched teeth. "You're beyond saving, Jocelyn. I don't have time for this."

He released her and ran out without a backward glance.

Jocelyn curled up on the ground, coughing violently, her body shaking with the raw relief of survival.

But before she could even catch her breath, a deafening crash came from above. A burning section of one of the illuminated signs plummeted down and slammed into the ground less than two feet from where she lay.

She flinched, instinctively drawing her limbs in tight, and forced her head up. At the far end of her vision, Ivor's silhouette was disappearing through the emergency exit.

A second later, the steel door was locked from the outside, sealing off every way out.