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.

When Jocelyn opened her eyes again, the acrid stench of thick smoke still seemed to cling to the inside of her nose. Every breath dragged a web of dull, throbbing pain through her chest.

She struggled to sit up. The moment her fingertips moved, they startled Ivor, who had been gripping her hand in a white-knuckled hold.

"Jocelyn! You—you're awake?"

He shot to his feet, his voice cracking with barely concealed panic and the residue of fear.

Her gaze drifted into focus. Ivor stood before her in a black suit creased beyond recognition. Hair that was usually combed to immaculate perfection hung in disheveled strands across his forehead. The whites of his eyes were laced with red.

Jocelyn's expression didn't change. She pulled her hand free, reached over, and pressed the call button on the headboard. Then she closed her eyes.

Ivor stared at his empty palm. Something was slipping through his fingers, and no matter how tightly he clenched, he couldn't hold on.

His Adam's apple bobbed several times before he finally lowered his head. His voice came out raw. "Jocelyn, I'm sorry."

"The fireworks… I was wrong about you. The police already confirmed it was a malfunction on the vendor's end. It had nothing to do with you."

Jocelyn's lips curled into a mocking sliver of a smile. The look stung him, and the guilt in his eyes deepened.

"I was out of my mind with worry. You know how it is—Nellie's not like you. Even if the sky fell, you'd find a way to protect yourself. But she has no one. I'm all she has in this world."

"This was my fault. I lost my head, and I treated you the way I did. Jocelyn, I know I was wrong. I've already sent every person responsible to prison. Forgive me this once. Please?"

Jocelyn opened her eyes and met his gaze head-on. "Is that so? Then whose idea were the fireworks in the first place? And who arranged them?"

Ivor froze for a beat. A thin layer of anger surfaced on his face.

"Why do you always have to go after Nellie? You know perfectly well that someone of her background couldn't possibly be any threat to you!"

Jocelyn almost laughed out loud.

He shielded Nellie at every turn, cradled her in the palm of his hand. Yet deep down, he had never once thought that woman was his equal.

What was even more absurd was the memory that surfaced unbidden—all those things Ivor had said when he was courting her.

He'd told her he loved her resilience, her decisiveness. That she was the only woman in Harbor City who could stand at his side as an equal.

Now she wanted to ask: what had he actually loved?

Had he loved her status as the Henson family's eldest daughter? Loved that her connections and cunning could clear every obstacle from the Sanchez family's path to total dominance over Harbor City?

Or had he loved Nellie's clinging fragility, the way her helplessness fed his need for control?

Maybe neither.

Maybe he had never loved anyone but himself.

Jocelyn's eyes burned. She felt a pang of regret for the years she had wasted.

"Ivor, do you know something? If it weren't for you, I'd have no reason to go after her at all."

Ivor heard the words, and the rigid line of his jaw relaxed a fraction. He actually believed she was backing down.

He sighed, his tone shifting to something patronizing, almost soothing. "Jocelyn, you grew up in this world. Name one powerful man who doesn't have a few women around him."

"I spoiled you before, that's all. From now on, get along with Nellie. Learn a little of her gentleness. It wouldn't hurt you."

Before he could finish, Jocelyn laughed as though she'd just heard the most ridiculous thing in her life. She laughed until tears seeped from the corners of her eyes.

"Is that right? Well, before I married you, I was the renowned eldest daughter of the Henson family. A woman with real power, real wealth, real influence. By your logic, shouldn't I have a few men keeping me company too?"