I'd miscarried three times. Each loss dragged me further into the dark, until my mental state was barely held together by threads. I'd tried to kill myself more than once.

To help me clear my head, my husband bought me a beachfront villa overlooking the ocean.

He was busy with work, but he called me every morning and every night without fail.

That evening, after he said goodnight, he forgot to hang up.

I didn't remind him. I wanted to fall asleep to the sound of his breathing.

Then a mocking voice drifted through the line.

"Seriously, Everard, you've been slipping Iris Pruitt those depressive hormones for months now and you still haven't stopped? With that kind of dosage, it'd be a miracle if she wasn't losing her mind."

"And three pregnancies, all terminated. You really are something else."

Everard Delgado sounded bored, his tone flat and indifferent.

"So what? She's the one who insisted on throwing Madge out of the house. Called her a bastard born from a homewrecker. Made Madge cry all night until her eyes were swollen shut."

"Three miscarriages. That's the price she deserved to pay."

"Besides, I didn't exactly mistreat her. I gave her a beachfront villa to 'recover.' That's more than generous."

"Once Madge cools down, I'll bring Iris back. She'll still be Mrs. Delgado."

——

My eyes flew open. My fists clenched so tight my nails bit into my palms, and every drop of color drained from my face.

The voice on the other end kept going.

"Everard, you're ruthless. Aren't you worried Iris will find out?"

Everard laughed, low and dismissive.

"She's a wreck. Can barely string a thought together. Even if she talked, who's going to believe the ravings of some depressed lunatic?"

"Besides, the drugs will only make her worse. She'll be too far gone to take care of herself, let alone have the energy to go after Madge."

I shot upright in bed. Moonlight poured through the floor-to-ceiling windows and fell across my face, washing it pale as bone.

Madge Pruitt.

The woman whose very existence kept my mother from closing her eyes in peace, even in death.

The person I hated most in this world.

Years ago, her mother had crawled into my father's bed. The affair drove my mother off the edge of a rooftop.

I'd sworn I would never coexist with Madge under the same sky. Every time we crossed paths, one of us would bleed.

For three years of marriage, Everard had stood firmly on my side every single time.

In front of me, he never once showed Madge a kind face. He'd thrown wine at her. Berated her until she ran off in tears.

Then he'd pull me into his arms, voice dripping with tenderness.

"My wife's enemy is my enemy."

"From now on, I'll protect you. Nobody gets to bully my wife. Not while I'm alive."

Those words still echoed in my ears. But now, the person who had truly been destroying me all along was the husband I loved most.

The air felt thin. I gasped, mouth open, chest heaving, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn't get enough oxygen.

The voice on the other end spoke again. "But those three babies were yours too. You really had the heart to get rid of every single one?"

Everard scoffed, utterly careless.

"Her? Worthy of bearing my children? Only Madge deserves to carry the Delgado heir. Whatever was in Iris's belly was nothing but a mistake."

"If she didn't still have a shred of usefulness left from the Pruitt family name, I'd have thrown her out a long time ago."

The other person sucked in a sharp breath, then pressed further.

"She's this deep into depression now. Aren't you afraid she'll actually go through with it one day?"

Everard's voice turned cold, a sneer curling through every syllable.

"As long as I'm around, she won't die that easily."

...

I couldn't listen to another word. I pressed end call.

I got out of bed and changed immediately.

White-faced, I called the housekeeper. "Arrange a helicopter. I'm going back."

Vanessa Lambert's expression shifted. Hesitation flickered across her face as she tried to talk me out of it.

"Ma'am, why the sudden urge to go back?"

"Mr. Delgado specifically arranged for you to stay here. It's quiet, good for your recovery. If you're feeling restless, you could always take a walk along the beach..."

"Don't make me say it twice."

I cut him off coldly.

Seeing that I seemed genuinely angry, the butler nodded hastily.

"Of course, Mrs. Delgado. But before that, I need to inform Mr. Delgado first."

"You have ten minutes."

Five minutes later, Everard's call came through.

His voice was the same as always, dripping with tenderness.

"Iris, what's wrong? The butler said you suddenly want to come home. Are you uncomfortable there? Or..."

A soft laugh threaded through his words.

"Do you miss your husband?"

Listening to this, I swallowed the nausea rising in my throat and forced out a stiff hum of agreement.

"Everard, I'm feeling much better already. It's damp and cold by the sea. I want to come home."

He chuckled again.

"Iris, I'm worried that coming back might upset you emotionally. What if your mood takes a turn?"

"The coast may be a bit damp, but at least it's peaceful..."

"Then come stay with me."

Silence on the other end. Two seconds.

Everard was always buried in work and constantly tending to Madge. There was no way he'd come to the coast to keep me company.

"Iris, I've got a lot on my plate right now..."

"Then send someone to bring me home."

He seemed to finish weighing his options, because he let out a resigned sigh.

"Fine, fine, fine. I'll send the helicopter for you."

Before long, the helicopter touched down on the wide stretch of beach.

The butler and the nanny poked their heads out. "This way, Mrs. Delgado."

The entire ride back, I rubbed my temples in agitation. My head was pounding.

I didn't know how much time had passed before the butler spoke up. "Mrs. Delgado, we've arrived."

"Iris!"

The moment I stepped off the helicopter, a voice called my name.

I lifted my head slowly. Standing directly ahead was a handsome man in a tailored suit, smiling warmly and waving me over.

"Iris, you must be exhausted."

He closed the distance between us in a few strides and took my hand gently, then frowned.

"Your hands are freezing. Vanessa Lambert, go get Mrs. Delgado's coat."

Once the coat was draped over my shoulders, Everard held my hand again and went on talking, one thing after another.

Just like always. That same warmth. That same doting tone.

"Iris, now that you're home, stop overthinking things."

"Focus on taking care of yourself. The baby..." He paused. "We'll have more. In the future."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead.

To anyone watching, he was the picture of a devoted husband, hopelessly in love with his wife.

On the way here, I had planned to confront him. To demand answers.

To look him in the eye and ask why he'd been cruel enough to kill our three children.

To ask why he'd spun lie after lie and kept me blind to all of it.

But now, standing in front of that face, I couldn't get a single word out.

He wasn't the only one who could put on an act.

I closed my eyes and wrapped my arms around his waist.

"Everard, don't send me away again. Please?"

"I feel so much better now. I won't cause any more trouble, and I won't..."

"I won't try to kill myself again."

His body went rigid for a split second, then he recovered and laughed softly, patting my back.

"Okay, okay. If you're really doing better, then you can stay wherever you want."

That night, before bed, Everard brought me a glass of juice, same as always.

"Fresh-squeezed. Made it with my own two hands."

I looked up slowly, staring at the glass.

Ever since my miscarriage, under the guise of making sure I got enough vitamins, Everard had personally brought me a glass of juice every single night.

I used to believe it was because he loved me that much.

Something as small as squeezing juice could easily have been left to the housekeeper, but he never let anyone else do it. He insisted on making it himself.

But it was that conversation I'd overheard by accident that finally made everything clear.

The juice. Everard had been lacing it with depressive hormones.

That was why I'd developed depression. Why I'd slashed my wrists over and over, why I'd stood on the terrace more times than I could count, imagining I was a butterfly with wings, ready to fly off the edge.

If the housekeeper hadn't pulled me back in time, I'd already be six feet under with a smile frozen on my face.

"Iris, what are you thinking about? Why aren't you drinking?"

Everard frowned when he noticed my silence, his face the picture of concern.

"I don't want to drink it."

I shook my head, but he just sighed, sat down beside me, and coaxed me in that low, gentle voice of his.

"Come on, be good. The doctor said your depressive episodes are caused by a vitamin deficiency, remember? This juice will help."

I tilted my head up to look at him.

"Do I have to?"

Everard smiled down at me, and I knew he wasn't giving me a choice.

I lowered my head, let out a small laugh, then took the glass and drained it in one go.

He rubbed the top of my head, satisfied. "Get some rest. I'm going to finish up some work in the study, and I'll come to bed soon."

I watched his retreating figure.

Then I ran my fingers over the scars lining my wrist. One after another after another. Each one a souvenir of a suicide attempt.

My gaze went cold.

Everard. Madge.

Every single wound on my body is a gift from the two of you. And I will repay it all. With interest.

I drifted into a hazy sleep, only to be woken in the middle of the night by rustling sounds.

Madge had changed into something skimpy and revealing. She pushed open the master bedroom door, there to seduce Everard.

He panicked instantly, glancing back at me asleep in bed before scrambling up to shove her out into the hallway.

His voice came next, deliberately kept low.

"Madge, why are you here now?"

"Iris is back. What if she sees us? How would we explain this?"

Madge shot a contemptuous look in my direction.

"So what if she sees?"

"Everard, you promised me tonight. You said tonight you were mine."

"Wasn't she supposed to stay at the beach house for another two months? What the hell is she doing back here, ruining our plans..."

Everard's expression darkened. He reached out and clamped a hand over her mouth.

"Keep your voice down. She's emotionally unstable right now. If she makes a scene, none of us walk away clean."

Madge pried his hand away, her eyes burning with resentment.

"She's just being dramatic."

"It's a little bit of depressive hormones. She throws herself off ledges and slits her wrists every other day, and she still hasn't managed to die."

"If she wasn't squatting in the seat of Mrs. Delgado, would we even need to sneak around like this?"

Inside the room, I opened my eyes slowly. My fingers twisted into the sheets.

Outside the door, Madge nestled into Everard's arms, her voice dripping with honeyed petulance.

"Everard, I don't care. I want you with me right now. Knowing she's lying in there makes me sick."

He was quiet for a moment. Then his tone softened, caving.

"Fine. But you have to promise to keep it down. Tonight, I'm all yours..."

The two of them fell onto the couch in a tangle of lips and limbs.

It didn't take long.

Madge's moans spilled out, rising and falling in shameless rhythm.

Everard kept craning his neck toward the bedroom door, freeing one hand to cover her mouth.

"You little temptress. You're going to be the death of me."

"Not a sound."

Madge's eyes were glazed, her face smug.

"What are you so worried about? That glass of juice you handed Iris yourself? I slipped sleeping pills into it."

Everard exhaled in relief. He gripped the back of her head and kissed her.

"Clever girl."

The two of them wrapped around each other, lost in their tender little affair.