"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.

The next morning, Everard came back to the bedroom. When he saw I was already awake, he immediately put on a gentle smile and reached out to stroke my hair.

"Iris, did you sleep well? I had the housekeeper make your favorite breakfast."

I tilted my head away, my expression calm and still.

"Everard, let's get a divorce."

The smile on his face froze instantly. A flicker of panic darted through his eyes.

"Iris, what are you talking about? Are you feeling unwell again?"

I pulled out my phone without a trace of emotion on my face.

I held the screen up for him to see.

"Madge sent these last night."

Then I pressed play on the voice messages.

Madge's taunting, triumphant voice filled the room.

"Iris, aren't you supposed to be depressed? How come you haven't offed yourself yet?"

"So what if you came home? Last night, your husband and I had ourselves a nice, passionate little session right in front of you."

"You probably thought he actually hated me when he threw that wine on me at your birthday party, didn't you?"

"What you don't know is that he spent the whole night in my bed afterward, coaxing me back into a good mood."

"He dropped tens of thousands on handbags and necklaces for me before I even started to calm down."

"He even got on his knees and wrote me an apology letter."

"Said he only did it to earn your trust. That he had no choice. That it nearly broke his heart to treat me that way."

With every sentence, another shade of color drained from Everard's face.

He lunged at me, his expression dark as a storm, trying to snatch the phone from my hand. When he couldn't get it, he dropped to his knees in front of me.

"It's all lies."

"It's Madge. It has to be Madge! She can't stand seeing us happy, so she's making things up to turn you against me."

"Iris, you know how much I've loved you all these years."

"I know you two have never gotten along. When have I ever been anything but cold to her? Don't let her get inside your head..."

Watching that earnest, heartfelt performance, I let out a scoff.

"Everard, I never realized what a talented actor you were."

If I hadn't forced myself to throw up that glass of juice in the bathroom last night, I might never have seen what Everard looked like on that couch with another woman, completely shameless and unrestrained.

"You don't think that's enough evidence? Fine."

I opened my photo gallery and showed him the whole sordid show I'd captured the night before.

"You went through three condoms. The whole thing lasted two hours. So tell me, Everard, what do you have to say for yourself?"

With the evidence staring him right in the face, Everard finally dropped the act.

He was silent for a long time. Then his voice turned cold and threatening.

"Iris, are you sure you really want a divorce? Every cent of Delgado money you've spent in these three years of marriage, you'll pay back."

"Otherwise, you're not walking out that door."

I was shaking with rage.

"Everard, have you lost every shred of decency?"

"This company was founded with my mother's money while she was still alive. Thirty million dollars in startup capital, every last cent from the Pruitt family!"

"For three years, I gave up my career to manage this household for you, to handle your clients, to clean up your PR disasters. How many of your company's messes did I fix?"

"And my three children... You're going to sit here and nickel-and-dime me over living expenses? How can those words even come out of your mouth?"

Everard's expression darkened, and a cruel smirk twisted his lips.

"That's all in the past. The law only cares about evidence. I'm the legal representative of the company. The shares are in my name. You don't own a single one."

"If you behave yourself, I can let you keep the title of Mrs. Delgado."

"But if you insist on a divorce, I have ways to make sure the world sees you as nothing more than a freeloader who lived in my house like an unpaid maid."