"You're the ones who want to eat. Don't you have hands and feet of your own?"

I wasn't going to indulge Nolan anymore. My tone was ice-cold.

If he had even a shred of conscience, he would have come home yesterday to have dinner with us.

There was no point in telling him about my mother's death now.

I went back inside and gently wiped my mother's face, making sure she looked dignified for her final journey.

But when I stepped out again, I saw something in the soup tureen on the dining table—a turtle. A medium-sized turtle.

It was the birthday gift my mother had given me when I was a little girl. I'd raised it ever since.

I lost it. I charged over and screamed at Ursula.

"What the hell did you put in that soup?"

Faced with my fury, Ursula smiled with wide, innocent eyes. "Oh! It's a soft-shell turtle!"

"Nolan said he wanted soup, and I saw one in the tank on the balcony, so I just grabbed it and stewed it..."

Rage consumed me. I lost all reason.

I slapped Ursula across the face, then kicked the dining table over.

Nolan yelped as the table crashed, and without a second thought, he hurled the bowl of hot soup in his hand straight at my back.

The scalding liquid seared through my clothes and into my skin. I clenched my jaw, brows twisting tight.

"You psycho! You're nothing but a violent maniac!" he shouted.

"Always hitting people the second something doesn't go your way!"

"Nolan, are you goddamn blind? Does that look like a soft-shell turtle to you?"

"That was my pet. My companion through fifteen years of loneliness, when I had no one else."

Nolan froze. It clearly hadn't occurred to him that what Ursula had stewed was my turtle.

"Is she really that stupid? She can't tell the difference between a turtle and a soft-shell?"

His tone softened. "Alright, alright. It's just a turtle that died."

"Go buy another one. Problem solved."

But it wasn't the same. It could never be the same. That turtle was the last living connection I had to my mother.

"Nolan, it's bad enough that you betrayed me. Now you let her kill my pet?"

"Get out. Both of you. Get the hell out of my house."

"I'm having a lawyer draft the divorce papers."

Nolan could see I was genuinely heartbroken. He hadn't wanted to leave, but the hatred blazing in my eyes made him afraid I'd do something to Ursula. So he grabbed her and headed for the door.

Before he left, he turned back. "My mother's birthday is the day after tomorrow. You will be at the Gilbert estate on time. Dress presentably. Don't embarrass me."

"And as for the divorce—it's not happening."

After they were gone, I grabbed a can of air freshener and sprayed every corner of the apartment, desperate to erase any trace of their presence.

Nolan's mother had always looked down on me. At every birthday celebration, she went out of her way to humiliate me.

She never greeted me. She seated me in a corner. Every word out of her mouth was a veiled insult wrapped in a polite smile.

It didn't matter that I'd poured my heart and soul into the Gilbert family business. I never earned so much as a nod of approval from her.

In her eyes, a nobody like me had no business marrying into the Gilbert family. I was beneath her son. I dragged down his status.

She'd even declared that if we ever had children, she would raise them herself. They wouldn't be allowed anywhere near me.

Two days later, I returned from the crematorium carrying my mother's ashes.

I had just changed into mourning clothes, preparing to observe a vigil for her, when a group of people burst through the door and seized me.

They gave me no chance to struggle. They pinned my arms and dragged me out.

It wasn't until we arrived that I understood where they were taking me—the Gilbert estate.

Dressed head to toe in mourning white, hauled into a birthday celebration.

Anyone with half a brain would assume I'd done it on purpose—shown up in funeral clothes to curse my mother-in-law.

Sure enough, every head in the room turned. I became the spectacle of the evening.

The moment Nolan and Zara Delgado spotted me, their faces darkened.

Nolan stormed over, seething with rage, and slapped me across the face.

"You just have to humiliate our family, don't you?"

The Gilbert relatives grabbed their wine glasses and hurled them at me, shouting for me to get lost.

"You're a curse on this family, and you're not even dead yet!"

"Someone break her legs."

"Rip those mourning rags off her."

Nolan didn't spare me another glance. He stood by as the security guards surrounded me, raining down kicks and punches.

That was when Ursula arrived with a man in an expensive suit, stepping in to stop the beating.

"Don't hit her. She's still technically a Gilbert wife."

The moment the words left her mouth, everyone burst out laughing.

Nolan's expression only softened when he saw Ursula.

"Mom," he said, turning to Zara with unmistakable pride, "her name is Ursula Simmons. She may be my assistant, but she's the princess of Simmons Corp."

Zara understood instantly. She smiled and greeted Ursula and Patrick Simmons, then wasted no time pushing Nolan toward Ursula's side.

"Nolan, a woman like Ursula is the one who truly deserves you. I'll have you divorced from that worthless girl as soon as possible."

Nolan shot her a look. "Mom, what are you saying?"

Patrick was a shrewd man and an even better actor.

"Mrs. Delgado, please don't say such things. Your son's wife is still right here!" He pointed at me, then walked over, his face a mask of concern. "Sweetheart, get up. You must have had your reasons for acting the way you did, right?"

He extended his hand as if to help me, but instead his fingers clamped down on my wrist. Before I could react, he let out a shriek.

"What the—you freak!"

He shoved me hard to the ground. "This woman, she—she groped me!"

Zara erupted in fury. "Son! Do you see now? She's nothing but trash, through and through."

"This time, nobody stops me. I'm not just breaking her legs. I'm crushing her hands too."

Voices rose in agreement from every corner of the room.

I scrambled to my feet, trying to explain, but no one listened.

Nolan stared at me with disgust. "You're revolting."

Zara barked her orders. "What are you all standing around for? Destroy her. Now."

The words had barely left her mouth before I was surrounded again.

But then—dozens of luxury cars came roaring in, tires screaming against pavement, plowing straight through the venue entrance.

The door of a stretched Rolls-Royce swung open. A man stepped out, radiating wealth and authority, his expression as cold as carved stone.

"You want to destroy Tristan Henson's daughter?" His voice cut through the chaos like a blade. "You're not nearly important enough."