On my wedding night, I was rushed to the hospital in an ambulance after a tampered condom left me in excruciating pain.

The surgery took over twenty-four hours, and the story spread like wildfire.

My husband, Alexander, let it be known that anyone who managed to photograph me in my post-surgery state would be rewarded with ten million dollars.

Overnight, I went from being a billionaire's new wife to the laughingstock of every elite circle in New York.

The next day, Alexander's childhood sweetheart Dahlia showed up at my door.

That was when I learned the truth: she'd coated the condom with industrial-strength adhesive as part of what she called a "social experiment."

She didn't show a shred of remorse. Her tone was flippant and cruel:

"It was just an experiment. I mean, how was I supposed to know you'd react like that? Besides, we both know you were never good enough for Alexander. So drop the act."

Alexander stood beside her, his gaze cold and dismissive:

"If it weren't for the marriage contract, no one would've touched you. You know that, right?"

What he didn't know was that the woman he was calling a slut had saved his life more times than he could count.

I leaned against the hospital bed, my face drained of color, every breath laced with pain.

The night before, he'd humiliated me deliberately—not only injecting me with a muscle relaxant, but ordering the curtains removed beforehand.

All night long, the clicking of camera shutters outside the window never stopped.

Seeing how weak I was, Dahlia held up her phone and aimed it right at my face, her smile pretty and poisonous:

"Oh my, you're truly famous now. 'Billionaire's new wife turns out to be the ultimate slut'—how do you like that headline trending on social media?"

Something inside me snapped.

I clenched my teeth, pushed myself upright, and swung my hand at her face.

But Alexander was faster. He pulled Dahlia behind him and caught my wrist in midair.

"Wren, haven't you caused enough trouble? You clawed your way into this family, and now you want sympathy? Deal with the consequences."

"Is this what your parents raised? Because they'd be ashamed."

I let out a muffled cry of pain, gripping the sheets beneath me, and screamed until my voice cracked:

"I married you! I'm your wife—I'm a Sterling!"

Alexander's expression didn't waver. His voice didn't waver:

"It's just a piece of paper. You'll never be a real Sterling. I could replace you in a heartbeat."

With that, he shoved my hand away, wrapped his arm around Dahlia, and walked out.

The moment they left, a searing pain tore through my abdomen, and blood began pouring from between my legs.

That violent yank from Alexander had ripped my unhealed surgical wound wide open.

I fumbled for the call button in a panic. After a rushed examination, the doctor looked at me with an agonized expression.

"Ms. Alderton—I'm sorry, Mrs. Sterling—the repair surgery carries extreme risk. We need a family member's signature in person."

My whole body was shaking with pain, cold sweat beading across my forehead.

With the last of my strength, I dialed Alexander's number.

"Alexander, please—I need you here. The doctor says they need a family member to sign off on the surgery. Just ten minutes. Ten minutes, and after that you can go wherever you want..."

On the other end, Alexander let out a derisive scoff, his voice flat with irritation:

"Wren, my time is valuable. I don't have time for your theatrics."

"Drop the act, Wren. It's a shame you never won an Oscar. Nobody's buying it anymore. Give it a rest."

"Please, Alexander, it's just a signature..."

"I've got to take Dahlia to feed her rescue dogs. I have to go."

The line went dead. Above me, I heard muffled laughter.

When I looked up, I saw the doorway packed with people, all staring.

Blood was still pooling beneath me. In my ears, his mockery mingled with their gleeful whispers.

He would rather go feed a stray dog than spend ten minutes coming back to sign for me.

Despair crashed over me like a tidal wave.

With my last remaining strength, I called the Sterling Estate.

"I've made my decision. I'm calling in every favor you owe me for saving his life—in exchange for a clean break from Alexander Sterling. We part ways for good and never see each other again."

When I opened my eyes again, everything was a blinding white.

Alexander’s grandfather Edmund was sitting in my hospital room. When he saw me wake, a flicker of tenderness crossed his eyes.

"Wren, my dear... these past three years, you've suffered more than anyone should. Alexander doesn't deserve you."

"I've arranged a new identity for you. There's a flight in seven days. Consider it... a parting gift from the Sterling family, for everything you've done."

My heart ached, and all those buried memories came flooding back.

An arranged marriage between wealthy families—the oldest story in the book. But I'd always counted myself lucky, because I thought we were the exception.

I'd been with Alexander for seven years. For seven years, he'd cherished and protected me with everything he had.

I thought we would make it.

Then, three years ago, one of Alexander's enemies kidnapped me to get revenge on him.

I was tortured for three days and three nights. Videos of what they did to me went viral online.

By the time he found me, I was barely recognizable as human.

He stormed in alone and nearly died saving me, collapsing from toxic gas exposure.

For months afterward, I barely slept. I was in and out of surgery myself, but I kept giving my own blood to keep him alive.

By some miracle, he pulled through.

But when I rushed to the hospital, I found him holding Dahlia's hand, gazing at her with a warmth I'd thought was reserved for me.

When he heard me and turned, there was nothing in his eyes but cold indifference.

The doctors said the combination of post-traumatic stress and an overdose of psychiatric medication had scrambled his memory. He'd forgotten the horror of those events—and along with it, every memory of me had been replaced by Dahlia.

Years of love, erased in an instant.

I stubbornly clung to his side, enduring their cruelty, surviving on fading scraps of what we'd once had.

Until today, when I finally came to my senses.

The man who'd once treasured me like I was the most precious thing in the world was gone.

After Edmund left, I closed my eyes in exhaustion.

But a second later, the door slammed open.

Alexander stormed in, his face dark with fury.

The rage in his eyes was enough to swallow me whole.

Before I could say a word, he grabbed my arm and hauled me off the bed onto the floor.

The force of it was so brutal I heard something in my body crack.

"You put your hands on Dahlia? On her unborn child? You—a gold-digger who schemed her way into this family?"

Dahlia trailed in behind him, weeping as though her heart were breaking:

"I just feel so bad for you… not being able to have that experience. But why would you try to take it away from me?"

"What are you talking about? I don't know what—"

Before I could finish, Alexander cut me off with a cold, bitter laugh.

"Pathetic. Did you really think I wouldn't dare touch you?"

"Your parents being dead doesn't make you a victim. After what you've done, they'd be turning in their graves."

And now he was throwing my parents in my face.

My mother and father had died racing to the hospital to pay for Alexander's treatment. A freight truck hit their car head-on. There wasn't enough left of them to piece together.

Alexander's grip tightened, and the words pouring from his mouth grew more vicious.

"You latched onto the Sterling name, and you'll cling to it until someone pries you off, won't you? Pull anything like this again, and I'll destroy you."

Beneath me, the fresh sutures from my surgery were tearing open one by one under his hands. But the pain in my body didn't amount to a fraction of what was shredding my heart.

I wanted to defend myself, but what was there to say? What was the point?

All these years, he'd never once believed me. He only ever took Dahlia's word.

Once, I'd laid evidence right in front of him. He'd barely glanced at it.

"I'm busy. Don't waste my time with this garbage."

I looked at him, and all I felt was a bone-deep exhaustion:

"Alexander... after all this time, you still won't believe me? Not even once?"

Something about the lifelessness in my expression made Alexander falter. A flash of unease darted through him before he could stop it.

Dahlia chimed in on cue: "It's okay. Maybe it's all just a misunderstanding..."

Watching Dahlia cry so beautifully, Alexander shoved that strange feeling down.

"Stop making excuses. On the day it happened, the only person Dahlia saw was you. No one else had the chance to hurt her."

That last fragile spark of hope was snuffed out.

I smiled bitterly to myself.

Alexander left with Dahlia. On his way out, he tossed one last line at me.

"If you're going to hurt people, be ready to pay the price."

When the Sterling name came down against you, doors closed.

Not a single hospital in New York would take me in.

My wounds became infected, and the fever left me delirious.

I fumbled for my phone and tried to call Alexander, only to discover he'd already blocked my number.

Outside the hospital entrance, two security guards were gossiping nearby.

"I heard Mr. Sterling bought a yacht for that Forsythe girl, just to cheer her up. Must be nice."

"Right? And at the charity auction the other day, he bought a Cartier necklace for her too."

Hearing all of this, I couldn't feel a thing anymore.

Now, all I wanted was to survive—and then disappear for good.

Through the haze, my phone rang. It was George.

He had no children of his own and had been my family's driver his entire life.

After my parents died, he'd volunteered to look after their gravesite.

But now, George—always so gentle and steady—sounded frantic:

"Miss, Mr. Sterling says he's building an animal rescue shelter on your parents' burial land! The construction crew is already here, and there's nothing I can do to stop them!"

The fog in my head burned away in an instant.

I hailed the first car I could find and dragged myself to Sterling Corporation.

The receptionist blocked me at the entrance, same as always.

"Mr. Sterling has made it clear—you're not permitted inside without his authorization."

The irony was almost laughable.

Dahlia could waltz in and out of Sterling Corporation as she pleased, while I—his lawful wife—was turned away at the door every single time.

Alexander had once said he didn't like people coming to his office. So I'd stood downstairs cradling a pot of soup I'd simmered for three hours, waiting until well past midnight.

When I finally saw him come out and started toward him, I realized Dahlia was nestled in his arms.

It wasn't that he didn't like people in his office. It was just that the person was wrong.

I was running on fumes, consciousness slipping away.

"Step aside. I'm Mrs. Sterling. Try and stop me."

I forced my way inside. From within, I heard Dahlia's voice:

"Alexander, you're giving me this land... won't that upset your wife? I don't want to make things worse between you two."

Alexander answered lazily:

"It's just a plot of land. Whatever you want, I'll give you."

"Besides, Wren could never leave me. I could tell her to get on her knees and bow to you right now, and she'd do it with a smile."

I couldn't take it anymore. I shoved the door open.

"Alexander, that's my parents' burial ground! You know that. Why would you choose that spot of all places?"

Alexander hadn't expected me to appear. He frowned and snapped at me.

"Wren, look at yourself. You're a disgrace to the Sterling name."

After days of living on the streets, my clothes were torn and filthy, stained beyond recognition.

Dahlia piled on from the side, her voice all sugar and spite:

"God, you look like hell."

"Didn't anyone ever teach you to keep yourself presentable? Oh—right. Never mind."

I was shaking with fury. My hand flew across Dahlia's face.

Alexander was livid. He seized me and dragged me toward the door.

"You're hitting people now? Have you finally decided you can live without the money? Or is it me you've decided you can live without?"

"Since you won't listen to me, Wren, maybe your parents can knock some sense into you!"

By the time we reached the cemetery, George was standing there, helpless and distraught.

The earth had been torn apart. The headstone I'd carved for my parents by hand was nowhere to be found.

"Your dad and I only have one little girl in this whole world. When we're gone, bury us on the hill behind the house, so we can watch over our baby and keep her happy forever."

My parents' words echoed in my mind, and tears blurred everything.

I was pinned to the ground, forced to watch as the excavator rolled back and forth over the soil.

Nearby, reporters swarmed like vultures.

"Ms. Forsythe, how much are you investing in this shelter?"

"Ms. Forsythe, what inspired you to build an animal shelter on this particular site?"

I knelt there sobbing, unable to stop, while Alexander stood before the cameras with Dahlia in his arms, smiling radiantly.