Ruth's POV

The paper in front of me read 'Bone Marrow Transplant Consent Form,' the words stark and cold against the white sheet.

Beneath it was the beneficiary's name: James' Jamie' Dunford

He was Mackenzie's son from her previous marriage to Warren Dunford

Shane and Warren had been close friends and former military colleagues. When Shane brought Jamie home, he knelt at my feet, tears streaming down his face, telling me Warren had died in battle. His last request had been for Shane to take care of his only son, who was born with congenital leukemia.

I once treated that child as if it were my own.

That was, until Mackenzie came back from Europe.

The very next day, Jamie rigged a bucket of scalding water above my door.

The moment I walked in, it drenched me from head to toe, and he screamed, "Ruth is a filthy mistress who stole my mom's husband!"

Now, that same boy sat in Mackenzie's arms, eagerly urging her, "Mom, hurry up! Burn everything that belongs to that witch! Burn her disgusting face too, so she won't dare seduce Uncle Shane again!"

The child didn't know.

If it weren't for my heart condition, the one I'd been fighting in silence for years, I might have been a match for his marrow.

Back when he first came to live with us, I would have done anything for him—motherly instinct, you know?

The thought almost drained me completely.

"Shane," I said hoarsely, "you know the risks. A transplant has a 50% chance of killing me."

He shrugged it off. "Only half. I'll make sure you get the best doctors post-op."

I nodded, a bitter laugh escaping my throat. "Perfect. Just perfect. So kind of you to trouble yourself."

"Tell me," I forced out, my voice shaking, "if I sign this, will you let me go? Will you at least let my parents rest in peace?"

Mackenzie snapped her lighter on and off, sparks crackling.

"Ruth, signing or not, it's your choice. But don't make it sound like Shane's forcing you. We could never bear such an accusation."

Forcing me? So, unless a knife was literally pressed to my throat, it wasn't coercion?

I lowered my head and sighed.

My tears bled into the ink, smudging the strokes.

'Mom, Dad, what I owe you, I can never repay in this life. Let me go early, so maybe I'll meet you again in the next one,' I said to myself.

I felt my voice break as I added, "Can I have the photo back, now?"

Mackenzie burst out laughing, doubling over.

And in that moment, everything clicked. The contract was fake.

It wasn't the first time they'd played me like this.

Every time I fell for their tricks, her laugh always sounded the same.

"Shane, remember when you said Ruth was like a dog you raised? I didn't believe you then." Her smirk was sharp. "Now I do. She's too obedient. Even my dog, Bella, needs a bone before he'll lick my shoes. But Ruth? She'll debase herself without needing a reward—just for you."

At the same time, Jamie drew back the slingshot and released it. A sharp stone struck my cheek, blood trickling down to the corner of my mouth. But the cold inside me was so intense that I barely noticed the pain.

"Stupid mistress!" he spat. "My transplant already has a better donor match. Who would want your dirty marrow, even for free?"

Holding the useless, counterfeit agreement in my hands, I wasn't sure whether to feel relief or despair.

Shane looked at me with cold, unwavering eyes.

His words cut through the air, harsh and precise as he said, "Ruth, just admit that you can't live without me."

I answered with more resolve than I thought I had in me. "Fine. I admit it. But are you done playing now? Can you give me back the photo?"

Mackenzie dangled the picture just out of reach, holding it above my head like a treat for a dog.

I reached for it, grasping at air.

By the time I turned the corner, it was already in flames.

The curling ash carried my mother's smiling face, burning it beyond recognition.

"Stop!" I screamed.

My heart pounded as I rushed forward, grabbing the fire with my bare hands, desperate to put it out.

Mackenzie slipped effortlessly into Shane's protective embrace, untouched.

And I fell, the searing heat from the flames burning into my palms, the pain so intense that the world around me faded into darkness.

"Pathetic act," I heard her mutter. "Always putting on a show!"

Through the haze of my fading consciousness, I thought I saw Shane rushing toward me, panic etched across his face. He scooped me up in his arms.

"What an idiot," his voice cracked. "How dare you grab fire with your hands? Call an ambulance now!"

I could barely hear him. Was it real? Was I hallucinating? I must be dying if I'm seeing this.

...

When I woke up, Shane was slumped beside my bed, with dark circles under his eyes. He was deeply asleep. In his hand, he still held the photo with its corners burnt, but it wasn't destroyed.

The scene was all too familiar, yet somehow, it felt so foreign.

I couldn't understand why he refused to share his love with me, yet still refused to let me go.

I only remembered how he had shielded Mackenzie from a blow she'd faked, leaving me to fend for myself.

I only knew one thing for sure: I was no longer his first choice.

Then, my phone buzzed with a message from Atty. Montgomery.

[Miss Coleman, I've confirmed. If you can provide evidence of Shane's infidelity, the agreement will be valid. You have three days left.]

Ruth's POV

For the first time, I didn't feel even a shred of gratitude for Shane's late-night vigil with no desire to look back.

I simply took the photo from his hand, signed my discharge papers quietly, and left.

Three days. That's all I had. Three days to find proof of Shane's infidelity.

After hours of thinking, it suddenly struck me like a lightning bolt.

The Ackerman Mansion's basement....

It had always been Shane's forbidden ground.

Even at our relationship's peak, he never allowed me access in here. When Mackenzie asserted her claim over him, she mocked me for not even having a key to the basement. That was enough for her; it proved that Shane's true love had never been me.

What exactly was down there?

I searched the house, rummaging through every room until I finally found a safe under Shane's bed. Its gunmetal surface gleamed, perfectly clean, indicating it had been used regularly.

I tried Mackenzie's birthday. Wrong.

Shane's birthday. Wrong again.

One more failed attempt, and the alarm would go off.

Sweat dripped down my face as I clenched my jaw. I took a leap of faith, entering our wedding anniversary.

The green light blinked, and with a sharp click, the lid sprang open.

Relief flooded over me, not only because the alarm hadn't gone off, but because, for the first time in what felt like ages, my heart was at peace.

Once, I would've blushed with joy, thinking he'd use my birthday as the password.

But that version of me, which was so desperate and naive, was long gone—tossed aside like the rabbit plushie I had thrown away.

I forced myself to believe it was just because Shane hadn't bothered to change it.

As I stepped into the basement, the scent of pear blossoms hit me, pungent and out of place.

Then, I saw a towering wall of photos over three meters high, completely covered with albums, as dense as ivy.

The sight shook me to my core.

From the time they were five, when Shane and Mackenzie first held hands and gazed at each other with budding affection...to the moment they parted, her plane carving a white trail across the sky.

Every meal shared. Every fleeting season. Every scrap of life between them.

Shane had always brushed me off, saying he hated taking pictures. Our only photograph together was the one on our marriage certificate.

But here, hidden away in this basement, was an arsenal of expensive cameras, each moment with her meticulously captured.

The truth hit me like a punch in the gut.

It had always been for Mackenzie.

From the first glance at five years old to their reunion at thirty, I had always been the outsider.

I snapped photos of every piece of evidence I could find and sent them to Atty. Montgomery, making sure to remind him to back everything up.

But just as I was about to turn around, a voice cut through the silence, sharp and full of malice.

"Do you see it now? You were nothing but Shane's plaything. Not even a proper stand-in for me."

I turned back, and it was Mackenzie.

I didn't bother to ask why she was here at three in the morning.

"I'm divorcing Shane," I said flatly, my voice steady. "You don't need to treat me like an enemy anymore."

Her sneer was immediate, her voice sharp with disdain. "Ruth, do you think I'm stupid? You talk about divorce, but this is just a pathetic ploy to win Shane back. One worthless photograph, and he actually kept vigil by your side for two whole nights. Ruth, you manipulative bitch!"

So that's it. Mackenzie had seen him at my bedside, and the thought of it made her rush here to lash out at me.

"Or maybe," I said quietly, "I never seduced him at all. Maybe he just doesn't love you that much."

Of course, he didn't love me either.

The only person Shane truly loved was himself and the illusion of being a devoted man.

However, Mackenzie interpreted my words as an insult.

Her face contorted with anger, and she struck me twice in the face.

"You slut! No matter how well you pretend to be obedient, one day you'll slip. And today, I'll make sure Shane sees your true face."

Before I could wipe the blood from my lips, she grabbed my hair and slammed my head into the photo wall.

It was perfectly timed, as if fate was pulling the strings.

The towering shelves shook and then collapsed with a deafening crash.

And suddenly, Shane burst into the basement. In one desperate leap, he threw himself forward, bracing his entire body against the falling wall.

He shoved me aside with brutal force.

The shelves fell onto his arm, and my recently healed hand splintered once more under the weight.

The pain was searing. It shot through me, every nerve screaming in agony.

Mackenzie's frantic cries filled the air.

"Ruth, if you had a problem, you could have come to me. Why try to destroy the albums that Shane treasures most? These albums are his very life!"

Shane's face twisted in rage, but he didn't spare me a glance.

And then, my heart sank.

I saw it. His collarbone was clean.

The tattoo of my name was gone.

"Ruth," he said coldly, his voice hollow, "you've truly disappointed me."

Ruth's POV

Every time Mackenzie stooped to her usual, tired tricks of jealousy, Shane always reacted the same way.

Back then, I felt as if the world had hurt me so badly, so deeply, that I could hardly breathe. I clung to him, begging for an explanation, desperate for some shred of comfort.

But now, at this moment, I felt only a sense of release.

'Yes, Shane. Think of me as a scheming, jealous woman. Think of me as vile. Then let me go. Let us never see each other again in this life.'

Right then, Shane's eyes flicked to my hand, bloodied beneath the fallen shelf, but instead of reaching for me, he turned away. He pressed a bandage gently onto the scratch on Mackenzie's forehead.

"You'll stay here," he said flatly. "Reflect on yourself."

Before locking the door, Mackenzie leaned in close, her breath brushing my ear as she whispered, "Ruth, this time, I'll make sure you die."

The heavy door closed behind her with a bang. Fueled by a survival instinct, I lunged forward using all my remaining strength.

But before I could even move, Shane's boot struck me square in the chest, sending me crashing to the floor. I couldn't rise again.

"Ruth," his voice rang coldly above me, "reflect until you can be obedient again—just like before."

Just like before?

As if the person I once was still existed. As if the word 'before' still meant anything.

The basement was cold, damp, and lightless.

I lived among rats and cockroaches, sometimes fighting them for scraps of food.

I lost count of how many times I woke, only to faint again from the agonizing pain in my fractured wrist.

With no signal, my phone served only as a clock, reminding me that time was slipping away.

The next time I opened my eyes, I realized it was the day the divorce agreement would come into effect.

And then I saw it: the basement door, once locked tight, now left slightly ajar.

A broken laugh slipped from my lips.

Tears welled up as I thought to myself, 'So even now, Shane, you can't bring yourself to give me more than a stingy scrap of mercy.'

And yet, for me, that scrap became salvation.

I might even thank him for giving me this one chance to end things between us.

But just as I was about to leave, a strange knocking echoed from the far wall of the basement.

Drawn by something I couldn't understand, I searched until I discovered a hidden panel. Behind it was a tight passageway.

Inside, huddled close together, were two gray-haired elders.

I crept closer, my heartbeat stuttering when I saw their faces. "Dad? Mom?"

My parents... why were my dead parents here?!

"Ruth…"

My mother's voice was hoarse, her hair was disheveled, and her body appeared frail. She rasped my name as if it were the last thread keeping her alive.

My father cradled a bowl of slop meant for dogs, his mind shattered, giggling to himself. I wrapped my arms around them, sobbing so violently it shook my bones. The pain in my broken wrist sharply reminded me—this was no dream. I held them tightly and wept, the pain in my wrist cutting through the fog; this was not a dream.

"Dad, Mom, I'm sorry! I've been such a useless daughter…"

My mother tried to soothe me with what little strength she had.

"It's not your fault, Ruth. If it weren't for that beast, Shane, how could our family have fallen to this?" Her voice broke, and she coughed blood into her palm.

Three years ago, my parents were proud and powerful, giants in the business world. Now, because of my foolish marriage, they have been reduced to this—abused, starved, beaten.

Every cell in my body shook with rage.

Then and there, my mother told me everything.

How Shane had locked them in the basement, feeding them rotted food and dog scraps.

How Mackenzie had tortured them, beating them until their flesh was bruised beyond recognition, until my father lost his mind.

And it all stemmed from a few words from Shane's mother, Viola.

"She's from a rich family," the old woman had warned. "Their company's worth tens of millions. She's not someone we can control. If she rebels one day, you'll suffer for it. Better to get rid of her parents and say they died in an accident. That way, she'll be alone, with no one to rely on. She'll be obedient to our Ackerman forever."

Realizing this, I dug my nails so hard into my arm that blood welled in tiny rows of scarlet.

With that, I swore to myself, 'Shane, divorce can never settle this debt between us. You dared to touch my parents. I'll make you pay with blood!'

"Dad, Mom, let's get out of here first."

With my ruined hand, I dragged them onto my back, hauling us through the hidden passage.

As we emerged into the light of day, my phone rang.

It was Atty. Montgomery.

"Miss Coleman, the evidence you provided has been verified. The divorce agreement will take effect today."

Sunlight spilled over my eyes, but it no longer warmed me. It was colder than ever.

"Atty. Montgomery," I answered, my voice steady, icy as steel. "This isn't just about divorce anymore. I want Shane to spend the rest of his life in prison."