They left me there to cry myself unconscious.

I wept for what felt like hours.

And finally understood just how ruthless a man could be once his heart had turned.

Refusing to accept defeat, I threw myself into investigating Madeline Pruitt with the desperate resolve of someone ready to drag everyone down with her.

I wanted to keep fighting.

I wanted the world to see Bartholomew Delgado's true, hideous face.

But the moment I saw Madeline's photograph—

All my hatred, all my resentment, evaporated in an instant.

Because I recognized her immediately.

The pure, untouchable goddess Bartholomew worshipped was a former patient of mine—an HIV carrier I'd once treated.

Bartholomew had a congenital heart condition.

If he contracted the virus, he could die at any moment.

In that instant, I let go.

Heaven would exact its own price from every faithless, heartless man. All I had to do was give fate a gentle push at the right moment.

So I stopped fighting. Stopped making scenes.

I focused on my pregnancy and played the role of the perfect, gracious Mrs. Delgado.

Then I waited, quietly, for the day Bartholomew Delgado would die.

I must have drifted off, because his impatient voice snapped me back.

He assumed I couldn't bear to leave. His knuckles rapped the desk in irritation.

"Sophie, what's the holdup now?"

"Did you think pushing out a baby would make me see you differently?"

"Let me be clear—I don't love you. And I could never love any child you bore me."

"If you won't sign willingly, I'll file for divorce myself. And I'll make sure your child inherits the same miserable life you had!"

Of course. The people who know you best always know exactly where to cut deepest.

When I was eighteen, my parents divorced.

My father forced my mother out with nothing, then publicly announced he was severing all ties with me.

I wasn't allowed to carry his surname. Wasn't entitled to a cent of his inheritance. Wasn't permitted any connection to him whatsoever.

Abandoned by my own father, I became the laughingstock of our social circle.

The girl everyone mocked. The one they whispered about and shut out.

Back then, only Bartholomew stayed by my side.

He walked me to and from school every single day, persistent and unwavering.

He stepped in front of me whenever someone tried to hurt me.

When I was at my lowest, drowning in despair, he told me:

"Sophie, you're the best person I know."

"Even if the whole world abandons you, I'll always be here."

"I love you. And I'll spend my life giving you the happy, whole family you deserve."

For that promise, I changed my entire future.

I abandoned literature for medicine, determined to cure his condition.

I risked my life standing beside him through the brutal war for his inheritance.

I gave up my career and my ambitions to stay home, nurturing my body for pregnancy.

I believed that after surviving all that hardship, sweetness would finally come.

I never imagined that while I was pregnant, Bartholomew—unable to control his urges—would fall into Madeline Pruitt's bed.

When I confronted him, there was no guilt on his face. No shame at his betrayal.

He simply looked at me with that calm, detached expression and said:

"I can't help it, Sophie. I didn't want things to turn out this way."

"But that day, when I saw those stretch marks crawling across your belly... something in me recoiled."

"I can't feel any desire for you anymore. But I'm still a man. I still have needs."

"And Maddie—she gives me a thrill I've never experienced before."

"So it's only right that I give her the status and respect she deserves."

The Delgado family had iron-clad rules about such things, and Bartholomew had always prided himself on his moral discipline.

He looked down on men who kept mistresses, who tangled themselves in sordid affairs.

So he did the "honorable" thing—he asked me for a divorce outright.

At the time, I was barely pregnant.

And to get what I wanted—

To watch Bartholomew Delgado pay the price with my own eyes—

I swallowed every humiliation.

Even when he paraded Madeline Pruitt at galas for all the world to see.

Even when he called me a clingy, dried-up hag in front of every camera and microphone in the city.

I endured it all.

For this exact moment.

I picked up the pen and signed my name on the divorce papers without hesitation.

Right on cue, Madeline's call came through, her sugary voice oozing through the speaker.

"Bartholomew, aren't you done yet?"

"I've already changed and I'm waiting for you..."

"Don't tell me you've gone soft because of the baby. You're not having second thoughts about the divorce, are you?"

"If that's the case, I'll never speak to you again!"

Bartholomew's breath hitched as he stared at the provocative photo she'd sent. His voice dropped, husky with want.

He smiled at the screen—that same careful, coaxing smile he used to give me—now lavished on his new prize.

Then he snatched the divorce papers from my hands and stormed out, slamming the door behind him.

The edge of the paper sliced a thin, stinging line across my palm.

The crash startled Noah into wailing.

The doctor rushed over to check on the commotion.

Bartholomew never looked back. Not once.

I let out a quiet breath and reached for my son.

But the doctor grabbed my hand first, his face tight with alarm.

"What happened to your hand? Did Bartholomew do this?"

"Come with me—we need to run tests. You know he has—"

He couldn't bring himself to say it.

But I lifted my head calmly, and for the first time in months, my smile was real.

"I've always been the one managing Bartholomew's health. Of course I know better than anyone."

I'd received his test results yesterday.

Exactly as I'd suspected.

HIV. Positive.

The infection had already spread to his cardiovascular system.

A common cold. A sudden sneeze. One bout of strenuous exercise.

Any of them could kill him.

Which meant that for the next month, every moment he spent with Madeline brought him closer to the grave.

During my hospital stay, Bartholomew whisked Madeline around the globe in celebration.

He bought her a mansion. A diamond ring.

He announced to the world that she was the real Mrs. Delgado.

He acted like a lovesick teenager, burning bright and reckless.

They threw money around at clubs, made eternal vows beneath the Eiffel Tower.

As if I'd never existed at all.

I couldn't be bothered to care. I had loose ends to tie up.

Once I'd recovered enough, I took Noah to the Delgado estate.

Inheriting the family fortune, securing my position at Delgado Group—none of it mattered if I couldn't win over the old patriarch first.

Edgar Delgado was the key to everything.

The moment I stepped through the doors, shouting echoed through the halls.

A teacup shattered against the wall, hurled by Edgar himself.

"Worthless wretch!" he roared at his grandson.

"Years ago, you turned this family upside down to be with that woman. And now—how long has it even been?—you want a divorce?"

"Generations of Delgado honor, dragged through the mud because of you!"

Bartholomew pressed his lips into a thin line, saying nothing, his body a shield around Madeline.

That stubborn defiance on his face...

For a split second, the sight made something twist in my chest.

Years ago, he'd knelt before Edgar with that same look, begging to marry me.

As the sole Delgado heir, the family had already arranged a far more advantageous match for him.

But Bartholomew refused to budge, dead set on being with me.

Back then, he'd knelt before Edgar with that same stubborn determination.

He stayed on his knees until even the hardest hearts in the Delgado family softened.

All these years later, Bartholomew hadn't changed one bit.

The only difference? The woman standing beside him, the one who held his heart—

It wasn't me anymore.

I hesitated, unsure whether to approach.

Then the baby burst into wails.

Bartholomew turned at the sound.

But he made no move to help.

He watched with cold detachment as I fumbled to soothe the child, his eyes filled with nothing but irritation—as if I'd committed some unforgivable offense by disturbing him.

In the end, it was Pearl Lambert who couldn't bear to watch any longer. She stepped forward and took the baby from my arms.

Even at the sight of his grandson, Edgar's expression didn't thaw.

He tossed a photograph at my feet, his face like carved granite.

"I don't care how you two fight or what drama you create."

"But there's one line you will not cross—the Delgado name and our stock price."

"Explain this. Now."

The photo was a livestream screenshot featuring Madeline.

An influencer to her core, Madeline never missed a chance to flaunt her wealth or parade her relationship. During yesterday's broadcast, eagle-eyed viewers had spotted a box of HIV medication on her vanity.

One tiny screenshot. That was all it took to ignite a firestorm.

The Delgado Group's PR team had scrambled to contain it, but the damage had already reached Edgar's ears.

I glanced at Bartholomew's ashen face, then stepped forward.

"It's a misunderstanding. That medication is a new drug our research team has been developing."

"I'll clarify everything with the media personally. The family's reputation won't be touched."

Edgar studied me for a long moment, then gave a satisfied nod.

He shot Bartholomew a look heavy with meaning.

Then he produced a golden locket and clasped it around the baby's neck.

"Sophie, rest assured."

"You've given the Delgado family its firstborn heir. We won't forget what you've done."

"If this boy of mine causes you any more trouble, you come straight to me. I'll set him straight myself."

"I'll beat some sense into this arrogant brat!"

I stopped needing anyone to fight my battles a long time ago.

When things between Bartholomew and me had been at their worst, everyone—the entire Delgado household, even people I'd once called friends—had chosen his side.

Some picked apart my every flaw. Others accused me of being petty and small-minded.

And Bartholomew himself had looked down his nose at me and sneered:

"Sophie, you're nothing but a castoff your own family threw away. What gives you the right to make demands of me?"

"One word from me decides whether you rise or fall."

That was when everything crystallized.

Love, devotion, affection—all of it was smoke and mirrors.

Only power and money were real.

I'd barely managed to smooth things over with Edgar.

I was heading home, hadn't even reached the corner, when Bartholomew's palm connected with my face.

No restraint. No mercy. Every ounce of his strength behind it.

My cheek swelled instantly, the skin burning like fire.

His expression remained frigid, utterly unchanged.

He stared at me with those eyes—the same eyes that had once held such tenderness for me—now brimming with nothing but disgust.

"Sophie, I underestimated you."

"Agreeing to the divorce to my face while stabbing Maddie in the back and running to Grandfather with your lies."

"You think this will win me back? You think this will make me love you again?"

"Keep dreaming."