My voice dripped with mockery.

If she hadn't thought I could carry on the Henson bloodline, she probably wouldn't have spared me a second glance.

I kept my tone even.

"I'd better clear out quickly. Wouldn't want to get in the way of your next bride—that would be unforgivable of me."

Piers' voice cut through, cold and sharp. "Vera, what the hell are you talking about?"

I met his gaze without flinching.

"We're getting the divorce on the eighth. The County Clerk's Office opens that day."

Without waiting for a response, I turned and walked toward the nursery to check on Terry.

But my mind drifted back—to what happened not long ago.

Minnie had shown up on Little New Year's Eve, seeking out Piers.

Her face was pale, her coat far too thin for the winter cold.

"Piers."

The moment her voice reached him, his eyes went red.

He shot to his feet, the chair scraping against the floor, and crossed the room to drape his coat over her shoulders, his movements tender with concern.

"I'm sorry, Piers. I had nowhere else to turn."

"Lana Abbott is sick. Please—I'm begging you—save her."

That was the first time I'd ever seen Piers lose his composure like that.

He left. Just like that. Left me and Terry behind without a backward glance.

He didn't come home that night.

When Terry woke, he crawled into my arms, all chubby limbs and sleepy warmth.

"Mama."

I pressed a kiss to his little cheek.

Myra chose that moment to enter the nursery.

"You gave the Henson family an heir. Credit where it's due—even with the divorce, you won't walk away empty-handed."

I didn't know what Piers had said to her, but she'd agreed to let me take Terry.

I didn't refuse.

Her cold gaze swept over me.

"If you hadn't given birth to Terry, you wouldn't get a single cent."

I didn't doubt for a second that she meant it.

"Grandma, that's enough."

Piers appeared in the doorway, exhaustion carved into every line of his face. He stepped in front of me, just as he always had.

Shielding me from Myra's barbs.

I remembered the early days of our marriage, before Terry came along.

Myra had scoured every corner of the city for fertility remedies, brewing bitter concoctions and forcing them on me daily.

The taste was vile. I hated every drop.

But I never dared refuse.

Back then, Piers would always step in. He'd send Myra away, then pour the medicine down the drain.

"If you don't want to drink it, don't."

I'd gaze at him, heart full to bursting, though a sliver of worry remained.

"What if Grandma finds out? She'll be furious."

He'd tap my nose, playful and reassuring.

"You won't tell. I won't tell. Who's going to know?"

"I didn't marry you just to have sons."

Back then, I truly believed he was the one.

Until two weeks ago, when I discovered a secret buried in his computer.

A password-protected folder. Thousands of photos. Him and another woman.

I clicked through them, one by one.

Piers walked into the study at that exact moment. The instant he saw me at his computer, his expression twisted with rage. He lunged forward and snatched it away.

"Vera, who the hell told you to touch my computer?"

His voice was a thunderclap. His tone, vicious.

I froze. Stared at him. Couldn't process what I was seeing.

A beat passed. Something in his face shifted—perhaps he realized he'd gone too far.

His demeanor softened. He stepped closer and pulled me into his arms.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean it. I just—I panicked."

I drew a slow breath and pointed at the screen.

"What is that?"

His expression darkened, just for a flash.

"She's my first love."

The girl in those photos—his first love. They'd fallen for each other when they were young.

Piers's youth had been filled with her shadow.

In the end, Myra had torn them apart.

"She went abroad after that. I couldn't find her."

My eyes burned red, my voice thick with suppressed tears. "Then what about me? What was I to you?"

"If she was still in your heart, why did you agree to marry me?"

Piers panicked, stepping forward to grip my arms.

"No—Vera, you're the only one I love now."

"If you don't believe me, I'll delete all those photos."

And he did. Every single one.

He held me, apologizing over and over, swearing I was the only one in his heart now.

I believed him.

Until the day Minnie reappeared.

He cast me aside without a second thought.

My thoughts snapped back to the present. Piers was urging Myra to leave.

Once she was gone, he pulled a card from his pocket.

"What Grandmother gave you came from the Henson family."

"This card holds my personal assets. It's all for you and Terry."

I didn't refuse.

"It's what I'm owed."

Something like reluctance flickered in his eyes. He reached toward me, as if to stroke my hair the way he always used to.

"I'm sorry, Vera. I couldn't keep my promise to grow old with you."

"Next life, I'll make it up to you."

The sorrow in his gaze seemed genuine.

I found it laughable.

Perhaps he didn't know I'd already discovered Minnie's wedding plans.

Perhaps he thought his illness charade hadn't been exposed.

The eighth day of the new year—divorce first, then remarriage.

"Piers, we're getting divorced. Drop the act."

I gave him no face whatsoever, scooping up my just-woken son and heading for the door.

Piers sat motionless on the edge of the child's bed.

If he'd just been honest—admitted he'd fallen out of love, that he'd cheated—

I might have respected him a little.

The new year passed in absurdity.

Piers didn't appear again until the eighth.

From the servants' hushed whispers, I learned he'd been with Minnie the entire time.

On the eighth day, I stood at the Henson estate gates.

Piers pulled up in his car.

"Vera, there's really no rush. I can hold on a bit longer."

My expression was ice. I gestured for him to open the door.

"Let's go. The County Clerk's Office should be open."

Silence stretched between us the entire drive.

When we arrived, I didn't wait for him—just strode inside.

The new year had just ended; the office was nearly empty.

Our turn came quickly.

The clerk asked the standard question.

"Are you certain you want to divorce?"

I nodded.

"Yes."

Piers seemed startled by my certainty. His gaze found mine, tinged with reluctance.

"Vera..."

My mind was on Terry, alone at home. Impatience sharpened my voice.

"Are we doing this or not?"

Piers exhaled softly.

"...Yes."

After leaving the clerk's office, I hailed a cab back to the Henson estate.

The moment I stepped through the door, I heard Terry's screams.

My heart seized. I ran.

What I saw made my blood boil.

A girl of six or seven was straddling my son's small body, bouncing on him like he was a horse.

"Giddy-up!" she shrieked.

Not a single servant moved to stop her.

Terry's little face scraped against the rough floor, leaving raw, bloody trails across his cheeks.

His breathing grew faint. His voice, barely a whisper—

"Mommy..."

Rage exploded through me. I charged forward and shoved the girl off him.

"What do you think you're doing?"

I pulled Terry into my arms, my heart aching as I checked him over for injuries.

"Lana!"

A woman's voice rang out behind me.

She rushed over and scooped up the little girl.

"Miss Harding, Lana is just a child. How could you lay a hand on her?"

I let out a cold laugh and slapped her across the face.

"She bullied my son. She deserved it."

Minnie's head snapped to the side, her hand flying to her cheek.

The next second, someone wrenched me away with brutal force.

"What the hell are you doing?" Piers demanded.

"It was just kids roughhousing. Do you really have to blow it out of proportion?"

"And Minnie was only worried about her daughter. Did you have to hit her?"

He hadn't held back when he grabbed me. I stumbled, clutching Terry, and we both crashed to the ground.

I looked up at him and smiled—but my eyes couldn't hide the devastation beneath.

"Piers, do you even remember you're Terry's father?"

"Look at his face. How can you say something like that?"

Piers went pale. He couldn't say a word.

I shot him one last icy glance, then gathered my son in my arms and walked toward the ancestral hall.

I pushed open the heavy doors and went straight to the family register displayed on the altar.

I flipped to Terry's page.

Son of Piers Henson.

Something dark flickered in my eyes. I raised my hand.

"Piers's wife—"