Divorce.

I could cover Mom's medical bills myself.

I could work to pay off every cent I owed.

Even if it took the rest of my life.

Even if it drained every last drop of my energy.

That was still better than spending another day suffering at Prudence's side.

When she heard me, a flicker of shock crossed her face.

But it vanished just as quickly, replaced by that familiar look of arrogant control.

She pulled Jackson behind her and looked down at me like I was something beneath her shoe.

"Solomon, stop being ridiculous."

"You know how destroyed your reputation is right now."

"Leave me, and your life is over. Permanently."

"Just do as I say. Apologizing to Jackson is for your own good."

My life was already in ruins—ruins she had made.

How much worse could it possibly get?

This time, I wasn't backing down.

I refused to meet her eyes, refused to see that fake affection she wore so well.

I shook off her hand and walked out without looking back.

My phone buzzed the entire way. Message after message from Prudence.

She still didn't know I'd discovered everything.

She kept up her act—earnestly urging me to apologize to Jackson, insisting it was all for my benefit.

I ignored every one. But when I rounded the corner, two men stepped into my path.

"Solomon Henson. You're being detained on suspicion of assault. Come with us."

They showed me footage of me hitting someone. The terms were simple: kneel and apologize, or pay $300,000 in settlement fees.

Prudence, ever eager to protect her image as a devoted wife, transferred the money without hesitation.

I'll handle everything for you, she said.

I was still wondering what game she was playing when the lawyer placed a phone in front of my face.

"Mr. Henson, we've just received word from the hospital. Your mother is in critical condition. She needs $300,000 for emergency surgery."

"Conveniently, that's exactly the amount Mr. Pruitt is demanding in compensation."

"So—would you like to apologize to Mr. Pruitt? Or would you prefer to watch your mother die?"

Mom's face filled the screen. Pale. Gray. Barely breathing.

My hands wouldn't stop shaking.

Prudence played the loving wife, promising to solve all my problems.

And then she used my mother's life as leverage to force me to my knees.

She was the real actress here.

Performance after performance—each one dripping with false devotion.

My chest seized. The tears I'd been holding back finally spilled over.

But in the end, I closed my eyes and made the only choice I could.

"I'll apologize."

I couldn't let Mom die because of me.

Under the weight of their mocking stares.

Through the hum of their cruel whispers.

I bent my knees and lowered myself to the ground.

Jackson stood there with that smug, victorious expression. Fresh hickeys dotted his neck—marks that hadn't been there before.

He leaned in close, voice soft and taunting.

"A-list celebrity, kneeling in apology."

"Solomon, how are you ever going to show your face again?"

"Whatever. Your life was over a long time ago anyway."

"I've got better things to do—Prudence just sent me a gift I need to unwrap."

I watched him walk away.

Then I dragged myself back to the Seaside Villa, hollow and broken.

The moment I stepped through the door, Isabel Lambert rushed toward me, panic written across her face.

"Sir, where have you been?"

"The hospital called. They said... they said your mother just passed away."

"I went to ask what happened. They told me the surgery payment was held up. That's why she didn't make it..."

"What did you just say?"

My eyes went wide, my mind a sudden blank.

Then my phone buzzed again. Another text from Prudence.

"Solomon, your mother's medical bills went through the company account. $300,000. Don't forget to pay it back."

Three hundred thousand... three hundred thousand dollars.

Prudence had used that money to make me kneel and apologize to Jackson.

Then used that same money to let my mother die.

To her, it was nothing. A dinner. A handbag.

To me, it was the final straw.

I nearly lost it. Rushed for the door, ready to drag Prudence down with me.

But Isabel stopped me.

Her eyes were red as she begged me to let it go. Told me the dead can't come back. Told me I had to keep living.

I sat there all night, motionless until dawn. I think I cried out a lifetime's worth of tears.

Prudence didn't come home until morning, still hungover.

She startled at the sight of me—the wreck I'd become—and hurried to pull me up from the floor.

The moment she reached for me, Jackson's cologne hit my nose.

But Prudence didn't seem to notice. She just wrapped her arms around me, gentle, soothing.

"What's wrong, Sol? Why are you crying like this?"

"Is it because of Jackson? Or the stuff online?"

"It's okay. Worst case, you stop acting."

"You can stay with the Delgado family. Be a proper house husband."

"I'll work hard, get a solid footing at the company. No one will ever bully you again."

I looked up at her, and my mind drifted back.

Years ago. The day we first met.

What Prudence had said to me then:

"Solomon, I've seen your work. You're talented. Really talented."

"Don't ever give up on your dream for anyone."

"I'll walk this road with you. I'll be your strongest support."

A true companion is rare in life.

I thought I'd finally found someone who understood me.

So I threw myself into acting. Endorsements. Promotions.

Even when I was vomiting blood from exhaustion, I didn't stop.

But it turned out Prudence only wanted my fame to build her own connections.

Now her career was stable.

She didn't need a star who could work a room anymore.

So I was supposed to give up my dreams. Fade into the background.

So my mother had to die—leaving me with nowhere else to go, no choice but to be her kept man, her dutiful spouse.

The pain was so sharp I couldn't speak.

I tried to pull away from her touch, but she let go first.

Prudence was staring at her phone, suddenly anxious.

"Solomon, get some rest. I'll have Isabel come stay with you."

"Something urgent at the company. I have to go."

She left in a hurry. What she didn't know was that Jackson had sent me the same message.

To celebrate Jackson finally "taming" me, Prudence had bought him a thirty-million-dollar villa as a reward.

And right now, Jackson was waiting there in something revealing, ready for Prudence to arrive.

How pathetic. How tragic.

I stared at the posts online—everyone calling for me to be blacklisted—and the tears came flooding back.

Why? Why?

Why did the people who ruined my life get to live so well?

Why did I—who'd done nothing wrong—have to carry all this hatred?

I sat in silence for a long time.

Then I made my decision.

Before I left this industry for good, I'd give Prudence one last show.