After a full week in the hospital, Wilford never visited his wife once.

Every day, though, he posted updates about his sweet daily life with Khloe.

When Kimberly was being resuscitated, teetering between life and death, Wilford was at an amusement park with Khloe, kissing her beneath the Ferris wheel lights.

When Kimberly was in the ICU, her fate uncertain, he was by the ocean with Khloe, watching the sun set and the tide roll in.

And when Kimberly’s body temperature plummeted and she was rushed back into surgery, Wilford was tangled with Khloe in a hotel bed.

When Kimberly finally recovered, she stared at her phone. She trembled with fury as she typed a comment under Wilford’s latest post.

[A bitch and a jerk. May you both rot together!]

What you don’t see, you don’t think about. Remembering that, she blocked them both.

Then, she started counting down the days until she could leave. She was so excited that she had already bought her plane ticket for a week later.

Once she reached Wayne’s territory, she swore she’d make Wilford pay for every last thing he’d done to her.

That thought alone gave her something to hold onto—a reason to keep going.

But she never expected that Wilford would come after her again… all because of Khloe.

The moment she stepped out of the hospital entrance, a group of bodyguards grabbed her and shoved her into a car. It sped off through the city and stopped in front of a bar.

Kimberly was dragged inside, her still-healing wounds tearing open with every pull. Soon, blood soaked through her clothes.

The deafening rock music made her head pound, and before she could steady herself, someone kicked the back of her knees. She collapsed, landing hard on a floor scattered with glass shards.

The pain was blinding. The glass dug deep into her knees until they were covered in blood. She couldn’t even make a sound.

Wilford and Khloe sat on a leather couch nearby, flirting openly as if Kimberly didn’t even exist.

Her voice trembled with rage. “What the hell do you want from me now?”

Only then did Wilford glance at her, his gaze cold.

“Kimberly, I think you’ve gotten a little too comfortable. Did you forget my warning?” His tone dripped with mockery. “First, you went to the hospital to provoke Khloe. Now, you’re insulting her online.”

He leaned forward, sneering. “Seriously. Don’t you think you owe her an apology?”

Kimberly let out a short, bitter laugh, then spat a mouthful of blood at his feet. “You want me to apologize to that bitch? Keep dreaming, you jerk!” she cursed in anger.

Instead of getting enraged at her stubbornness and refusal, Wilford merely smiled. He picked up his glass and clinked it against Khloe’s, the two of them drinking together like newlyweds at a toast.

Then, in a voice laced with quiet threat, he said, “If I remember right, your Granny’s medical bills are still being covered by my family, aren’t they?”

“What do you think would happen,” he continued, “if I stopped paying? How long could she live?”

The smile on his lips was faint, but the cruel glint in his eyes froze Kimberly where she knelt.

It felt like someone had stabbed her right in the heart.

Her grandmother was old and frail, bedridden ever since her stroke two years ago—kept alive only by the machines surrounding her bed.

Back when Wilford was still courting her, he used to visit the old woman every week.

He knew better than anyone that her grandmother was Kimberly’s weakness.

And now, he knew exactly how to use it against her!

When Kimberly didn’t respond for a long time, he took out his phone and started dialing the hospital.

“Stop the treatment for the patient in Room 16.”

“No!” Kimberly’s pupils constricted in panic. She lunged to grab the phone.

But the bodyguards pinned her down hard. Left with no other choice now, she surrendered, crying out, “Wilford! I’ll apologize, okay? I’ll do it!”

Her nails dug deep into her palms. She bit her lip until it bled. In the end, she had to ask, “If I apologize to Khloe, you’ll let my grandmother live, right?”

Wilford chuckled softly. “We’ll see first how sincere you are.”

Humiliation surged through her veins like fire. Trembling, Kimberly turned toward Khloe with red eyes.

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have gone to the hospital to provoke you. I also shouldn’t have insulted you online. Please forgive me.”

A victim forced to apologize to her abuser. How absurd.

Khloe showed no trace of guilt. She smiled sweetly and signaled to the waiter.

“Bring ten bottles of the strongest liquor you have,” she said, her tone light. Then, turning back to Kimberly, she added, “Drink all ten, and I’ll forgive you.”

Kimberly’s chest tightened. Her gaze instinctively darted toward Wilford.

She was allergic to alcohol. Back then, he had always protected her from it; he’d drink on her behalf at every party, even when it left him vomiting blood.

Now, he only looked at her with mockery. “You heard her. Do what she says. And don’t give me that nonsense about your alcohol allergy. No one here cares.”

A chill spread through her body. Her heart sank to the bottom of a pit.

Without another word, she grabbed the first bottle, twisted it open, and poured it down her throat.

The liquor burned like fire. It seared her stomach, and angry red rashes spread across her skin almost instantly.

Before she could finish all ten, her body went into shock. The next thing she knew, she was being rushed to the hospital.

She barely had time to recover from the stomach pump before she bolted toward her grandmother’s ward.

Doctors crowded the room, frantically working around the old woman, who was now covered in tubes.

Kimberly’s voice shook as she ran forward. “What’s happening to my grandma?!”

“Her oxygen and IV supply were cut off,” one of the doctors explained urgently. “Her organs are shutting down. We need to operate immediately.”

Her face turned white. “Then what are you waiting for? Start the surgery!” she demanded, her voice rising.

But the doctor only gave her a helpless look.

“Mr. Vanbrugh’s orders were clear. He said if you haven’t finished all ten bottles, and Ms. Jolie hasn’t forgiven you, we’re not allowed to proceed.”

Suddenly, the world seemed to collapse around her.

Hands trembling, she scrambled to dial Wilford’s number, pleading, “Wilford! Please—let them operate! Granny will die!”

On the other end, his voice came out calm, almost bored. “You haven’t finished the drinks yet. What’s the rush?”

He paused, then added coldly, “Besides, didn’t she just have surgery two weeks ago? Missing one won’t kill her, right?”

His voice was edged with impatience, and before Kimberly could beg him, he already slammed the phone down.

The next moment, the heart monitor in the room emitted a terrifying, continuous tone.

The heartbeat line that was supposed to rise and fall on the screen froze all of a sudden—flat… refusing to move.

The old woman’s hand fell heavily to Kimberly’s side, and the pale color drained from her lips, turning them a lifeless shade of bluish-purple.

Kimberly stood frozen, staring blankly at the still body on the bed. Her lips trembled as she whispered, almost soundlessly, “Grandma…?”

Her voice cracked. Her shaking hands reached for the old woman’s, but they were already cold—utterly devoid of life.

“Grandma!”

The scream tore from Kimberly’s chest, raw and broken. It felt as if all the blood in her body had rushed straight to her head, leaving her trembling and gasping for air.

A doctor beside her quietly handed her a small recording pen. “This was left for you while the patient was still conscious. Please… accept our condolences.”

Kimberly’s fingers trembled as she pressed play. Then came that familiar and gentle voice of her grandmother—so soft and kind it nearly broke her.

“Kimberly, sweetie, leave this place. Leave Wilford, that bastard. My dear, you deserve better.”

The moment those words played, Kimberly’s tears burst forth uncontrollably.

The death of her grandmother shattered the last chain Wilford had wrapped around her heart.

With her soul hollowed out, Kimberly handled the funeral arrangements herself. She knelt before the altar for three days and three nights straight.

Only when her body finally gave out and she was rushed to the hospital did she get any rest at all.

When she woke, she found an email from the immigration office waiting for her. Without hesitation, she signed the confirmation papers.

She was ready to leave, ready to disappear for good.

But just as she began to pack her things and head for the airport, Khloe stormed into her hospital room.

The sight of her made Kimberly’s blood boil. She wanted nothing more than to tear that manipulative liar in front of her apart.

“What are you doing here?” she spat. “You’re not welcome here!”

Khloe only smirked and tossed a small urn at Kimberly’s feet.

“Why, I came to bring you a gift,” she answered, her tone mocking.

Kimberly froze. The urn lay on its side—empty.

Her pupils contracted sharply. In a blink, she lunged forward and grabbed Khloe by the throat.

“Bitch! Where are my Grandma’s ashes?!” she screamed. “Where did you throw them?!”

Khloe’s face turned red from the pressure, but there wasn’t a trace of fear in her expression. Instead, there was only arrogance and cruelty.

“Ashes? It’s just a pile of useless dust,” she said nonchalantly with a sneer. “I fed them to the dogs!”

A sharp crack echoed through the room as Kimberly slapped her with every ounce of strength she had left.

But before she could strike again, the door burst open with a deafening crash. Wilford stormed in.

The moment he saw Khloe’s swollen, tear-streaked face, his own expression twisted in anguish. Without a word, he hit Kimberly hard in the chest.

The impact sent her sprawling to the floor, a mouthful of blood spilling from her lips.

“Kimberly!” he roared. “You’re a fucking insane!”

Insane?

A bitter laugh escaped her cracked lips. “You think this is madness?” she whispered. “I can show you madness.”

Before anyone could react, she snatched a vase from the corner table and brought it crashing down on Wilford’s head.

The vase shattered into a thousand pieces, glass flying everywhere—one shard slashing a long, jagged line across Khloe’s cheek.

Her shrill scream tore through the ward.

Blood sprayed. Chaos erupted.

Kimberly’s eyes were burning red, wild with grief and fury, but soon, security rushed in and pinned her down.

Despite the blood streaming from his forehead, Wilford still reached out to cradle Khloe in his arms.

His voice was trembling as he comforted her. “It’s okay, Khloe. I’m here. I won’t let anything happen to you.”

Khloe pressed her hands over her wounded face, her tone sharp and hysterical.

“That bitch! She did it on purpose! She wanted to ruin my face!”

She turned her head to Wilford, sobbing, “Wilford! Don’t you dare let her go! I want her dead!”

Her carefully crafted image of sweetness was gone, replaced by the madness beneath.

The ward was a wreck, glass and blood scattered everywhere.

Kimberly struggled against the guards, desperate to gather the shattered remains of the urn from the floor to piece them back together.

But before she could, Wilford stepped forward and crushed her hand under his shoe.

“Wilford!” she shouted. “Let me go! You know what she did! She fed my grandma’s ashes to a dog!”

His face twisted with rage. “Kimberly, your grandma’s dead!” he shouted. “The ashes are gone, so what? But you—how dare you hurt Khloe again! I’ll never forgive you for that!”

Kimberly’s laughter bubbled up again, hollow and haunting.

Her tear-filled eyes glinted with madness as she looked at him.

“So what are you going to do this time?” she asked bitterly. “Slap me a hundred times? Drown me? Force me to drink until I collapse?”

Her voice cracked into a sob. “Wilford, this time… I won’t let you win.”

For a brief second, Wilford froze.

What did she mean—this time she wouldn’t let him win?

Before he could make sense of it, the door slammed open again.

A group of police officers poured into the room.

“Wilford Vanrugh. Khloe Jolie. You are both under arrest for illegal imprisonment and attempted murder. You’ll need to come with us.”

Everything happened so fast that Wilford stood there in stunned disbelief.

But years in the corporate world taught him to recover quickly. His face darkened as he sneered, “Do you know who I am? Do you have any idea what your bosses would say if I told them about this? You think you can just arrest me?”

He had no idea how Kimberly had managed to bring the officers to dare arrest him.

He tried to intimidate them with his name, still clinging to the power and arrogance that had protected him for so long—until a familiar voice echoed.

“They might not dare. But I do.”

Wilford’s eyes widened when he turned around to see whose voice it was.

There, standing in the doorway, was his long-time rival—Wayne Gardner.

Ignoring everyone else, Wayne crossed the room and pulled Kimberly into his arms.

His expression softened with a smile full of regret and tenderness.

“Baby,” he murmured, “I’m sorry. I’m late.”