Martha's POV

On the very first day of our marriage, my billionaire husband Randall Ottinger set up a shared financial system to put me to the test.

It wasn’t until our thirty-fifth year of marriage that he finally swept his hand and threw me a magnificent birthday party.

But on my way there, I got into a car accident and ended up in the hospital.

Short on money, I had no choice but to ask him for a $2500 loan for surgery.

But the next second, he rejected me.

“You’re just a housewife, Martha. You could never earn $2,500 to pay me back. Come on, you don’t intend to repay it at all, do you?”

He added, “I knew it all along. You only married me for my money. After all these years, your true colors are finally showing.”

Without another word, he deleted and blocked me on his contacts. I had no choice but to drag myself with my fractured right leg to the party to explain myself.

But instead, I walked in on my husband placing a birthday hat on my stepsister and giving her a necklace worth millions.

My son and my daughter-in-law clapped beside them. My grandson even approached with a bouquet of nine hundred ninety-nine roses to present to Paula.

I could only stand there, watching with a heart full of envy. But as the party began to wind down, I accidentally overheard a conversation between Randall and one of his friends.

“You're insane, man. To openly throw a birthday party for Paula, you actually staged your wife’s car accident? Damn. Thirty-five years ago, you gave Martha abortion pills to ensure Paula’s son—Delbert—would inherit your fortune. Man, you swore you’d never hurt her again after that.”

But not a trace of guilt touched Randall’s expression.

“She owes Paula. Martha was the one who forced this marriage, and because of her, Paula left in a fit of rage. She destroyed what we had!”

He seethed, “Martha merely lost a child. But me? I lost the right to hold Paula’s hand in the open.”

His friend shot back bluntly, “Man, Paula left because she ran over and killed Martha’s mother. You’ve forgotten, haven’t you? You personally found a scapegoat for the crime, and you only married Martha to get her to sign a reconciliation agreement on behalf of her family.”

With chilling indifference, Randall replied, “Well, she deserved it. Besides, I’m never gonna divorce her. That’s already the greatest compensation I could give her.”

After hearing all that, I swore, all the blood in my body froze.

It turned out, it was my very stepsister who killed my mom?!

And the accomplice… was the man I had loved most!

All this time, I had believed he was the one who helped me find my mom’s killer. I had been so grateful, serving him selflessly, as if I owed him everything.

That was utterly ridiculous!

Since they chose injustice, they had no right to expect mercy from me.

I swore, they would pay!

…

I forced myself to suppress my hatred and trembling as I dialed my lawyer.

“I want to withdraw all my investments from Ottinger Group and recall all the resources I gave them. Also, please arrange for my passport and visa. I’m going back to Montclair.”

That was where my mom was from.

I wanted to take her back to where she truly belonged.

“If you withdraw your support, the Ottinger Group won’t last long. What about your husband?” my lawyer asked, his voice laced with concern.

The mention of my husband caused my heart to ache again.

When my mom was killed, the perpetrator fled, and the police were helpless. It was Randall who helped me catch the killer.

I was forever grateful and invested all my mom’s remaining assets into his company, which went public and made him the wealthiest man.

But now, I realize it was all part of a scheme to protect my stepsister, a lie made up at my expense. Of course, I couldn’t let him keep taking advantage of my goodwill.

So, I firmly told the lawyer, “My husband? I have no husband. We’re divorced.”

At my firm's response, he responded, “Understood. I’ve expedited the process for your passport and visa. You’ll have them in a week.”

I listened to those words, quietly calculating the time.

A week was enough to clear my mom’s name and make sure the true culprits were brought to justice.

By the time I got home, it was well past midnight.

As soon as I stepped inside, Randall’s stern face confronted me.

“Where have you been? Why so late? Don’t tell me you’re hiding to avoid paying your share.”

Today was my birthday, and it was also the day we reviewed our monthly shared financial system.

Upon our first encounter, he revealed his modest mountain origins, highlighting that he had faced life-threatening experiences to attain his present accomplishments. This made him insecure about money, so he lived very frugally. He asked me if we could split our expenses.

Given that he supported me, I would do anything for him, including accepting the basic financial arrangement.

After we married, Randall would print out the whole month’s expenses in detail, down to the last cent. However, he only split household costs, and I paid for my own sanitary pads and medical bills.

But when he handed me a five-meter-long bill, I froze.

Staring at the densely packed numbers, I asked, “Do I have to pay for the birthday party too?”

He calmly took a sip of tea and answered matter-of-factly, “You should fully pay for your birthday, but since we’re married, I’ll pay a portion, and the rest is on you.”

I couldn’t help but laugh bitterly.

I hadn’t even attended the party, yet he and Paula were enjoying themselves, and in the end, I was expected to pay.

How funny!

I crumpled the bill and tossed it into the trash.

“Randall, ask yourself honestly, was this birthday party really for me? I watched the whole time as you gave Paula gifts and helped her cut the cake.”

A flash of guilt quickly passed across his eyes, but he slammed his hand on the table and retorted, “So you were there! Then why didn’t you come out? You made me and the guests wait for you. If it weren’t for Paula’s kindness in helping you host, my face would’ve been ruined today. How dare you ask me about it!”

Our son Delbert crossed his arms and coldly chimed in, “Mom, you’re nothing compared to Aunt Paula. Let her host your birthday instead. You should be grateful to her. You’re lucky she’s even willing to replace you.”

Then he sneered at me.

“You should take a look at yourself! You look pale and unappealing. I’m embarrassed to say you’re my mom when we’re out in public.”

Delbert was adopted thirty years ago.

Back then, I had been given abortion pills, which caused me to lose a five-month-old baby. I was then told my uterus was damaged, and I could no longer bear children. I fell into a deep depression.

One day, Randall brought a six-year-old boy to me, saying, “Martha, it doesn’t matter if you can’t have children. I still love you, but I can’t bear to see you live in pain, so I’ve adopted a child who looks like us. He will be our son from now on.”

Delbert looked like me and loved to cling to me. Slowly, I lost myself in his calls of 'Mom' and eventually accepted him. But at some point, he stopped clinging to me, started speaking harshly to me, and grew closer to Paula.

I thought it was my strict discipline that caused him to rebel, never realizing that he was actually Randall and Paula’s child!

Although Jenna never said a word, her eyes were filled with disdain as she looked at me.

My nails dug into my palms, drawing blood.

Holding back my humiliation, I forced myself to ask, “If you think I’m worse than Paula, then how about I divorce your father, and they can get married instead?”

Martha's POV

The words had barely left my mouth when an ashtray came flying at me, striking my forehead with force. Blood spilled out instantly, and everything around me blurred.

The world spun, and I almost lost consciousness.

Meanwhile, Randall stood there, glaring at me, his anger written all over his face.

“What nonsense are you spouting? There’s nothing between Paula and me. Stop letting your filthy thoughts cloud your judgment! I bet you’re just trying to avoid paying your share, so you’re making up lies!”

I looked at him coldly. “I’m just a stay-at-home wife. Where am I supposed to get that kind of money? But the inheritance my mom left me? I invested all of it in your company. You’ve made a lot from it, haven’t you? You always said once the time was right, you’d give it to me. Thirty-five years have passed. When exactly are you going to give it to me so I can pay you back?”

Randall froze, caught off guard for a moment. But it wasn’t long before he sneered, dismissing me as if I were nothing.

"You want your money back, seriously?" If it weren’t for me, you would’ve never found the person who caused the accident. I'm supporting you. That money was simply repayment for my kindness!”

Watching him stand there so self-righteous, I felt my heart tear apart. My mom’s face before her death flashed in my mind, reluctant and full of grief.

It was laughable.

I had once sworn to avenge her.

And now, 35 years later, I'd missed the real bad guy and spent years working for the guy who helped him.

If my mom could see this from above, she would probably cry at my foolishness.

I swallowed my anger, my voice trembling as I spoke. “If you won’t give it to me, then we’ll divorce. I’m not asking for much. Just give me the necklace you gave Paula today.”

Randall tensed up, his face darkening as he prepared to lash out at me. But before he could, Ozzie burst out of the room. He rammed into my stomach, causing me to lose my balance and fall backward onto the floor with a loud thud.

“You’re nothing but a pig! How dare you try to steal from Auntie Paula? A pig like you doesn’t deserve such an expensive necklace!”

My grandson’s small face twisted with disgust, as though I were some plague.

But when he was young, he used to stick to me, sweetly saying, “Grandma, you’re my favorite. You’re the most beautiful woman in the world. No jewel or treasure can compare to you!”

Jenna, who had been silent until now, finally pulled Ozzie to her side.

Her voice was laced with sarcasm as she said, “Ozzie, how can you push your grandma like that? She’s so good at manipulating people. What if she says you pushed her and demands a necklace as expensive as Aunt Paula’s?”

When Ozzie heard that, his disdain deepened.

He tried to keep insulting me, but then Randall said, “Paula invited us to watch the fireworks.”

Suddenly, Ozzie’s demeanor changed. His frown melted away, replaced by a grin. He eagerly said he wanted to go.

"Oh, come on, Mom!" Delbert's son said, his tone sharp. "We can't disappoint Aunt Paula's kindness."

Jenna, my daughter-in-law, nodded in agreement. "Yeah, we need to be grateful. She’s been so generous."

Even Randall’s long, indifferent face lit up with a boyish joy, as if he were a young man about to go on a date with his sweetheart.

None of them even glanced in my direction.

As they passed by, Ozzie intentionally stepped on my toe, stuck his tongue out at me, and then walked away.

I forced a smile, but it was thick with bitterness.

Once they left, I slumped onto the sofa, feeling out of place. It was then that I noticed the medicine bag I had prepared for Delbert, lying discarded in the trash.

When Delbert was younger, he contracted a rare disease that no doctor could cure.

Eventually, I had learned this technique from an old healer in the Southwest, someone from New Mexico. He appeared to believe he no longer needed the medicine I made for him, which is why he threw it away so carelessly.

But he was wrong.

Although the disease had been cured, it could still relapse. Delbert needed to take my medicine continuously for five years to stay healthy.

In the future, he would regret this decision.

After all, in just a week, I would be gone for good.

And no one would be there to treat him anymore.

Martha's POV

The moment Randall and the others left, the silence in the villa was deafening.

It felt like the weight of everything was pressing down on me. I took a deep breath, tending to the wound on my forehead, and quickly posted an ad on my phone to find a private investigator.

Just then, I saw Paula’s post on social media. She shared a picture of herself leaning against a man, her head slightly tilted as she watched fireworks. Although his face was obscured, I recognized him immediately. It was Randall. Standing beside them were Delbert and his family.

The image radiated warmth and love.

If Randall weren’t my husband, and if I hadn’t raised Delbert and my grandson Ozzie I might’ve believed it, too. But as I stood there, watching, a wave of bitterness washed over me.

I snapped out of my thoughts when my phone buzzed. It was a message from a well-known private investigator in town. He was eager to take on my case, so I arranged to meet him the next day to discuss the details.

That night, Randall and the others never came back.

Strangely, despite everything that had happened, I slept more soundly than I had in a long time.

The next morning, I met the investigator at a local café.

As soon as I stepped inside, a young man waved to me from the corner. I guessed he was the investigator, and when I asked, I was right.

I told him about the situation—the car accident caused by Paula thirty-five years ago that killed my mom. I asked him to collect evidence against her so I could sue her for her part in my mom’s death.

He listened carefully and replied confidently, “Don’t worry, Ma'am. I’ll have all the evidence you need within seven days. The guilty will face justice.”

After our conversation, he left quickly, but I was about to follow when I heard a familiar voice.

“Martha, what a coincidence. You’re here too.”

I turned to see Paula standing behind me, her smile full of mockery.

Right behind her was Randall, the man who hadn’t come home last night. He was holding her bag and draping her coat over her shoulders, playing the part of the devoted husband.

But in the thirty-five years we’d been married, Randall had never once treated me like that.

I remembered a time when we went shopping for household goods, and I had too many things in my hands.

I asked him to carry my bag, and he scowled at me, saying, “I’m a man! How can I touch your things? People will think I’m weak.”

Another time, I was overwhelmed with things, tripped on the street, and fell. Not only did Randall refuse to help me up, but he also deliberately stayed far away.

When I confronted him, he looked at me like I was an idiot and said, “I’m the richest man in the world, and look at you—shabby and clumsy. If anyone knew we were married, they’d laugh at me.”

But now, with the woman he loved, all those 'rules' had gone out the window.

A sharp pain gripped my chest as the overwhelming weight of everything hit me. I just didn’t want to face them anymore.

I stood up to leave, but Paula grabbed my arm, pulling me back.

“Martha, I’m talking to you. Why are you pretending you can’t hear me? Do you really hate me that much?”

I looked at her, disgusted, and shoved her away. “At least you know I don’t like you. So get away from me.”

I turned to walk away, but in the next instant, Paula grabbed a coffee cup from the table and threw it all over herself.

The coffee spilled across her beige coat, creating a large stain.

She glared at me, angry and hurt.

“Martha, I know you don’t like me, but I’ve never done anything to hurt you. Why would you throw coffee on my clothes? This coat was a gift from my mom for my birthday!”

Paula was a master of drama, always playing the victim. It was no surprise. She was just like her mother—born of a mistress, raised to perform.

Randall, completely oblivious to the scene unfolding, walked right up to me and shoved me aside. His voice was cold and demanding, as if this were the most natural thing in the world.

“Martha, what the hell is wrong with you? Apologize to Paula. Right now.”

The force of his push slammed my lower back into the corner of the table. Pain shot through me, leaving me trembling.

I lifted my gaze, meeting his fiery eyes. He looked like he wanted to tear me apart if I refused.

Through clenched teeth, I asked, “Randall, who exactly is your wife?”

Sneering, Randall retorted, “Don’t try to play the wife card with me! I saw everything. You’re the one who threw the coffee at Paula. Don’t think just because she’s innocent and kind that you can bully her. Apologize right now!”

Randall’s voice was harsh, commanding. His words pierced through me.

I stared at the man I’d loved for thirty-five years, and my heart shattered.

Unable to hold back any longer, I grabbed another coffee cup from the table and threw it straight at his face.

“Looks like your eyesight’s failing you. Let me help you clean up. And this... this is what throwing is really like.”

Without waiting for a response, I turned on my heel and stormed out of the café.

Once outside, I went straight to my lawyer's office.

The moment I stepped in, I demanded a divorce agreement.

I couldn’t bear to be married to Randall for even another second.

But then, his following words doused me like ice water.

"I’m sorry, Ma'am. According to the records, the man you called your husband divorced you thirty years ago... and he remarried. His current wife is Paula Stone."