“Viktor, please—wait—”

“Evelyn fell from the goddamn fifth floor because of you,” he snarled. “And you’re standing there crying over a little knock to your head? You’re going to the hospital. You’re going to say sorry. And you’re going to get on your knees if you have to and beg her to forgive you.”

My legs were barely holding me upright from the pain, but he didn’t even glance at them. He shoved me forward and slammed me into the passenger seat like I weighed nothing.

The entire drive, I pressed my forehead against the cold window, screaming silently as waves of pain tore through my body. Every bump felt like it was splitting me apart. It honestly felt as though I might fall to pieces before we even arrived.

When we reached the hospital, Viktor didn’t slow down for me. He strode ahead, bursting into the room like he owned the building.

Evelyn lay propped against crisp white pillows, skin pale, eyes glassy. Thick bandages wrapped around her wrists, displayed so deliberately they might as well have been decorations. The moment she noticed me, her eyes widened in perfectly timed fear.

Bitch.

“Benny…” she whispered weakly, her voice trembling. “I—I don’t want her near me. Please… I’m scared of her.”

Viktor crossed the room in three steps. He sat beside her, took her hand gently, like she was something precious and breakable. “Hey. It’s alright. I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

Then he turned toward me.

His gaze froze solid.

“Well?” he demanded. “What are you standing there for? APOLOGIZE.”

I looked at Evelyn. At the frightened little act. At the white bandages. At Viktor holding her like a wounded angel.

Then I asked quietly, “Did I really push you?”

Evelyn’s lashes trembled. Tears spilled instantly. “Mrs. Thorn…” she sobbed softly. “If you don’t want to apologize, it’s fine. I never wanted to create trouble for you.” Her voice shook delicately as she wiped her eyes. “I know Viktor has been spending more time with me lately,” she continued gently. “Anyone would feel hurt. But you and him… your marriage is only business. There was never love. If my background hadn’t been what it was, he wouldn’t have needed to marry anyone else.”

The longer she spoke, the weaker she sounded. The more pitiful her tears became, the darker Viktor’s expression grew.

Then his voice cracked sharply through the room. “Isadora. I told you to apologize, not stir shit.” His stare cut straight through me. “Are you going to do it, or are you testing my patience?”

I stared at Evelyn—at her flawless performance, those wide eyes shining like cracked porcelain.

I knew she was lying.

I knew she hadn’t been pushed.

But I also knew this: if I didn’t cooperate, if I caused even the smallest problem between the Thorns and the Volkovs, my escape would vanish. The hundred million Mrs. Thorn promised would disappear. I would be trapped—this marriage, this cage—forever.

So I swallowed everything.

“I’m sorry,” I said calmly. “It was my fault.”

I turned to leave.

“Not so fast.” Viktor’s voice was colder than steel. “You pushed her. You owned it. So you’re staying.” His eyes were merciless. “You’ll take care of her until she’s discharged.”

I didn’t protest. My fingers curled slightly at my side—but I nodded.

“Alright.”

---

After that, I stayed in the hospital.

Every single day, I attended to Evelyn. I helped her change clothes, brought her meals, fluffed pillows, adjusted blankets—like some mindless service machine. I brushed her hair. Smoothed the sheets. Anticipated her needs before she even spoke.

And Viktor stayed too.

Of course he did.

He ignored cartel matters. Let calls from his men go unanswered. The entire Volkov operation could have collapsed overnight and he wouldn’t have noticed, because Evelyn had a bruised rib and a sprained wrist.

He fed her spoonfuls of porridge. Dabbed her lips with a napkin. Sat beside her bed until she drifted off to sleep.

He had never done any of that for me.

One morning, Viktor’s phone rang. I only caught fragments—“European investors… problem with Dubai… half an hour.” He kissed Evelyn’s forehead apologetically and stepped out.

The moment the door clicked shut, the atmosphere shifted.

Evelyn glanced at the clock, waited a full ten seconds, then slowly turned to me with a lazy, mocking smile.

“Peel the orange, slave,” she said lightly. “And don’t bruise it this time.”

I peeled the orange.

Then she lifted the glass of orange juice and threw it straight at my face.

It splashed loudly against me, soaking my shirt.

“Oh dear,” she said sweetly. “My hand slipped.”

I clenched my teeth.

“Clean it up, Cinderella,” she added casually. “Before Viktor comes back and sees what a disaster you look like.”

Right on cue, the door opened.

Viktor walked in, expression unreadable. His eyes moved from Evelyn… to me.

The spilled juice. My soaked clothes. The shattered glass.

“Evelyn?” he asked, frowning slightly. “What happened here?”

Her eyes filled instantly. “I’m sorry, Benny,” she said softly. “My hand slipped. I didn’t mean to—” Her voice broke.

Viktor sighed. “You don’t need to apologize for her, Evelyn.” He looked at me coldly. “She’s here to serve you. Cleaning up after you is her responsibility.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

My heart should have shattered then.

But it didn’t.

Because there was nothing left to break—it had already turned to ash.

Before long, even the hospital staff began to notice.

One afternoon, while I was in the small pantry rinsing fruit for Evelyn, two nurses stood nearby, their voices lowered but not enough.

“Oh my god… that’s his wife? For real?”

“Yeah. They’ve been married for years, apparently. But it’s obvious he’s in love with the other woman.”

The younger nurse peeked toward the ward. “She’s so… composed. I don’t get how she does it.”

The older one let out a quiet sigh, the kind people make when they’re watching something painful they can’t stop. “You don’t understand. That’s love.”

“Huh?”

“She’s caring for the woman her husband loves. Not because she has to. Not because of pride. But because… somewhere inside, she still hopes he’ll turn around and see her. Even once.” Her voice softened. “That kind of love doesn’t scream. It just bleeds quietly. And it’s the most tragic kind there is.”

Outside the pantry, I heard footsteps slow near the nurses’ station.

Viktor.

I didn’t look back. I didn’t need to. I could feel his eyes on me like a weight pressed between my shoulders.

---

The day Evelyn was discharged, Viktor came home only briefly. He tossed his keys onto the counter and looked at me like I was something spoiled.

“I’m taking Evelyn out of town for a while,” he said bluntly. “Don’t contact me unless someone’s dead.”

I nodded. “Alright.”

He never waited for a response.

I watched from the doorway as he helped her into the car, his palm resting lightly at her lower back, his coat settling over her shoulders. The door shut, the engine started, and soon the car vanished down the road—taking their laughter with it.

The house fell silent.

The next morning, I began packing.

I folded my clothes carefully, one piece at a time. No rush. No tears. My hands didn’t shake. My chest felt oddly still, like something inside me had finally gone quiet.

Then my phone lit up.

Evelyn.

My body stiffened.

And then the photos came.

Not just a few. Dozens.

They flooded my screen one after another—carefully chosen, deliberately cruel.

Evelyn sitting on Viktor’s lap at a vineyard in Tuscany, laughing as he kissed the side of her neck.

Evelyn tangled in white silk sheets, her back arched, one of his shirts draped loosely over her bare legs.

Evelyn standing before a mirror, Viktor’s arm wrapped around her waist as they took a photo together—his phone in one hand, hers in the other.

Evelyn holding his hand as he fastened a bracelet around her wrist.

My bracelet.

The one Mrs. Volkov had given me.

The final image was a close-up: her lips pressed against his bare chest.

Underneath it, soft pink text appeared like a knife dressed in ribbons:

“See, Isadora? On paper, he may be your husband… but never in bed. You’re such a pathetic parasite.”

My thumb hovered over the screen.

I didn’t delete anything.

I simply let the images remain and smiled—a thin, bitter curve of the lips.

---

Then came the birthday banquet for the Volkov patriarch.

Viktor didn’t return. He didn’t even bother to send a word.

So I went alone.

I wore a simple black dress—high neckline, long sleeves. Enough coverage to hide bruises beneath layers of makeup and whispered prayers. I pulled my hair into a tight low bun and walked in as if I belonged there.

The ballroom shimmered with gold and crystal. Marble floors reflected chandeliers like constellations. Guests floated through the room wrapped in couture, antiques glittering at their throats, carrying the effortless arrogance of families who had never known want.

The whispers began the moment I stepped inside.

But the first person to truly see me was Grandmother Signe Volkov.

She sat at the head of the table, spine straight despite her age, eyes sharp behind diamond-rimmed glasses. The smile on her lips vanished the instant her gaze locked onto me.

“Where is Viktor?”

Her tone was even. Controlled. The kind that stripped men of their confidence and left them silent.

I lowered my head. “He had urgent matters overseas…”

She laughed once, sharp and humorless. “Urgent, is that what he called it?” She reached for her wine—

And then the butler rushed in, pale, trembling, interrupting the moment.

He said nothing. Just placed a tablet in her hands.

“Viktor Volkov and Evelyn Beaumont photographed kissing in Tuscany.”

The headline screamed words like “romantic escape,” “secret affair,” “Volkov heir in love,” “future bride?”

The image beneath was worse.

Viktor wasn’t merely kissing her. He looked reverent—his palm cradling her face, eyes closed, foreheads pressed together like a still from some grand love story.

Signe’s wine glass shattered against the marble floor.

“Isadora,” she said tightly. “Come with me. Now.”

She stood, turned, and walked toward the west corridor without another glance. I followed, aware of every silent eye at the table watching us go.

She didn’t speak until we entered the ancestral chamber.

Dark wood. Faded oil portraits. Old lamps that always smelled faintly of iron and age.

She shut the door.

Locked it.

Then she turned and struck me across the face with enough force to snap my head sideways.

“Have you no dignity?” she spat. “Look at you—humiliated, ridiculed. You attend my husband’s birthday alone like a cast-off mistress while your so-called husband is off licking champagne from another woman’s skin.”

I said nothing.

“Do you understand what this looks like?” she continued furiously. “The Thorn name was meant to fortify us. Instead, we’re a joke. If your family had an ounce of pride, they’d throw you into a well and be done with it.”

I swallowed blood and replied quietly, “I didn’t release the article.”

She sneered. “Don’t insult me.” Her eyes narrowed. “Call Viktor right now and order him back—or face the consequences.”

I already knew.

He wouldn’t come. Not for me. Not if I begged. Not even if I broke.

“I’ll accept it,” I said.

Her brows lifted sharply. “What did you just say?”

“I’ll take whatever punishment you decide.”

She smiled—and it was the kind of smile that made your skin crawl. Slowly, deliberately, she walked to the far wall and pressed a hidden wooden panel. It slid open silently, revealing a cabinet I had glimpsed only once before. Inside, a thick, polished cane lay resting, alongside a drawer filled with incense, ropes, and a cattle prod.

The old instruments of control.

The Volkovs didn’t simply construct an empire—they built a dynasty of obedience. She lifted the cane, running her fingers along its smooth shaft as if it were a cherished possession.

The first strike landed without warning, slicing across my back hard enough to knock the air from my lungs.

The second ripped skin.

The third cracked bone.

By the fifth, I was flat on the cold stone floor, my cheek pressed against the tiles, trembling in agony so sharp that sound blurred around me, and I lost consciousness halfway through her relentless fury.

---

When I awoke, I was in a hospital bed, my mouth tasting like iron and regret. And then I saw him.

Viktor.

“You let my grandmother treat you like that,” he said, voice tight. “Why didn’t you call me?”

“I… didn’t want to interrupt your date with Evelyn,” I muttered, and his eyes blinked once, sharp, unreadable.

I turned toward the window, letting silence pour over me like thick smoke. Suffocating, heavy, suffocating.

And then he stayed. For days. Sitting in the room, saying nothing, pretending to be the man I thought I had married. I told him he didn’t need to. That I was fine. But he never left.

Not until his phone rang.

“Business emergency,” he muttered, standing. I saw the caller ID before he spoke: Evelyn. “You’ll go home alone,” he added.

I nodded. “Sure.”

I dressed slowly, each movement raw and deliberate, as if every motion peeled open a fresh wound. The gauze tugged with every breath. My coat smelled faintly of antiseptic and burnt fabric. Yet I forced one foot in front of the other, moving down the hospital stairs.

I didn’t see him coming until a man rounded the corner, Starbucks venti cup in hand—and collided with me.

Coffee spilled instantly, scalding my arm and chest, burning through the thin fabric. I gasped sharply, stinging searing across my skin.

The man glared down at his ruined designer blazer. “Are you blind or just stupid?!” he barked, swiping at the liquid like I was dirt. “Do you even know how much this jacket costs? Or are you so used to charity hospitals that you don’t care?”

“I—I’m sorry,” I stammered, bending over to wipe at the soaked coat, struggling to catch my breath. “It was my fault—”

“You damn well better believe it was,” he snapped, stepping closer. “Pay for it. Now.”

Before I could speak again, a low, lethal voice cut through the air behind him.

“Touch her again, and I’ll break your jaw.”

The man froze. Viktor was there.

And in an instant, five men in black appeared behind him like shadows, moving faster than humanly possible.

“Take him,” Viktor ordered.

Without hesitation, they grabbed the man, dragging him away as he kicked and cursed, shouting threats no one cared to hear.

Silence fell.

Viktor turned to me, his gaze scanning my clothes—cheap, wrinkled, faintly bloodstained and now streaked with coffee.

“You didn’t get any money from the Thorns or Volkovs? Why the hell are you dressed like this?”

The Thorns never gave me a cent. Only hospital bills for my grandmother. The Volkovs had a black card, yes, but I was never the real Mrs. Volkov. That card stayed in my wallet, mocking me silently.

“The hell are you sulking about?” he barked, grabbing my wrist and pulling me into his black SUV. “Come on. You look like death. We’re getting you new clothes.”

I said nothing.

---

At the mall, he selected designer outfits with precision, like picking weapons—sharp, cold, expensive.

I stood motionless as assistants zipped me in and out of garments, like I was a mannequin on display. Finally, we stepped into the sunlight-lit atrium, shopping bags in hand, the scent of luxury clinging to my skin. I thought it was over.

Then—

“Benny?”

I froze.

Evelyn.

Heels too high for an ordinary afternoon, sunglasses perched atop her head, phone in one hand, a staff member trailing behind with a cart stacked with glossy black-and-gold boxes—Chanel, Cartier, Valentino. All items dripping wealth. From his other black card, the one he didn’t think I knew about.

Her lips parted slightly when she saw me, the smile dying midair. “Oh… I didn’t realize you were out.” Her eyes darted from my face to the shopping bags, then back to Viktor. “You said you were in Singapore.”

“Evelyn—”

“You told me not to text because of meetings all day,” she whispered, trembling. “I should’ve known… I should’ve known.”

She looked at me again, like a ghost haunting a life she tried to steal. Then she turned and ran.

“Evelyn!” he shouted, already sprinting after her.

I remained rooted, watching him disappear.

Then—Bang!

The sound was deafening. I whipped my head around just in time to see a sheet of glass plummet from the upper mall floor, striking Evelyn before she could even scream.

Blood sprayed. Fast, bright. She collapsed instantly, her body crumpling to the ground.