The day my father was kidnapped, I called my billionaire husband in tears, begging him to save my father.

After listening, he chuckled lightly. "I already transferred three million to you. Make sure you stop bothering Luna."

I hurriedly agreed, and the money was immediately sent to the kidnappers' account.

But just as they were about to untie my father, my husband used his influence not only to reverse the ransom payment, but also to freeze the kidnappers' account.

Feeling deceived, the kidnappers completely snapped. They tortured my father for three straight hours before finally killing him.

On the way to collect my father's ashes, I saw every giant advertising screen across the city covered with photos of him and his newly hired assistant, Luna Henderson.

After returning home and settling my father's ashes, I called my husband.

"Let's get divorced."

On the other end of the line came his teasing laughter with Luna.

"This again? Luna said you've been spending too recklessly, so I punished you a little. You're not actually mad over something this small, are you?"

I gripped my phone as my stomach churned violently, acid burning its way up my throat.

Jeff Ellison's lazy voice continued through the speaker.

"It's not enough? Fine, I'll give you another million.

"Say something. What, are you mute now? One million isn't enough for you to waste?

"I'm giving you this money so you can uphold the Ellison family's reputation. Don't embarrass me outside. And stop pulling this divorce nonsense. I don't like hearing it."

The call disconnected.

A second later, my screen lit up with a bank notification.

Looking at the endless string of zeros, I felt nothing but irony.

Three days ago, the kidnappers had held a knife to my father's throat. In the video call, his face was covered in blood, yet he still shouted for me not to worry about him.

I knelt on the floor, begging Jeff to save my father.

At that point, I had already prepared myself for humiliation. Even if he'd told me to kneel down and polish Luna's shoes, I would have done it.

Unexpectedly, Jeff agreed without much fuss.

The moment the money arrived, I thought dawn had finally come.

The kidnappers loosened the ropes. My father collapsed onto the ground, grabbed the phone, and cried as he spoke to me.

"Sweetheart, Dad's okay now. From now on, I won't be a burden to you anymore. Live well with Jeff…"

Those were the last words my father ever left me.

Right after that came the kidnappers' furious roar.

"The money was reversed?! You think you can screw with us?!"

"You're a bastard, Jeff Ellison! Fine. Let me show you the price of messing with me!"

The video abruptly went black.

I lost my mind trying to call Jeff.

Once. Twice. A hundred times.

All I got was nothing but a busy signal.

I called his assistant, his driver, even the Ellison family's butler.

Every reply sounded like a machine set on repeat.

"Mr. Ellison is busy."

"Mr. Ellison is in a meeting."

"Mr. Ellison instructed us to wait until he finishes handling his matters."

Like a madwoman, I rushed to the Ellison Corporation building, only to be pinned to the floor by security guards, my face pressed against the freezing floor as I stared at Jeff's private elevator stopping at the top floor.

After a full three days, I received a call from the police, asking me to identify my father's body.

The coroner told me my father had been tortured for three hours before he died. Every bone in his body had been broken. Not a single patch of skin had been left intact. He had been tortured to death alive.

When I walked out of the funeral home, the urn in my arms felt light, yet the weight of it bent my back.

I looked up.

Across every LED screen in the city rolled photos of Jeff Ellison and Luna Henderson.

In the pictures, Jeff smiled with unbearable tenderness while Luna leaned against him beneath a sky full of fireworks.

The headline stabbed into my eyes.

[Ellison Corporation CEO Spends Five Million to Celebrate Luna Henderseon Joining the Company]

The date was the very night my father had been murdered.

So this was what he meant by "busy."

Jeff had been busy taking romantic photos with Luna. In his eyes, my father's life wasn't even worth a fireworks show for Luna.

The one-million-dollar transfer sat in my phone like a cruel joke.

He had reversed the life-saving three million, then turned around and spent five million renting every screen in the city for Luna.

And now, he tossed another million at me like scraps thrown to a beggar, telling me to "uphold the Ellison family's reputation."

I raised my phone and stared at the photo of him with Luna.

'Jeff, this is what you called being "busy"?'

The place where my heart had once ached so fiercely now felt completely hollow. Not numb; just dead silent.

I carefully placed my father's urn in the passenger seat and fastened the seatbelt around it.

"Dad, we're going home," I murmured.

The engine started, leaving behind the citywide display of their love.

As I drove across the river bridge, I almost threw my phone into the water.

But then, I remembered my father's screams before he died.

I couldn't throw it away. It was evidence. I had to keep it, even if holding it burned through my chest.

When I got home, I settled my father's ashes safely.

Hours later, my tears finally ran dry. I stood up and dialed Jeff's number.

This time, he answered quickly.

In the background came Luna's laughter and the crisp clink of champagne glasses.

"What? Finally come to your senses?" His voice dripped with condescension. "Now that you got the money, behave yourself."

I looked at my father's memorial photo and spoke calmly.

"Jeff, my father is dead."

Silence lingered on the other end for a second. Then came his mocking laugh.

"Don't be ridiculous! To get me to come home, you're even cursing your own father now? That's low, even for you.

"You used to fake illnesses. Now you're pretending your father died. What's next? Are you going to fake your own death too?"

I said nothing.

I simply listened as the man I had loved for five years used the cruelest words imaginable to mock the pain of losing my father.

"Luna was right. You just have too much free time, so you keep thinking up all this nonsense.

"One million isn't enough? Fine, I'll transfer another five hundred thousand. You're a real eyesore.

"We're going to try on formalwear now. Hanging up."

The line went dead.

I stared at my phone blankly for a while.

Then I opened my messaging app, found the profile picture I had pinned to the top for five years, and blocked him.

After that, I dialed my attorney's number.

"Benson, help me draft a divorce agreement."

"Yes. Right now."

"The reason?"

"Cheating."

I sat alone in the empty living room, holding my father's urn in my arms.

My phone screen lit up again.

Jeff was calling.

The ringtone echoed for a long time before stopping, only to start again moments later.

I stared at his name as though it belonged to a stranger.

Finally, the ringing ceased.

A few seconds later, another message came through from a mutual friend—a voice recording.

I tapped it open.

The background was noisy, with Luna's voice faintly audible in the distance.

"Jeff, don't pay attention to her. You can't spoil women too much. The more you indulge them, the worse they get."

Then came Jeff's cold voice.

"Carol, don't overthink it. That five-million-dollar ad campaign was because Luna just joined the company. She's my new assistant. I need to establish her authority for her.

"You'd better take a good look at yourself. Tomorrow, I expect the house to be cleaned properly. Otherwise, don't even think about keeping that million."

The message ended.

Expressionless, I listened to the entire recording and saved it with a swipe of my finger.

Then I sent a single message: [See you at the courthouse tomorrow for the divorce.]

Early the next morning, I went to the courthouse. The lobby buzzed with people coming and going.

I sat alone on a bench in the corner, waiting for Jeff.

Nine o'clock.

Nine-thirty.

Ten.

Jeff never came.

I sent him a message.

[I'm waiting for you at the courthouse.]

It wasn't until nearly noon that his another assistant, Keith Madison, finally called.

"Ms. Reynolds, Mr. Ellison is in a meeting. He doesn't have time to entertain your tantrums. Mr. Ellison also said you should stop acting childish.

"Oh, and Mr. Ellison will be coming home for dinner tonight. He wants you to prepare his favorite barbecue ribs."

The line disconnected.

I stood in the middle of the crowded lobby, gripping my phone while the stares from strangers pierced into me like needles.

Childish?

My father was dead. And in Jeff's eyes, I was merely throwing a tantrum?

A surge of fury shot from the soles of my feet straight to my skull, burning away every shred of reason.

I immediately called back.

Keith answered, sounding impatient.

"Ms. Reynolds, I already told—"

"Put Jeff on the phone!" I screamed so loudly that the entire lobby fell silent. "Tell him if he doesn't answer, I'll jump off the Ellison Corporation building! Right outside his office window!"

Maybe it was the desperation in my voice. Or maybe the words jump off a building frightened Keith.

After a flurry of muffled noises, Jeff's voice finally came through. His anger was tightly restrained.

"Carol, have you lost your mind? You're screaming in public like a lunatic. If you don't care about your image, I still care about mine!"

But the moment I heard his voice, I suddenly calmed down. After rage reached its peak, all that remained was the stillness of cold ashes.

"Jeff, I'm not crazy. I'm only asking you one thing. Are we divorcing or not?"

He let out a cold laugh.

"Divorce? On what grounds?

"Carol, get this straight. You eat my food, wear what I buy, and even your father's medical bills are being paid by me.

"Luna is only my assistant. But she's more capable and ambitious than you. Are you jealous of her?

"You'll always be my wife, as long as you behave. Stop using divorce to threaten me. That trick doesn't work on me."

His tone was certain, completely convinced that I could never leave him.

Too bad. The Carol he knew was already dead.

I reached into my pocket and touched the wrinkled bankbook inside.

It was what my father had left for me.

There was only twenty thousand dollars in it—the savings he had scraped together by living frugally for years.

He had once told me, "Sweetheart, if one day, the Ellison family treats you badly, use this money to buy a ticket home."

However, I couldn't go home anymore though I was being bullied. Because I didn't have a home.

Jeff's voice came through the phone again.

"As long as you come home now, apologize to Luna, and admit you were talking nonsense before, I'll give you another million."

He paused briefly before adding casually, "Consider it… nutritional expenses for your dad."

I spoke clearly into the receiver, enunciating every word.

"Jeff, that's called funeral expenses. And we still haven't settled the score for you reversing the ransom payment and getting my father killed."

"What nonsense are you talking about?!" His voice suddenly rose. "What do you mean, reversing the ransom? I only—"

Before he could finish, I cut him off.

"You only wanted to teach me a lesson? Or were you freeing up money to take pictures with your mistress? Jeff, you disgust me."

With a sharp beep, I hung up. This time, I permanently blocked his number.

At last, the world fell silent.

I didn't return to that cold, empty mansion. Instead, I took my father's ashes and went to the old house on the outskirts of the city.

It was the only thing my father had left behind—a shabby little apartment less than five hundred square feet.

But for the first time in days, I felt safe.

I placed my father's urn on top of an old cabinet. Beside it sat the only photograph we had together.

In the picture, my father smiled honestly and warmly while I sat on his shoulders holding a lollipop.

Back then, we had been poor. But we had been happy.

"Dad, from now on, it'll just be the two of us."

I spoke softly as tears splashed onto the dusty floorboards.

After cleaning the house, I called Benson.

"Draft the divorce agreement for me. I'm filing for divorce."

The moment I hung up, violent pounding suddenly erupted from outside the door.

"Carol! Open up!"

It was Jeff.

He had actually found this place.

"I know you're in there! Why are you hiding? You had the guts to hang up on me, but now you don't dare face me? Open the door! Or I'll have someone tear this stupid door down!"

"Mr. Ellison, trespassing is illegal."

My voice was icy.

Jeff seemed caught off guard by my attitude.

"Carol, don't push your luck. I came here to give you a chance. As long as you come back with me now, we can forget everything that happened before. I'll arrange the best nursing home for your father, hire the best caretakers—"

"Jeff."

I interrupted him, my voice sharp as frozen steel.

"Are you incapable of understanding human language? My father is dead. You got him killed. While you were busy taking pictures with that assistant of yours, the kidnappers beat him to death."

Dead silence fell outside the door.

After a long while, Jeff finally spoke again. His voice carried the faintest tremor—along with even greater disbelief.

"You… you're making up stories again? You'd even tell a lie like this just to gain sympathy? Carol, you really disappoint me."

Leaning against the door, I closed my eyes.

Disappoint him? Who exactly had disappointed whom?

"Get lost."

"Carol!"

"GET LOST!!!"

I slammed my foot hard against the door, the impact making Jeff stumble back with a startled curse.

"Take your hypocrisy and get out of my sight! If you don't leave right now, I'm calling the cops!"

Silence returned outside.

After a long moment, the sound of leather shoes echoed faintly through the hallway, growing farther and farther away.

Less than ten minutes later, my phone buzzed with a text message from an unknown number.

It was Jeff.

[Tomorrow night is the Ellison Corporation anniversary gala. You will attend as my wife. After it's over, I'll agree to the divorce.]