When I was eight, Caelan Thorne set fire to an entire mental hospital just to save me.

When I was twenty-three, his mother spat “bitch” in my face, and he stabbed her to death—then proposed to me before her corpse.

Everyone knew Caelan loved me.

But eight years into our marriage, a pregnant girl swaggered into my office. She tossed a hard drive onto my desk—dozens of gigabytes filled with her and Caelan’s encounters. She tore open her collar, revealing a fresh kiss mark, and sneered.

“He’s been sick of you for years. How dare a barren hen like you occupy the title of Mr. Thorne?”

I stared at the mark on her skin, then drove my dagger into her stomach.

She shrieked but still managed to hit ‘send,’ her voice trembling through the recording.

“Five minutes, sign the divorce papers, and drag your eggless chickens away…

——

Look at the 8:35 mark in the fourth video. Caelan said it himself—he’ll never forgive you if you touch me!”

Her sobbing dragged me back. I clicked.

At 8:35, Caelan lay drenched in sweat, cradling her like she was his entire world. Tenderness softened his brows as he whispered,

“Eira, don’t worry. No one will ever bully you again—not even my wife. I love you.”

The girl laughed through her tears.

“Did you hear that? He loves me. He’s disgusted by you!”

Eight years ago, I had bitten my abusive father, and he threw me into that asylum. That same night, little Caelan rushed in with a torch, shouting,

“Serenya, don’t worry. I won’t let anyone in this world hurt you—not even your father.”

Now the girl’s sneer split my skull. My grip tightened. The blade carved across her face before plunging deep into her abdomen.

Her wail still echoed when Caelan burst through the door. His gaze flicked to the bleeding girl, then to me. His eyes burned red.

“Serenya, was this necessary?!”

He barked at his men, “Get her out—now!” His voice trembled with panic, his worry for her so raw it painted me a monster.

The pain in my temples throbbed. I lit a cigarette, exhaling smoke.

“Did you bring the divorce papers?”

At those words, the girl—half-carried out—snatched his wrist, her eyes brimming with pain.

“Caelan… don’t forget your promise. You said you’d give me a home. Don’t let her drive me away…”

Caelan’s pitying gaze followed her.

I lost the last of my patience. Pulling two sheets from my drawer, I threw them at his feet.

“No need. I prepared them myself. Sign.”

His face shifted as he picked up the papers, my cold words slicing through the air between us.

I strode forward and slammed my fist against the table.

“Serenya, we agreed—unless one of us dies, we’ll never talk about breaking up!”

I pulled the burning cigarette from my lips and pressed it into Caelan’s palm.

Then I reached for the knife on the table and dragged it toward my wrist.

Before the cold steel could touch my skin, Caelan seized it.

“Want to die? That’s too easy, Serenya. I won’t divorce you!”

“If I don’t leave, you’ll never give me a home.”

“It was just a lie to coax the child. I’m sorry it offended your ears.”

Ignoring the burn seared into his palm, he checked me frantically, his fingers trembling as they searched for blood.

“Serenya, enough. Two lives are enough to ease your anger.”

Then he tossed a phone at me. On the screen, the girl who had been screaming moments ago now lay motionless, her chest still.

But she wasn’t dead.

That was the second time Caelan had lied to me.

The first was when I was twenty-three—when he killed my mother for me. I had asked if he was heartbroken. His eyes were red, but he told me no.

The second was now—pretending the girl was gone, when he was only protecting her.

Three days later, I went to the hospital he had sealed off.

“Move. I know she’s inside.”

Caelan blocked my car, helplessness carved into his face.

“Serenya, I put her here for treatment. She’ll leave when she recovers. Do you really need to be so ruthless toward an unarmed girl?”

At the end, frustration edged into his voice, anger at being caught in his lie.

I sat in silence for a moment, then pulled the divorce papers from my car and flung them at his feet.

“Fine. Let me go. Sign it.”

The moment his eyes registered what it was, rage exploded across his face.

“Serenya, I told you—unless I die, we won’t break up!”

As soon as the words left his mouth, I slammed the accelerator. The car shot forward, straight at him.

He didn’t move. He only stared, his eyes carrying the same fire as when he carried me away from the blaze at eight years old, when he faced down the adults with sticks.

The distance was short. In a heartbeat, the impact hurled him backward, blood pouring from his mouth as his body convulsed on the ground.

Struggling, he picked up the divorce agreement, crumpled it in his fist, and shoved it between his teeth.

“Serenya—I told you. I won’t divorce you.”

As his men rushed him away, his figure blurred from sight. That was when I heard a delicate female voice behind him.

“Serenya Marlowe, you’re nothing but a woman trampled by thousands. Too dirty. You don’t deserve him.”

She stepped forward, her phone in hand. A familiar, piercing scream echoed from it—my own, at twenty-three, as I was beaten while trying to save Caelan.

“He was right to call you trash! He should have lived—you should have died!” Her smile twisted. “Caelen promised me after this he’d give me a wedding. A real wedding, not a funeral!”

Pain split my skull, sharp and unbearable.

I yanked the hairpin from my hair and drove it straight into her left eye.

Her scream mingled with the blood that burst across her face—and with my own cries from more than a decade ago.

The girl clutched her bleeding eye, writhing on the floor.

“Serenya, I’ll tell Caelan everything you did. I want him to kill you!”

I wiped the sticky blood from my cheek, arched an eyebrow, and said evenly,

“Alright. I’ll wait.”

That evening, I was soaking in my medicinal bath when Caelan burst in. His eyes froze on my frown.

The accident thirteen years ago had left me with a torment I couldn’t shake—if I missed a day of soaking, my organs felt as though they were being torn apart.

I sensed his anger had dulled. With a long sigh, he tossed a small cloth bag at my feet.

“Serenya, you went too far.”

The embroidered rabbits unraveled, and a blood-stained eyeball rolled onto the tiles.

“She was just a child. One cut to her face, one to her stomach, and now this… You’ve destroyed her life.”

I clenched my fists. “What about mine?!”

“Caelan, why did she have that video?! The one from thirteen years ago—me being violated, turned into her weapon of mockery. Tell me, wasn’t it right for me to gouge out her eye?”

My voice broke into a scream. “I hate that I didn’t go further! I should have done what they did to me—dragged a pack of beasts in front of you and let them tear her apart!”

My composure shattered. Wrapped in a towel, I staggered out, trembling as I reached for my phone.

Strong hands circled my waist, pulling me back into an embrace.

“Serenya… it’s my fault.”

A heavy sigh filled the darkened room, heavy as the silence thirteen years ago—when I dragged a half-dead Caelan by his torn clothes, when we huddled together with nothing but the sound of each other’s heartbeat.

Pain seared through me as I wriggled free.

“Caelan…”

“I won’t leave,” he cut in, his tone firm.

I opened my mouth to speak again, but the shrill ring of my phone sliced through the moment.

On the other end, her voice was sweet and eager.

“Caelan, did you do it? You promised—you’d return all my suffering to her. Where are her eyes? Did you bring them to me?”

“Eira…”

“I’m asking you a question. Did you bring them?!”

Her tone sharpened.

“The doctor says I’ll never have children again. I want her womb, her face—cut her into a hundred pieces! Or better—just kill her, Caelan. Kill her, and then we can be happy.”

Caelan hurried toward the door. In the darkness I couldn’t see his face. But just before it closed, I heard his voice, tender enough to melt.

“Eira… be good.”

The same tone he once used on me.

Thirteen years ago, after the doctor told me my unborn child had been beaten out of me, I stood on the hospital roof, ready to jump. He stood at a distance, panicked, coaxing me down with the same words.

“Serenya, be good. Even without a child, I’ll still love you. This love… I’ll only give to you.”

So his promise lasted only thirteen years.

Agony raked through my body until I collapsed in the corner, drenched in cold sweat.

Half-dreaming, I heard a sound outside the door.

The tearing of fabric.