After what happened, I went inside my room, shutting the door behind me. My heart pounded in my chest, but not from fear—just exhaustion. Every second in this house drained me. Every breath felt like a battle.

I sank onto the bed and reached for my phone. With trembling fingers, I dialed the divorce lawyer.

“Send the papers as soon as possible,” I said, my voice steady despite the storm raging inside me. “I don’t care how much it costs. Just make sure Cameron gets them within the week.”

“Understood, Mrs. Smith,” the lawyer replied. “You’ll have them by tomorrow.”

Mrs. Smith. I hated that name.

After ending the call, another message popped up.

Brother: Everything is ready. Just hold on a little longer. You leave on Tyron’s birthday.

I let out a slow breath, gripping my phone like a lifeline. Just a few more days. I had to endure this hell for just a little longer.

But leaving meant going back—to a home I once ran from.

Years ago, after our parents died, my brother wanted me to stay and help run the business. But I was young, reckless, and grieving. I didn’t want to be tied down by responsibilities or expectations. I wanted freedom. And Cameron had been my escape.

I thought he was my salvation.

I was wrong.

Now, I had no choice but to return. I had to pick up the pieces I left behind because staying here would destroy me.

A loud thud snapped me from my thoughts.

I sat up, listening. The sound had come from Cameron’s office. Something heavy had fallen.

Without thinking, I rushed out of my room and down the hall. When I reached the office, my eyes widened at the mess inside. Papers were scattered everywhere. The blueprint of one of Cameron’s most important projects lay crumpled on the floor.

And in the middle of the chaos stood Tyron.

Smirking.

“Oops,” he said, feigning innocence. “Sorry. Daddy will surely get mad at you.”

My stomach twisted in frustration. I had spent five years trying to love this boy, trying to be there for him. And still, he wanted to see me suffer.

“Enough,” I said, my patience running thin. “Tyron, why would you do this? Do you even understand how important those papers are?”

He shrugged, kicking at a pile of documents like they meant nothing.

I clenched my fists. “You can’t just do whatever you want and expect no consequences.” My voice rose slightly, exasperation spilling over. “One day, this attitude will—”

Tyron’s lip trembled. Then, in an instant, he started crying.

Before I could even process what was happening, he turned and ran.

And then—

A thud. A sharp cry.

My breath caught as I saw him sprawled on the floor, holding his knee. His wails filled the air, loud and piercing.

I rushed forward, but before I could help him, a new voice cut through the tension.

“She pushed him.”

I turned sharply. Nadine stood at the doorway, arms crossed, eyes alight with cruel amusement.

“What?” My voice shook with disbelief. “I did not—”

“Cameron!” Nadine’s voice rang through the house. “Come here, quick! Zoe hurt Tyron!”

Panic surged through me.

Heavy footsteps thundered down the hall. Within seconds, Cameron appeared, his gaze immediately locking onto the scene—Tyron sobbing on the floor, Nadine standing over him like a protective mother, and me, standing helplessly in the middle of it all.

“What the hell did you do?” Cameron’s voice was sharp, accusing.

“I didn’t do anything!” I shot back, my pulse pounding. “He tripped while running—”

Cameron’s jaw tightened. “So, you’re saying Tyron is lying?”

I swallowed hard. “Yes. That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

Silence.

Tyron sniffled, then looked up at his father, eyes wet but filled with something else—triumph.

“I—I just wanted to play…” he mumbled. “But she got mad. She yelled at me… and then…” He hiccupped. “She doesn’t like me, Daddy.”

My nails dug into my palms.

Cameron turned to me, his face darkening. “If anything worse had happened to him, Zoe, I swear—”

“I didn’t do anything!” I snapped, frustration boiling over. “And you never listen to me! You believe her without question. You believe your son even when he lies. But me? I’m always the villain, aren’t I?”

Cameron’s expression was ice. “That’s because you are the villain, Zoe.”

His words sliced through me.

I took a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “Then why keep me here? Why not just let me go?”

He scoffed, stepping closer, his voice low enough that only I could hear.

“Because you still serve a purpose,” he murmured. “And because I enjoy watching you break.”

Something inside me snapped.

For years, I had stayed. For years, I had endured. But I was done.

My lips curled into a bitter smile. “You know what, Cameron?” I whispered, shaking my head. “Fine. You win. I don’t care anymore.”

I turned to Tyron, who was still watching me, waiting for me to beg or apologize.

I knelt in front of him, leveling my gaze with his. “You’ve always made it clear that you don’t want me as your mother,” I said, my voice eerily calm. “Well, I finally agree with you.”

I stood up, dusting off my dress as I turned on my heel. “So congratulations, Tyron. You got what you wanted. I will never be your mother because I hate evil children!”

With that, I walked away.

I was done being the weak girl.

The day of the birthday had finally arrived.

I stood by the window, gripping my phone tightly as I whispered, “I’m ready. You can send the limousine.”

On the other end of the line, my brother exhaled heavily. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” I said, voice firm. “I’ve wasted enough time here.”

My brother’s voice softened. “You’re my sister, Zoe. No matter what happened, I’ll always take you back.” Then his tone sharpened. “And don’t worry. I’ll arrange a marriage for you. I’ll make sure that bastard regrets ever laying a finger on you.”

Before I could reply, he hung up.

I closed my eyes, inhaling deeply. Just one more night. Then I’d be free.

The party was grand, as expected. The hall was decorated with extravagant displays, chandeliers casting golden light over the elegantly dressed guests. Waiters moved through the crowd, offering wine. The elite of the city had gathered to celebrate Tyron’s birthday, sipping champagne and exchanging empty pleasantries.

I wore one of the dresses Cameron had ordered me to wear—from his late wife’s closet. The fabric clung to my skin like a ghost, suffocating me with memories that weren’t mine.

Then, suddenly—

“You’re wearing my mom’s clothes!”

Tyron’s sharp voice cut through the party, echoing across the hall.

Heads turned. Conversations halted. A heavy silence fell over the room as all eyes landed on me.

Tyron stood at the center of it all, his face flushed with anger. His small hands clenched into fists, his eyes burning with pure hatred. “You can’t wear my mother’s clothes! I hate you! You’re not my mom!”

A murmur spread through the crowd.

“She must be a terrible stepmother.”

“How cruel… wearing the first wife’s dress in front of his son?”

“She’s trying to replace her. It’s disgusting.”

The weight of their judgment pressed down on me. But I didn’t care. Not anymore.

Then, as if on cue, Nadine stepped forward, her voice soft and soothing. “Tyron, calm down,” she said, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

And just like that, Tyron quieted. His anger melted away as he let her comfort him.

More whispers.

“She’s the one who should be the mother.”

“Cameron and Nadine would make a better couple. That woman doesn’t belong.”

I barely heard them. My body felt numb. I was so, so tired. I didn’t even care anymore. I just wanted to leave.

Then Cameron appeared.

With that ever-present fake warmth, he crouched in front of Tyron and gently said, “Son, apologize to your mother. She’d taken care of you for years. She is your mother.”

Tyron shook his head violently. “No! She killed my mom! She’s evil!”

Another wave of murmurs.

I stood frozen, my nails digging into my palms.

I was done.

Without another word, I turned and walked out of the hall.

The whispers followed me, but I didn’t stop. The air outside was cold against my burning skin, but I welcomed it. Anything was better than staying in that suffocating room.

Then—footsteps.

Cameron.

His eyes blazed with anger as he hissed, “What was that? Why would you walk out on me?”

For a split second, my mind betrayed me—flashing back to a time when he wasn’t this cold, ruthless man.

I remembered the way he used to look at me, his eyes filled with warmth instead of resentment. The late-night drives when we talked about dreams, the mornings when he’d pull me into his arms and whisper promises against my skin. I remembered the man who once kissed my bruised knuckles after I burned myself in the kitchen, murmuring, “Be careful, love. I can’t stand seeing you hurt.”

That man was long gone.

Instead of answering, I reached into my bag, pulled out the stack of papers I had finalized the night before, and threw them into his chest.

“Let’s divorce,” I said coldly. “Whether you like it or not.”

Cameron stared at the divorce papers in his hands, his expression darkening. Then, without hesitation, he tore them apart, the sound of ripping paper slicing through the air like a death sentence.

"You can never divorce me," he said, his voice dripping with finality. "And that is final. You signed up for this the moment you chose to marry me."

I clenched my fists, my body trembling. "I signed up for love, Cameron," I spat. "But you fooled me."

His lips curled into a cruel smirk. "Love?" He laughed, the sound cold and merciless. "And where did that get you?" He took a step closer, his towering frame suffocating. "If you divorce me, where will you go? You have nowhere. No family. No one."

I held my chin high, masking the truth that he would never see coming. That’s just what you think, Cameron.

But I wasn’t stupid enough to tell him.

"That’s none of your business," I said through gritted teeth.

His smirk vanished. In a flash, his fingers wrapped around my wrist, yanking me forward with enough force to throw me off balance.

“You’re mine, Zoe. You don’t get to walk away.”

I stumbled, my breath hitching as I tried to pull free, but his grip only tightened. His eyes, cold and possessive, locked onto mine, daring me to challenge him.

“I’m done,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t belong here, Cameron. And I don’t want to.”

His expression darkened. “You don’t get to decide that.”

I jerked back with all my strength, but in the struggle, I lost my footing. My heel slipped against the rug, and before I could steady myself, I was falling—fast.

The sharp edge of the coffee table caught me square in the stomach as I landed, knocking the breath from my lungs. A choked gasp escaped my lips as pain shot through my abdomen, burning deep and unforgiving. My hands trembled as I pressed against the floor, trying to catch my breath, but the world spun around me in dizzying waves.

Cameron took a step back, watching me with a look that was more annoyance than concern. “You should be more careful, Zoe,” he said, his tone laced with mockery.

I forced myself to sit up, one hand clutching my stomach as nausea curled in my throat. My body screamed in protest, but I refused to let him see my weakness.

I would not give him that satisfaction.

Swallowing hard, I pushed myself upright and met his gaze with as much defiance as I could muster. “I won’t stay, Cameron. No matter what you do. No matter what you say.”

He scoffed, as if my words were nothing more than a child’s empty rebellion. “You’re forgetting something, sweetheart,” he said, stepping closer, his shadow falling over me. “You have nowhere to go.”

I swallowed against the lump in my throat. He was wrong. I did have somewhere to go. And in a few days, I’d be gone.

I just had to survive until then.

"Stay here," he ordered. "And don’t even think about escaping. Next time, I won’t go so easy on you."

Then he turned and walked out, slamming the door shut. The unmistakable sound of the lock clicking into place sent a wave of dread through me.

I was trapped. Again. Why? I don’t understand why he couldn’t just let me go when he doesn’t love me anymore.

Tears streamed down my face as I curled into myself, shaking. My trembling fingers found my phone beneath the pillow. It was my only lifeline.

I dialed my brother’s number, my breath uneven.

"Zoe?" His voice was sharp, urgent.

"Help me," I whispered, my voice barely audible. "Please, get me out of here. Right now.”

"I’m on my way," he said immediately. "I’ll be there as soon as possible."

The call ended, but my fear only grew.

I can’t wait that long.

My whole body ached as I forced myself to stand, my ribs screaming in protest. My mind raced, searching for a way out.

Then I thought of the balcony.

Dragging my broken body toward the glass doors, I flung them open, letting the cold night air hit my face. Below, the estate grounds stretched out in eerie silence, the towering iron gates taunting me with their distance. Five floors up—it was a risk, but I had no choice.

With shaking hands, I grabbed the bedsheets, knotting them together, twisting them tight. If I could just get halfway down, maybe—

A sharp, warm sensation spread between my legs.

I froze.

Slowly, my gaze dropped to the floor. A dark red stain bloomed at my feet, soaking through my dress, pooling against my trembling thighs.

Blood.

Panic clawed at my throat. My hands flew to my abdomen, a wave of realization crashing over me.

Oh, God… am I… pregnant?

I hadn’t even thought about it—not once. With everything happening, I hadn’t noticed the missed periods, the nausea, the exhaustion. I didn't even realize I forgot to drink my pills.

Terror settled in my bones.

Then—

The door creaked open just as I was already hanging on there.

My breath caught.

For a split second, I thought it was Cameron, coming back to finish what he started. But as I turned, I was met with something just as terrifying.

Tyron.

His small frame stood in the doorway, bathed in the dim glow of the hallway. His blonde curls cast eerie shadows against the walls, his tiny hands curled into fists. But it wasn’t his presence that sent chills down my spine.

It was the look in his eyes. Pure, unfiltered hatred.

He glanced at the knotted sheets, his face twisting into something cruel as he leaned down to look at me hugging the sheets, halfway down.

“What are you doing?” His voice was cold, unfeeling.

I couldn’t speak. I could barely think.

Tyron’s expression darkened. “Are you trying to leave?”

I opened my mouth, desperate to reason with him, but before I could utter a single word—

His lips curled into a wicked smile. With a gleam in his eyes, he raised the scissors and sliced through half of the sheets. The sickening sound of fabric tearing echoed in the room, the remaining half barely holding together.

“Beg me like a dog, dear stepmother,” he sneered. “Then maybe I’ll spare you.”

“You’re insane,” I spat, my voice steady despite the fear clawing at my chest. “I’d rather die than beg you.”

His smile widened into something twisted—almost delighted. Then, with a soft chuckle, he whispered, “As you wish.”

He raised the scissors once more, this time aiming directly to cut through the final threads.