The year I loved her most, my mother forced me to break up.

The year I hated her most, I crippled her father and made her sign a letter of apology.

And in that same year, a man I’d never seen before barged into my house, slammed a divorce agreement on the table, and sneered:

“God has punished her by marrying someone she doesn’t love. Now she’s carrying my child. If you know what’s good for you, sign it.”

I turned to Aveline.

“Really?”

She hesitated—half a minute of silence that said everything. I dropped the iron rod at my feet.

“Abortion, or watching me beat him to death. Your choice.”

Without flinching, she told the bodyguard, “Book me an abortion.”

I struck her across the face.

“No. You’ll do it yourself.”

——

Her fists clenched, veins rising on her temples.

“Gideon, that’s enough!”

“Enough? Killing isn’t enough. After all, that’s my flesh and blood.”

Laurent Hale, pale moments ago, suddenly straightened, clinging to her like a shield. His delicate hands were spotless, unlike mine—scarred by blades, guns, and years of bloodshed. She’d kept him untouched, sheltered, and yet foolish enough to bring him here.

“Brother, do you hear me? Aveline won’t hurt me or our child. You’ve been married to her for five years without giving her a son. Don’t you get it? We’re just offering you a way out—”

His words dissolved into screams. By the time Aveline blinked, he was on the floor, darts buried in his groin and knees.

I lit a cigarette with the divorce agreement, exhaling a ring of smoke as I admired him writhing in blood.

“She never told you, did she? I only go up, never down. I crippled her father once—who the hell are you to me?”

The bodyguard leaned in and whispered that Laurent’s groin was destroyed.

“Good. Cut it off. Let’s see what kind of ‘taste’ our President Drayton really has.”

“Gideon!”

Cold steel pressed against my throat. Aveline Drayton’s eyes burned crimson.

“Don’t drag Laurent into your madness! He isn’t like us. Must you be this ruthless?!”

That fury—I’d seen it once before, when my mother forced me to leave her. She’d turned those eyes on my family, driven my mother insane, and laughed when I crippled her father. Back then, she had whispered to me with blood on her lips:

“Yes, Gideon, that’s it. Be as crazy as me, as brutal as me. Then no one will say we aren’t a match.”

But now? She was crying over her angel.

I stroked the edge of her blade with my fingertips and smiled.

“I gave you a chance. You refused. Husband and wife are one—so I did it for you. Look at him now: your lover can’t even crawl. He’s nothing but a dog.”

The crack of shattering glass split the air.

I picked up a jagged shard and pressed it against her arm, dragging it until blood bloomed.

The room reeked of iron. Her gasps mingled with his howls.

Guns cocked, dark muzzles aimed at me from all sides. I only shrugged, pressing the shard closer to her artery, hands steady as ever.

“How much blood do you need to spill before the bastard in your belly dies?”

Aveline’s black eyes locked on mine—flat, unreadable.

A crisp clang broke the tension as the knife slipped from her hand. Then she smiled and turned—not at me, but at the subordinate with a gun aimed my way.

“How dare you point a weapon at my husband? Put it down.”

The man froze, then obeyed.

Aveline’s gaze lingered on the wound I had carved into her arm, almost to the bone. She admired it like a jewel before lifting her eyes to me.

“Have you vented enough?” Her voice was calm, almost tender. “Gideon, we’re husband and wife. I’ll forgive you this time. But the next time you lose control—make sure you know who you’re aiming at.”

I pressed out my cigarette on her shoulder.

“Take your dog and your bastard and get out.”

She helped Laurent to his feet, her eyes still fixed on my neck. The blade had left a red line across it. For a moment, I thought she might let go—rob me of the pleasure of carving her deeper.

She reached for me. I sidestepped.

“Careful. Filthy diseases spread through blood. Don’t contaminate me.”

She ignored the insult. Supporting Laurent, she kicked over our anniversary cake, grinding the figurines into paste. Without looking back, she walked out.

At the door, she paused only long enough to tell the housekeeper:

“Apply medicine to the master’s neck. Don’t let him touch water, or it could infect.”

The door shut. Then came Laurent’s panicked cry:

“Aveline—you’re bleeding! Our child!”

I looked at the iron rod lying abandoned on the floor. She hadn’t done it herself. That was the end of us.

That night, the headlines told of Aveline chartering helicopters and calling in specialists from across the country—to save another man. The footage showed her eyes shining with devotion. Even after miscarrying, she refused to sleep, guarding Laurent as if he were made of glass.

The housekeeper scrubbed at the blood and cream on the carpet, her lips tight with anger.

“Mr. Gideon, this is too much. You’ve given her everything. You even stayed up all night to make this cake, and she ruined it for him…”

The red wine, frosting, and blood smeared together into a foul slurry.

“It’s fine,” I said evenly. “Trash belongs in the trash.”

The doorbell rang. A courier handed me a package: a bouquet of lace panties, stained. His expression twisted with disgust as he showed me his phone. The sender demanded a video confirmation.

Onscreen, Laurent grinned.

“Do you like my gift? Lonely on your anniversary, huh? Don’t say I’m heartless—I even shared Aveline’s touch with you. Don’t be shy. I’ve got plenty more.”

He flashed photos of their intimacy, savoring every second.

“Thanks to you, Aveline feels even guiltier about me. She swore our child’s death won’t go unavenged. You’ll pay. She calls me her angel, Gideon. You? You’re just a mad dog bound for hell.”

I laughed softly.

“Angel? Pity. Because an angel who only knows how to spread his legs isn’t worthy to be the head of the our family.”

Aveline promised she would make me pay. She wasn’t bluffing.

A few days later, I put on my favorite suit, styled my hair, and headed to the airport—ready to greet the woman I still called beloved.

My bodyguard called, his voice shaking.

“Mr. Thornwell… your rosary beads were taken by Mr. Gideon’s people. They said it was a discharge gift for Laurent. We tried to stop them, but they beat us.”

I tracked them down to the villa on the outskirts of Texas.

Once, it was a wedding gift from Aveline to me. Now it had become their love nest.

The décor was redone to Laurent’s taste—trees in the yard trimmed into the shape of two people kissing.

When I arrived, they were grilling in the garden, feeding each other mouth-to-mouth like love-struck children.

Laurent spotted me and grinned, slipping his arm through Aveline’s.

“Brother, you came. Did you finally realize Aveline loves me more? That her neglect drove you to apologize? Or…” He raised his wrist, showing off the beads.

“…are you here for these? I heard you spent a billion on them. Precious, huh? Aveline gave them to me because I’ve been having nightmares. She said they’d calm me. Just like this villa—also compensation from her.”

Aveline pinched his nose indulgently.

“Gideon, control your dogs. If they touch Laurent again, I’ll cut off their paws and feed them to the strays. As for the beads and the villa—take it as your apology. Don’t lose your head.”

I laughed. The sound was hollow, dangerous.

So this was the same woman who once pushed me into madness, who thrilled at every outburst, who delivered my enemies to me for torture.

And now she recoiled from the very madness she once adored?

I pulled a folder from my bag and hurled it in her face.

“Aveline, look carefully.”

Her expression barely flickered.

“Those aren’t beads. That’s our dead child.”

The words hit the yard like thunder.

I remembered the night like poison.

She was kidnapped, and I stormed the enemy base to save her. That’s when I discovered where my son had been taken.

On the surveillance feed, I watched as they strung his tiny two-month-old body into prayer beads. While I faltered, blades pierced me dozens of times, stealing my ability to father another child.

I slit my captor’s throat, faked my death, but the beads were already gone.

Aveline stared at the documents, silent. Then she turned to Laurent.

“Laurent, I’ll find you better beads. This one—”

“I won’t!” His voice cracked, desperate. “The seller said the child’s birth hour gave him a Oracle’s blessing. Beads like these calm the mind, strengthen the body. Nothing else compares.”

His eyes filled with tears as he clutched Aveline’s hand.

“Didn’t you say you’d make it up to me for that night? That you’d compensate me? Then give me this. The doctor said I might never have children again. Only these beads can heal me. Aveline, I want the fruit of our love.”

Tears slid down his face, pitiful, shameless.

And Aveline… chose him.

She leveled me with a cold gaze.

“The child has been dead for years. What use is it to bury beads in the dirt? Better Laurent have them than waste them.”

“Aveline,” I roared, “that was your child too! Do you know how many years I bled to track them down, just to give him a grave? My enemy mocked me to his deathbed, never revealing who bought them.”

She only rubbed her temples, impatient, as if my grief was nothing but noise.