Nathan stood nearby, ink bottle in hand, looking insufferably pleased with himself.

"Two whole years you spent on that painting. Let's see you show off in front of Kathleen now that it's ruined."

I saw red. My fist connected with his face before I even realized I'd swung.

"You're always spreading rumors that I make you work like a servant?" I grabbed him by the collar. "Fine. For the next three days, you will be my servant. You're going to clean every inch of this studio until it's spotless."

That's when the door burst open.

Kathleen stormed in, took one look at the scene, and immediately pulled Nathan behind her like a shield.

"Abner, can you please get your temper under control?" Her voice dripped with disapproval. "Nathan tries so hard. Yes, he comes from a difficult background—but why do you always have to target him?"

My chest heaved. "Kathleen, you need to understand—he started this—"

Before I could finish, Nathan ducked further behind her, his face crumpling into a mask of wounded innocence.

"Kathleen, it's my fault. I was just trying to help Abner clean the studio, and I accidentally knocked over the ink onto his painting." His voice cracked perfectly. "He said he'd sell me to a nightclub. And then he—he called my mother a whore. Said she gave birth to a little whore."

Tears streamed down his cheeks. "I can take the hitting. I can take the yelling. But why did he have to drag my mother into this?"

He was good. I had to give him that. Every sob, every trembling word—flawless.

Kathleen didn't ask me for my side. Didn't investigate. Didn't even hesitate.

She just looked at me with cold disappointment. "Abner, what's happened to you? I don't even recognize you anymore."

I wanted to scream.

Even with Kathleen defending him, I refused to back down. Nathan served those three days as promised.

When it was over, Kathleen acted like nothing had happened. She just sighed—light, dismissive.

"Abner, that temper of yours... when are you going to grow out of it? It was just a painting." She waved her hand. "You've had your revenge. Let it go."

I was naive enough to believe it was over.

A few days later, news broke that Kathleen's company had gone bankrupt.

She was arrested shortly after, leaving me to deal with the wreckage.

At first, I wasn't worried. Even if the Vance family collapsed, I still had my parents.

I called them immediately.

Both numbers had been disconnected.

Panic clawed at my throat. I rushed home—only to have Butler Thatcher deliver the news in a hollow voice.

The day the Vance family's troubles became public, my parents had rushed back to help. Their car hit a landslide on a mountain road.

Neither survived.

My world collapsed overnight.

No parents. No husband to lean on. I sold everything I owned and moved into a damp basement, hiding from the loan sharks who'd somehow inherited my debts.

I couldn't sleep. Every creak, every shadow—I waited for them to find me.

They did.

A group of men stormed into the basement with wooden clubs. I curled into a ball, but it didn't matter.

Two ribs, broken. My wrist, shattered.

I would never hold a paintbrush again.

It took three years for me to accept my fate.

I gave up everything—my art, my pride, my hope—just to survive.

And now I was being told it was all a lie.

Kathleen's "punishment" had stripped me to the bone and rebuilt me into someone I didn't recognize.

My phone buzzed.

A message from Kathleen.

"Abner, I'm getting released in three days. Don't forget to pick me up."

My hand tightened around the phone until my knuckles went white. A dull ache spread through my chest.

Even now, she was still playing her part.

She was already at the birthday party. I'd seen it with my own eyes—her arms around Nathan, the massive cake, the beautiful decorations, everyone celebrating.

And she was still treating me like a fool.

I stared at those words until tears blurred my vision.

I blinked them away and read the message again.

I typed out a reply:

"Okay. I'll pick you up in three days."

Three days later, I didn't expose Kathleen's lies. I went to the prison gates to collect her.

I spotted her from a distance—dressed in tattered clothes, playing the part of a woman ruined by bankruptcy. She'd even used makeup to paint a fake scar across her face.

When she saw me, she limped over, throwing herself into my arms.

"Abner!"

She clung to me, eyes brimming with tears.

"I worked so hard to atone while I was inside. They said my behavior was exemplary, so they released me early." Her voice trembled with practiced emotion. "Abner, these past few years must have been so hard on you."

She looked at me with such devotion—as if she'd truly suffered three years behind bars.

I gently pushed her away, my expression unchanged. "It's good you're out."

Kathleen faltered, something flickering in her eyes. She seemed to sense something was off. But then, in the next instant, she grabbed my wrist.

"Abner, what happened to your wrist?"

Her concern looked genuine. The worry in her face didn't seem fake.

But I found it laughable.

Kathleen, what are you pretending for?

You're the one who sent those people—the ones disguised as debt collectors who beat me until I looked like this.

And now you play innocent?

A hollow weariness settled over me. Or maybe I was just afraid to face what would happen when the lies finally crumbled.

"It's nothing. I fell." I pulled my hand free. "The doctor said it'll heal with time."

Kathleen exhaled, visibly relieved. "That's good."

She reached for my hand again, lacing her fingers through mine with exaggerated tenderness.

"The injury's on your right wrist. If it gets worse and affects your painting, you'll be devastated." Her voice dripped with saccharine concern.

Every word was a knife.

I used to have extraordinary talent. International awards, critical acclaim—everyone said I had a brilliant future ahead of me.

But for the drug trials. For the money.

To get Kathleen out of prison sooner.

I let them destroy my wrist.

Now I can't even hold a brush.

And it turns out all of it—every sacrifice—was just part of some twisted punishment game Kathleen had orchestrated.

How pathetic.

I stayed silent the entire drive. Kathleen grew visibly nervous, filling the quiet with a stream of chatter—stories about prison life, carefully rehearsed anecdotes she'd clearly pulled from the internet.

All to convince me she'd really spent three years locked away.

I listened without hearing, and when she finally paused, I asked quietly:

"Kathleen."

"Did I do something wrong?"

She went rigid. Her eyes reddened as she turned to face me.

"What do you mean, Abner? Why would you ask that?"

My mind drifted to the last time I'd been allowed to visit.

I'd been so happy. I'd saved up my meager allowance for weeks, bought meat and vegetables, cooked everything myself, and brought it to her.

No wonder she'd wrinkled her nose and refused to eat.

The food was too cheap for her.

Of course it was. I thought she'd been suffering in prison for three years.

But the whole time, she'd been traveling the world with her male assistant—dining on imported delicacies and five-star meals.

Why would she ever lower herself to share my hardship?

Even that prison visit had been theater. A hundred and twenty dollars to rent out the scene and play her part.

Three years. Three years I'd been their fool, their plaything, spinning in circles while they laughed.

Tears slid down my cheeks before I could stop them.

Kathleen's composure cracked. She lunged forward, dabbing at my face.

"Abner, why are you crying? Did someone hurt you?"

I looked into her eyes.

"If someone hurt me, what would you do?"

"Would you still protect me like you swore before—no matter the cost, even if it meant your life?"

Kathleen's hands trembled as she grabbed tissues to wipe my tears.

She didn't hesitate. Just nodded, fierce and certain.

"Anything, Abner. Whatever you need—just say it. I'll make it happen."

I held her gaze. Those eyes, so earnest. So sincere.

"Really?"

"Then I want you to kill Nathan."

Her head snapped up. She stared at me, frozen.

"What did you just say?"

Panic flickered across her face. "Did something happen? Did you misunderstand something?"

She was terrified I'd caught on.

Her whole body went rigid.

"After the company went under, Nathan resigned and moved abroad. I haven't had any contact with him in three years."

"Did he come after you while you were in prison? If he did, I swear I'll make him pay—"

I caught her wrist. Let out a soft laugh.

"I'm kidding."

"Murder's illegal, you know."

"You just got out of prison. How could I bear to send you back?"

"I was just teasing."

I turned away to grab something, keeping my expression hidden.

She couldn't see my face. Couldn't see what was really there.

She thought it was just a joke. I heard her exhale—relief bleeding out of her.

"Abner, I'm sorry."

"These three years... you've suffered so much."

I didn't turn around.

But in my heart, I thought:

It's fine.

Your reckoning is coming.

After Kathleen's release, I started making frequent trips to the hospital.

The doctor pulled me aside. "Are you really not going to tell your family?"

"This isn't some minor illness. Your wife has a right to know."

I shook my head, smiling faintly.

"Let's leave it. I don't want her to know. And I don't want treatment anymore."

Kathleen was lurking in the corridor, catching fragments of the conversation. But not enough to piece together.

When I walked out, she was waiting.

"How did it go?" Concern painted her features. "What did the doctor say?"

I smiled and shook my head, about to answer—

When Nathan's call cut through.

"Kathleen, I've got way too much cake at my place. Come help me finish it?"

"Oh, and I bought you a bikini set. Want to come try it on?"

"Sure. I'm on my way."

Her lips curved upward—just slightly—as she replied, voice perfectly calm.

She thought I hadn't heard. Covered the phone with her hand and turned to me, expression serious.

"Abner, remember that new project I mentioned? I'm going to discuss it now. If it works out, we might actually get back on our feet."

I stared into Kathleen's eyes.

When she'd proposed to me, those same eyes had been filled with sincerity.

Now they held that same sincerity.

But the lies spilling from her lips? She didn't even blink.

My gaze must have unnerved her. She started to fidget, nearly tripping over her own composure.

"Abner, are you... is something wrong?"

"Go ahead."

"If you can turn things around, you won't have to worry about those debt collectors anymore."

Those debt collectors—every single one of them sent by Kathleen herself.

They'd cornered me in that dead-end alley.

Stripped the house of anything worth taking.

Most days, I went three days between meals. When the hunger became unbearable, I'd drink tap water until my stomach stopped screaming.

Kathleen let out a breath of relief, grabbed her coat, and walked out.

I watched her retreating figure. Felt my gaze turn cold.

I thought about last night—waking up in tears, asking Kathleen—