I woke to the sight of a five-year-old, battered boy—my son.

Alaric Stroud, the man who had confessed his love to me just yesterday, was now my husband of six years. Yet, in that moment, I hadn’t fully grasped the twisted reality of it all.

He called.

“I’m spending my birthday with Tahlia today. Even if you beat my son to death, I won’t come back.”

I didn’t flinch. “Stop your childish tricks and behave.”

Before me, my son—wounded and trembling—shuffled forward. He held a cane out to me with shaky hands.

“Mom… hit me. I’m not afraid of the pain.”

I smiled, silent, and accepted the cane he offered. My voice was calm, almost soft. “Do you know where that bastard is?”

——

“Alaric, you seem quite happy.”

The cane felt heavy in my hand. My heels clicked sharply against the polished marble floor—thump, thump—like a countdown to his reckoning.

Before me stood a man transformed. Gone was the shy, blushing boy who had confessed his feelings yesterday. In his place was a composed, mature man in a crisp suit and tie, every line of his face radiating authority.

He frowned at me. “Maris, who told you to come? Leave!”

The woman clinging provocatively to his arm smiled slyly. “Sis, since you’re here, why not stay for my birthday party?”

“Alaric, she may be uninvited, but we can’t be rude to guests,” she added softly, but pride and defiance glinted in her eyes as she stared at me.

Alaric pinched her cheek helplessly, his voice dripping with reluctant affection. “Okay, it’s your birthday. You have the final say.”

Then his eyes found mine—a sharp, warning glare. “Tahlia is kindhearted. Just because she won’t hold a grudge doesn’t mean I won’t. Maris, behave if you stay. Otherwise, don’t blame me for being rude.”

Whispers rippled through the crowd.

“Why is that crazy woman here? Isn’t she going to drag the boy into her schemes again?”

“The young sir’s life is ruined with a mother like her. If I were Mr. Stroud, I’d have divorced her ages ago.”

“Last time, didn’t she think he was cheating and beat the child nearly to death? I wonder how the boy is now.”

“This woman’s a disaster. She’s dangerous to everyone around her. Will she snap here today?”

Tahlia Gray straightened, forcing a saccharine smile. “Don’t say that! She’s Emilio’s biological mother… Surely she—ah!”

Before she could finish, my whip cracked across her face.

The sharp snap echoed through the room. Tahlia shrieked, clutching her burning cheek. My smile widened.

“Tahlia, didn’t your mother teach you not to talk too much in public?” I said lightly.

Alaric’s face turned red with fury. He stormed toward me.

“Maris, how dare you—”

Snap.

The whip lashed again, and his gold-rimmed glasses flew from his face. A bright red welt blossomed across his fair, handsome cheek.

I stepped closer, voice cold as steel. “Alaric, did I ever tell you not to mess with me?”

When he confessed to me, I told him clearly:

If he ever crossed my line, I would kill him without mercy.

He hadn’t flinched. “Maris, if I ever wrong you, punish me. I won’t complain.”

For me—waking to a son and a husband—he said this just yesterday.

But for Alaric, six years had passed.

Six years since that promise.

The words had faded, leaving only emptiness.

“Maris, you’ve gone insane! Someone! Get this crazy woman out of here!”

I chuckled softly. “Alaric… do you want to see this?”

“What does a truly crazy woman look like?”

Tahlia, perched arrogantly beside him, sneered. “Maris! Since you can’t threaten Alaric with the child anymore, you’re trying some other trick?”

“Stop dreaming! Alaric has long been done with you, crazy woman. He loves me!”

Her smirk faltered as I advanced. Gripping her hair, I slammed her face-first into the cake.

Her voice turned into a strangled sob, muffled by frosting and layers of cream.

Alaric’s anger erupted. “Maris! Let Tahlia go! Or I swear—”

He lunged, trying to pull her free.

A sharp sneer crossed my lips. At the perfect moment, I drew the knife from my pocket and stabbed his hand.

A scream—half fear, half disbelief—ripped from him. I pressed the attack, laughing darkly. “Hahaha, Alaric… don’t you like to laugh? Why so serious? Were you born without a smile?”

Across the banquet hall, I saw it—Tahlia blowing out her birthday candles.

He was there. Standing beside her.

His eyes, black and soft, brimming with love. The same kind of love he had always shown me.

And the gaze he now gave me… genuine.

“Crazy! Let go!”

Alaric trembled, eyes wide with disbelief and resentment.

“Mom…”

My son, Soren, whispered from a distance, small and trembling.

I clicked my tongue, yanked the knife from Alaric’s hand, and threw Tahlia aside like a rag.

She fell face-first into the cake—eyes, nose, mouth—smeared with sticky frosting. Like a dying fish, she gasped for air on the floor.

Alaric’s body shook, sweat pouring down his temples, veins bulging. Hands trembling, his handsome face twisted in pain.

I ignored him.

I raised an eyebrow at my eldest son. “Soren… did you enjoy the show? Remember to write a 500-word review when you get home.”

Alaric’s voice rang out, sharp with outrage. “The boy is five! You brought him here to—have you considered the psychological damage?”

I scoffed, calm and deliberate. “Only the strong deserve to be my son. If he’s a coward, that’s on you, Alaric’s son.”

Soren’s small figure trembled. Confusion flickered in his eyes.

But the fear he had felt… was gone.

“Ridiculous! Maris! Someone like you isn’t fit to be a mother! A lunatic like you belongs in a mental hospital!”

Alaric gritted his teeth.

I laughed.

A smug, unrestrained laugh that echoed through the hall.

“Is that so? Then let’s go to hell together.”

After all, neither of us had ever been innocent.

On the way here, memories flashed through my haze.

I remembered the first time Alaric cheated—when I was pregnant.

Tahlia had come to my house, her body marked with ambiguous red traces, her smile dripping with provocation. She told me Alaric was hers now. She told me to step aside.

I had flown into a rage, rushing at her. But the stairs betrayed me. I fell. Premature labor followed.

From that moment, Alaric no longer hid his second relationship. He paraded Tahlia openly, taking her to every event, flaunting her in my face.

I argued. I confronted. I screamed.

He looked at me like I was insane. “Maris, look in the mirror,” he had sneered. “Ever since you got pregnant, you haven’t looked like a woman. Any man wouldn’t want a lunatic like you.”

He spent nights away, allowed Tahlia to send me photos to provoke me, while the child’s wails pierced my ears relentlessly.

Driven by that double torment, I lost myself.

Later, when I sought Alaric, I punished the child in every way I could—because only then would the tiniest spark of fatherly love in him flare.

And now, watching his face turn pale and blue, a twisted joy surged in me as a waltz-like march swelled in the banquet hall. It was a symphony for madness.

“Soren, watch closely! Your first lesson as a mother: how to drag the villain who betrayed you straight into hell!”

I laughed, wild and free, grabbing a chair and hurling it across the table. Glass and crystal shattered into a storm of fragments. Screams mingled with the high-pitched march.

I destroyed everything—every cake, every glittering decoration, every symbol of celebration—until the gorgeous, heartwarming birthday party lay in ruins.

“Enough! You’ve gone completely mad! Since you’re so reckless… I’m divorcing you!”

Alaric’s voice rang with a detached authority, his confidence laughable in the face of chaos.

I laughed harder. “Divorce me? Alaric… do you dare?”

I remembered the first time we met. A poor, timid student, sponsored by my parents, dressed in ill-fitting clothes, trembling at the slightest sound. He had called me Miss then, meek and deferential.

But that man was long gone. He no longer needed my family’s mercy.

Tahlia, smearing the frosting from her face, touched her still-unborn belly with a triumphant chuckle. “Besides… not only do you have a child, I have one too. Alaric and I will build a new home.”

The pride in her eyes was venomous, mocking me.

A thrill surged in my chest. It was time to teach her properly.

I grabbed her hair, yanking her back sharply, and plunged the knife into her womb.

“Son, pay attention!” I whispered, my voice cold and deliberate. “Your second lesson: how to handle unexpected hazards.”