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.”

A heart-wrenching scream tore through the air.

The smile on Tahlia’s face vanished, replaced by an endless, agonized cry.

She wailed, clutching herself, and Alaric’s eyes burned with rage. He stumbled forward, scooping up the bleeding girl.

“Don’t be afraid, Tahlia… you’ll be fine. I’ll take you to the hospital right now…” His voice trembled, taut with desperation.

Soren froze, horrified, his small figure rooted to the spot.

“Dad…” he whispered, dazed.

“Get out! You’re just as bad as your mother! The thing I regret most… is marrying her and having you!” Alaric screamed, veins throbbing, eyes icy with cold fury.

But he had forgotten.

I had never wanted children.

It had been him, coaxing me with sweet words: “Maris, a child is the fruit of love, a symbol of our happiness. Let’s have a baby… a complete family.”

And now, he regretted it. But it didn’t matter. He would have more regrets soon enough.

The birthday party dissolved into chaos. Guests fled in fear, no one daring to challenge me.

Soren stood frozen, tears brimming in his eyes. But he clenched his jaw, holding them back stubbornly.

I silently wiped the blood from my hands with a clean tablecloth, then walked to him.

“What’s wrong, little one? Afraid he won’t want you anymore?” I asked softly.

He glanced up, suppressing tears, then lowered his head.

“He never wanted me.”

His words cut deeper than any blade. The reason Alaric had returned home despite my threats was simple: at that time, Soren had been his only son. He may have been five, but he was sharp enough to see the truth.

After a flash of memories, I understood.

I crouched to his level. With a half-hearted, wry smile, I whispered, “Soren, remember the third lesson: how to protect your own interests.”

We got into my car. Alaric’s vehicle was not far behind.

I accelerated, closing the distance quickly. Rain and drizzle mixed with the breeze through the open window, giving me a clear view of him.

Alaric had taken the wheel himself. His body was stiff, face still etched with the fiery red marks of the whip, but he barely flinched. He soothed Tahlia in the back seat, her cries of pain slicing through the tense air.

“Tahlia… bear with it. The hospital’s almost here. Don’t fall asleep. I beg you.” His voice trembled with humility and fury at the same time. “Damn Maris… if anything happens, I’ll make her pay!”

A mocking smile tugged at the corners of my lips.

Without hesitation, I turned the wheel sharply, ramming his car.

The sudden force threw Alaric into a daze, and Tahlia, struggling in the back seat, toppled over with a shriek of pain.

Soon he regained consciousness, and through the window, he caught my smug, unrepentant smile.

Bloodshot eyes blazed with fury, his entire body trembling. He roared, “Maris! Are you fucking crazy? Don’t you know this is a main road? If anything happens, we’re all doomed!”

My smile widened, unshaken. I glanced at him and said nothing—letting the terror in his eyes speak for itself.

I turned the steering wheel again and rammed him.

Only then did Alaric realize—what I had said at the banquet hall wasn’t empty threats. I truly wanted to drag him down with me.

His pale lips pressed together. For the first time, his composure faltered. He spoke in a careful, negotiating tone:

“Maris… calm down. After I get her to the hospital, we can talk. Okay?”

Anxious flickers betrayed him, despite the practiced calm.

But I remembered the twenty-six-year-old me, speaking to him in that same tone.

“Alaric… as long as you come back to your family and treat me and our son right, I can forgive you for having a mistress.”

Back then, he had sneered, “Maris, don’t be so naive. Things will never go back to the way they were. Don’t dream of me being your dog anymore.”

Those memories, though unfamiliar, felt alive in my bones.

A playful smile curled across my lips. I flung the knife, still dripping with his blood, through the car window.

“Alaric… I’ll give you two choices to end this chase.”

“One: castrate yourself.”

“Two: go to hell with me.”

“Life or death… which will it be?”