"No!"

Beth's scream tore through the auction hall, raw and guttural, and the entire room went silent.

She dropped to her knees, trying to piece the fragments back together. The jagged edges sliced into her fingers, blood streaming down and dripping onto the red gemstones until she couldn't tell which was blood and which was tears.

She couldn't feel the pain. She cradled the shattered pieces in her trembling hands.

Her mother's gentle face flickered before her eyes, over and over. Her mother wearing those earrings while watering flowers on the balcony. Her mother holding her on her lap, telling her stories.

Jeanette stood off to the side, clutching her wrist, her voice thin and teary: "Mr. Henson, look, my wrist is all red. It really hurts."

Melvin turned immediately, taking Jeanette's wrist in both hands, examining it with exaggerated care, his brow furrowed deep: "How is it this bad? Is it swelling? Someone call an ambulance!"

Beth rose slowly to her feet. She walked up to Jeanette, her voice hoarse but clear: "Jeanette Pruitt, get on your knees. Right now. Apologize to my mother."

Jeanette's face went white. She shrank back a step. "I... I didn't mean to break them."

"Didn't mean to?" Beth let out a cold laugh, her eyes rimmed red. "Do you have any idea what those earrings meant to me? You did it on purpose."

She seized Jeanette by the arm and forced her toward the ground. "I said apologize. Apologize to my mother!"

Jeanette was shaking all over, her knees inches from the floor, when a pair of hands caught her.

Melvin stepped forward and crouched down, shielding Jeanette behind him, pulling her into his arms. He looked up at Beth, his eyes ice-cold:

"Enough! Beth, can you be reasonable for once? I bought those earrings for Jeanette. They were hers. She broke her own property. What right do you have to demand an apology?"

"And you grabbed her first. You hurt her, and that's why she dropped them. When it comes down to it, you brought this on yourself. If you'd just let her wear them, none of this would have happened. You're the one who should be apologizing!"

Beth stood frozen. She was the one who should apologize?

Her mother's only keepsake, stolen from her, smashed to pieces, and wanting it back was her fault?

Jeanette's wrist didn't even have a mark on it, and he was ready to call an ambulance.

Her fingers were slick with blood, and he hadn't spared her a single glance.

"Melvin Henson." She spoke each word separately, each one a blade. "Say that again."

Melvin's frown deepened. "I'll say it as many times as you need to hear it. Jeanette did nothing wrong. You're the one who went too far. Look at yourself right now. You're acting like a lunatic. Where's the Cox family heiress in any of this?"

Beth stared at him, her chest heaving. Then, all at once, a cold smile settled on her face. "Fine. You say it's my fault."

She turned, picked up a glass of red wine from the table, and hurled it straight into Jeanette's face. Jeanette shrieked. The wine ran down her hair in dark rivulets, and in an instant she looked utterly wrecked.

Beth smashed the glass on the floor, shards scattering in every direction. "Then I don't mind making one more mistake."

Melvin's face went ashen. He grabbed Beth's wrist. "Have you lost your mind?"

Beth lifted her gaze to his. Her eyes were full of tears, but not a single one fell. She wrenched her wrist free, turned, and walked out of the auction hall.

When she got home, Beth packed her things and moved into the guest room. After what had happened, she could no longer share a bed with Melvin Henson.

Melvin came knocking when he got back. She refused to open the door.

She stood on her side of it and said, "I have nothing to say to you. Leave."

Melvin was caught off guard. Lately her words had grown fewer and fewer. Before, she could talk his ear off for hours about nothing at all.

But after everything that had happened recently, she wouldn't give him a single extra sentence.

What was she doing? Learning to use silence as a weapon against him? Trying a new tactic to get his attention?

He was quiet for a moment, then kept his voice measured: "Fine. Keep this up if you want. But the Cox Group anniversary gala is tomorrow night. Make sure you're there on time."

The next evening, Beth arrived at the banquet hall with Melvin. Despite every fiber of her being resisting, she held a champagne flute and made the rounds with him, exchanging pleasantries with each guest as if nothing were wrong.

Jeanette was there too. Melvin had recommended her as the emcee, and she was up on stage now, adjusting the equipment.

Without warning, a ripple of commotion swept through the hall. Someone gasped. Whispers broke out. Every head turned the same direction.

Beth followed their gazes to the stage, where the massive LED screen had come to life with a video.

Her pupils contracted. The air locked in her throat. Her whole body began to shake so violently she nearly collapsed.

On the screen, she was strapped to a chair in a psychiatric ward, undergoing electroconvulsive therapy.

Electrodes on her forehead. Her mouth wrenched open. Her body seizing. Her eyes vacant and hollow, like something that had already stopped living.

She had suffered from bipolar disorder. The compulsive talking that people mocked had been mania all along: relentless highs she couldn't stop, relentless crashes she couldn't escape. Back then, Melvin hadn't recoiled. He had stayed. He had gone to every appointment with her.

But it was a memory soaked in agony, and even now, thinking of it made her skin crawl.

And at this moment, every guest in the room, every person of influence in Harbor City, was watching that footage. Some were stifling laughter. Some were whispering behind their hands. Some had their phones out, recording.

"The Cox heiress is mentally ill?"

"No wonder she never shuts up. Turns out it's a manic episode."

"Tsk. Poor Attorney Henson. Married a crazy woman."

The words hit Beth like a physical blow. The room tilted and spun.

Up on stage, Jeanette still held the remote in her hand. She pressed her other palm to her mouth, wide-eyed, the picture of innocence, as though she had no idea how this had happened. But at the corner of her lips, a smile she couldn't quite suppress flickered through.

Beth understood everything. A cold clarity settled over her. She charged up the stairs and ripped the power cable from the screen.

Then she turned, seized Jeanette's jaw in one hand, and forced her face up. "Jeanette Pruitt. Who gave you the nerve to do this?"

Jeanette's eyes streamed with tears under the grip, her body twisting, fighting to break free.

Melvin rushed the stage and shoved Beth back. "What are you doing? Let go of her!"

Beth stumbled backward. At that same instant, the lighting rig behind her caught on the power cable. Metal shrieked against metal, and the entire frame came crashing down toward them.

In that split second, Melvin threw his arms around Jeanette and shoved Beth away with his free hand.

Beth slammed into the heavy metal rig. Sharp edges drove into her back and left arm, and pain tore through her entire body.

She heard her own bones break.

She hit the ground hard, the lighting rig pinning her down, and she couldn't move. Melvin already had Jeanette cradled against his chest, backing them both to safety.

Jeanette's ankle had barely grazed the edge of the rig, but her eyes were already brimming with tears. "Attorney Henson, my foot hurts so much. Do you think it might be broken?"

Melvin crouched down and cradled her foot in both hands, his face tight with worry. "Don't be scared. I'm here. Can you stand?"

Jeanette tried to put weight on it and sucked in a sharp breath, tears rolling down her cheeks. "It hurts so much..."

Without another word, Melvin scooped her up into his arms.

Beth lay in a spreading pool of her own blood, the rig crushing her back. Every breath was agony. She opened her mouth to call out to him, but all that left her throat was a faint, broken moan.

Melvin carried Jeanette two steps, then finally glanced back. His eyes held nothing but blame and disgust.

His voice came out cold enough to freeze:

"Beth, look at what you've done. If you hadn't lost your mind and charged up on stage, would any of this have happened? If Jeanette's foot is really injured, can you even begin to take responsibility for that?"

"I am so disappointed in you. A perfectly good anniversary gala, ruined. You've humiliated the entire Cox family tonight. If your father saw this, I can't imagine how furious he'd be. Can't you just be still for one single day? Do you have to drag everyone around you into your chaos?"

Beth wanted to speak. She wanted to tell him she'd gone up on stage because Jeanette had played that video to humiliate her, that she hadn't knocked the rig over.

She wanted to tell him, I'm in so much pain. I think my bones are broken. Can you please call me an ambulance.

But she couldn't get a single word out.

Her lips moved. Her throat felt sealed shut. All she could manage were thin, threadlike gasps.

Melvin stared down at her, unmoved, as though she were putting on an act. Jeanette clutched his collar and whispered, "Attorney Henson, doesn't Mrs. Henson look seriously hurt? Shouldn't we call an ambulance?"

"She got knocked around a little. She'll be fine," Melvin said. "You're the one we need to worry about. That foot can't wait."

He turned and walked away without a second of hesitation, Jeanette still in his arms.

Beth lay on the ground and watched his back grow smaller and smaller until it vanished through the ballroom doors.

People rushed over. Someone was dialing 911. Before consciousness slipped away, a memory surfaced from years ago.

She and Melvin had just gotten together. She'd been walking through the living room and bumped her shin on the coffee table. The bruise was tiny, no bigger than a fingernail.

Melvin's face had gone white. He crouched down and touched the bruise so gently, his brow knotted with worry. "How could you be so careless? Does it hurt?"

She told him it didn't. He picked her up anyway and carried her to the hospital. They took X-rays. The doctor said it was nothing, and only then did he relax even slightly.

Back home, he followed her everywhere, step for step. When she needed the bathroom, he carried her there and waited outside the door, knocking every ten seconds: "Beth, are you done yet? Let me carry you out."

She'd laughed. "I'm not an invalid."

He'd said, "When it comes to you, not even a scratch is acceptable."

Back then, she'd believed she was the luckiest woman alive. Now she lay on the floor in a pool of her own blood, and he had walked away carrying another woman without even calling her an ambulance.

She closed her eyes, and the darkness swallowed everything.

When she woke again, Beth was in a hospital bed, encased in plaster, pain radiating from everywhere at once.

Melvin sat in the chair beside her, holding her hand. He hadn't shaved. The skin beneath his eyes was bruised with exhaustion.

The moment he saw her open her eyes, he shot to his feet, relief flooding his face. "Beth, you're finally awake? You were unconscious for two days. You scared me half to death."

He gestured toward the bedside. "Beth, I got you all kinds of gifts. I wanted them to be the first thing you saw when you woke up, so you'd feel a little better."

Beth turned her head. The nightstand was buried under a pile of things.

The newest Chanel bag. She used to buy one every season, but he hadn't given her one in over a year.

A Tiffany diamond necklace, limited edition. She'd lingered on it for a moment in a magazine once.

A full set of her favorite high-end skincare, the limited-run collection, arranged in a neat row.

And a large bouquet of white lisianthus, the same flowers from their wedding.

There was something ingratiating in his voice:

"Beth, don't worry. I flew in that top orthopedic specialist from Paris. He arrived last night and reviewed your scans this morning. He said your surgery went well and your recovery should be smooth."

Beth looked at the gifts. Then she looked at Melvin.

The specialist, the gifts, the flowers. He was making amends. The same way he always did.

"Beth, I owe you an apology for what happened that day."

His voice was soft, coaxing. "I panicked. I was so worried about Jeanette's foot that I assumed you were fine, and I didn't get to you in time. Don't hold it against me, okay?"

Beth pulled her hand free.

Melvin sighed. "I already had someone look into it. The rig was tripped by a power cable. It wasn't your fault. And I was wrong to say those things in front of everyone. So we're even now, aren't we?"

A bitter laugh flickered through Beth's mind. Even?

Jeanette had broadcast that humiliating video in front of the entire crowd. Melvin had shoved her into a collapsing lighting rig to protect Jeanette, then left her half-dead on the floor. And now one sentence was supposed to make them even?

Beth closed her eyes. She didn't want to look at him. Everything hurt, and she didn't have the energy for a single word more.

Melvin took her silence for fatigue. He tucked the blanket around her. "Get some rest. I'll be right here."

The words had barely left his mouth when his phone rang.

He glanced at the screen and picked up immediately:

"Jeanette? What's wrong? Your foot's hurting again? What did the doctor say? Don't cry. I'm on my way."

He hung up and stood, pulling on his jacket:

"Beth, Jeanette says her foot is really hurting. I'm going to go check on her. I'll be back soon."

Beth didn't open her eyes. She didn't answer.

Melvin paused at the door and looked back at her. He seemed about to say something, but in the end said nothing, and left.

Beth lay alone in the empty hospital room, staring at the pile of expensive gifts and the white lisianthus on the nightstand.

She laughed. He actually thought she cared about any of this.

When had Beth Cox, heiress to the Cox Group, ever cared about things? What she'd cared about, the only thing she'd ever cared about, was him.

Did he really believe it was still the same as before? That a few sweet words and some gifts could make her smile through her tears and forgive him?

Not anymore. The moment the divorce was finalized and her visa came through, she would disappear from his life without a backward glance.

She reached out, pulled the lisianthus from the vase, and dropped them into the trash.

The gifts she gave away to the nurses looking after her, every last one.

The nurses crowded together, buzzing with delight:

"Mrs. Henson, Mr. Henson spoils you rotten! Look at all the things he got you!"

"Mrs. Henson is so lucky. I wish I had a husband that good!"

Beth smiled, a thin, self-mocking curve. A good husband. The words landed in her ears now as nothing more than a cruel joke.

The day she was discharged, Melvin didn't come. Beth called a car herself. As it neared the gated community, she looked up at the sky full of stars and decided to get out and walk.

She strolled alone down the tree-lined path, letting the cool night breeze wash over her, and for the first time in a while, something in her chest loosened.

Then she heard someone behind her. Before she could turn, a needle pierced the side of her neck, and something ice-cold flooded into her veins.

A man's voice cackled behind her. "Finally. Payback time."

When Beth woke, the back of her skull throbbed like it was splitting apart.

She was lying on the ground, hands bound behind her, the restraints biting into her wrists. A few yards away, Jeanette was tied up too, duct tape over her mouth, eyes rimmed red, muffled whimpers spilling out nonstop.

A bald man with a knife scar across his face stood in the center of the room. Melvin was at the door, chest heaving, eyes bloodshot.

The man held a knife, staring at Melvin with something unhinged in his gaze:

"Melvin Henson! You put me away for five years. My wife left. My mother died, and I never got to see her one last time! Today, I'm going to show you what it feels like to wish you were dead!"

Melvin raised his hands, voice hoarse and thin: "Whatever you want, take it out on me! Let them go!"

The man laughed, wild and unrestrained:

"Attorney Henson, one of these women is your wife, the other's your little sweetheart. You only get to take one. Don't say I didn't give you a chance! Whoever you pick walks out alive. The other one? I'll make her wish she'd never been born. That's what you owe me!"

Melvin's face went white. His fists clenched at his sides.

Beth watched him. She saw his eyes dart between her and Jeanette, back and forth, back and forth. His lips trembled. His throat worked. Sweat beaded across his forehead.

She waited. She told herself he would choose her.

They were husband and wife. She was the woman he'd married before God and everyone. She'd fought her own family for him, helped him build his firm from nothing, stood beside him through every lean year until they reached this point. He had to remember that.

Beside her, tears streamed down Jeanette's face. She shook her head frantically, choking out garbled sobs through the tape:

"Mr. Henson, I don't want to die! I still want to stand by your side and fight for justice for all those victims!"

Melvin flinched. He turned to Jeanette, and his eyes filled with something that looked like anguish.

He closed his eyes. The words scraped out of his throat: "I choose Jeanette."

Those three words were three knives, each one driving into Beth's chest, one after another, until she couldn't breathe.

Her ears rang. Her mind went blank. She thought she would scream, thought she would cry, but nothing came.

She just looked at him. Like she was looking at a stranger.

No. A stranger wouldn't have been able to hurt her like this.

Melvin's voice grew more urgent, as if he were trying to convince her, or maybe trying to convince himself:

"Beth, I'm sorry. Jeanette is a rising star in the legal world. You can't imagine her talent. The cases she'll take on, the people she'll help, there are so many. If she lives, she can put more monsters like this behind bars! You don't want these criminals walking free either, right?"

"Beth, you're the Cox family heiress. You have money, resources. Even if you get hurt today, you'll be fine. But Jeanette is different. She has nothing. All she has is me. I can't just abandon her!"

Beth listened to every word. A bleak smile spread across her face.

She bit down on her lower lip, hard, until she tasted blood, just to keep herself from falling apart completely.

Jeanette's ropes were cut. She threw herself into Melvin's arms, sobbing so hard her whole body shook.

He held Jeanette and walked toward the exit. When he passed Beth, he stopped.

"Beth, I'll come back for you. I promise. Just hold on."

Beth looked into his eyes. There was guilt in them, and reluctance, but not a shred of hesitation.

The heavy iron door of the warehouse slammed shut.

The bald man crouched down in front of Beth, a sickening grin on his face:

"Mrs. Henson, your husband picked her. How does it feel to be thrown away? The lawfully wedded wife, and you still lost to some little assistant. Looks like your husband thinks of you as garbage, tossed out without a second thought!"

Beth closed her eyes. She said nothing.

The man kicked her square in the chest. Her body flew backward, her spine slamming into the wall. The fractures from before tore open like fresh wounds, and the pain turned her vision black.

He walked over, knife in hand, and pried her right pinky finger open:

"Five years in that hellhole, they broke two of my fingers. I'm only taking one of yours. Count yourself lucky, and tell that bastard Henson he got off easy!"

The knife came down.

Beth felt the blade bite into skin, slice through muscle, scrape against bone. The agony ground through her inch by inch. Her body convulsed. Tears and sweat ran together down her face, and a raw, ragged scream tore from her throat.

Before she blacked out, only one thought crossed her mind.

Back in design school, her professor had told her that the right pinky was what steadied your grip on the pen. Without it, your lines would shake. Your stone settings would be crooked.

Did this mean she would never be a designer again?

In the darkness of despair and pain, her consciousness slipped under.

When she woke again, Beth found herself in a VIP suite at a private hospital.

The man sitting at her bedside was the last person she expected: her father, who had been managing the family business in Australia all this time.

The moment he saw her eyes open, Irvin Cox's face crumpled with heartache:

"Beth, why didn't you tell me you'd been suffering like this? Your finger's been reattached. It's going to be okay, sweetheart. Someone dared to do this to my daughter. I will make sure they pay for every last bit of it."

Her father stroked her hair gently. She had so much she wanted to tell him, so many grievances bottled up inside, but the pain and exhaustion pulled her under, and before she knew it, she had drifted off again.

Early the next morning, Beth was jolted awake by a door slamming open.

Melvin stormed in, face twisted with rage, and hurled a stack of documents onto her hospital bed:

"Beth Cox, you vicious woman! Is using your family's power to crush people the only thing you know how to do?!"