My husband's ex-girlfriend, Margaret Cowell, lost her mind and showed up outside our house with a gun. She wanted to kill me.

But everything went wrong.

The bullets missed me. Instead, she shot my older brother five times. He died before the ambulance arrived.

I told my husband everything. I told Alaric Hamilton, the man I loved more than anyone, the feared Mafia Don of Hexagon Prime and the powerful president of Hamilton Groups. I thought he'd protect me. I thought he'd stand beside me.

God, how stupid was I?

On the day of the trial, I walked into that courtroom believing my husband would save me.

Instead, he destroyed me.

My lawyer was presenting evidence and tearing apart every accusation against me. For a moment, I actually thought I might be okay.

Then Alaric stood up.

The entire courtroom went silent.

Dressed in a black suit, broad-shouldered and imposing, he looked exactly like the kind of man who could control an entire city with a single phone call.

He opened a folder and spoke in that deep, calm voice of his. "There's something all of you don't know."

His eyes never met mine.

"I'm Olivia's husband."

The room instantly erupted with whispers.

Then he continued. "I know things about her that nobody else does. Olivia's older brother abused her when she was younger and continued threatening her after she became an adult."

He lifted several photographs.

"These photos prove she had a motive. She had every reason to want him dead."

My whole body froze.

What was he saying?! Why was he doing this?

My brother never hurt me. He never touched me. He was innocent!

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tell everyone they were lies, but no sound came out. The courtroom blurred before my eyes. People pointed at me, whispered about me, judged me. Even my own lawyer turned to look at me in shock.

And the worst part was that the deepest wound I'd ever carried inside my heart was being ripped open by the man I loved.

Alaric never looked away. Never hesitated. Never showed mercy.

For the next fifteen minutes, he tore apart every defense my lawyer tried to make. Every piece of evidence. Every argument. Every hope. One by one, his lawyer crushed them all.

At one point, our eyes finally met.

"A-alaric..." My voice cracked. "P-please tell me this isn't real. Please tell me you're not doing this."

His jaw tightened. For a second, I thought I saw regret but it vanished.

"Olivia," he said quietly, "I'm doing my damn job."

"A damn job?" I laughed through my tears. "I'm your wife!"

His expression darkened. "Don't make this harder than it already is."

"Harder?" My chest felt like it was being ripped apart. "You're burying me alive."

His fingers clenched around the file.

"Do you think I wanted this?" he snapped. "You think I enjoy standing here? The evidence is what it is, Olivia."

"No," I whispered. "The evidence is whatever the hell you decided it should be."

The silence that followed felt endless.

Then he looked away from me.

Just like that, as if I didn't matter anymore. As if I was already gone.

When the judge finally announced the verdict, I barely heard the words. My ears were ringing. My hands were numb. Everything felt distant.

Then the sentence came down.

eight years in prison.

And the man who sent me there was my husband.

...

"Prisoner 8034."

The guard's voice pulled me back to reality.

"You're free now. Once you get out there, be a good person."

A bitter smile tugged at my lips.

A good person?

I hadn't even been a criminal.

The heavy iron gates slowly opened, and sunlight hit my face for the first time in years. A black sedan was parked across the road. I recognized it immediately.

It belonged to Alaric.

For a moment, my heart betrayed me.

Was he really here? Had he finally come?

But when the door opened, it wasn't Alaric.

It was his right hand, Bob Evans.

Disappointment settled heavily inside my chest. Of course. Why would he come himself?

Bob hurried toward me. "Boss Alaric had something important to handle, so he asked me to pick you up."

I didn't answer. I was too tired. Too empty.

I simply walked toward the car.

"Wait, Miss Olivia."

I stopped.

Bob quickly grabbed a paper cup from the passenger seat. Before I could react, he tossed the contents toward me.

A cup of salt.

Some of the grains hit my face, and some stung my eyes. The sharp burn made me flinch and the moment I realized what it was, I almost laughed.

He looked embarrassed. "Boss Alaric said salt can get rid of bad luck. He wanted me to do this before you got in the car."

Something inside me shattered.

"Bad luck?" I asked quietly. "He thinks I'm bad luck?"

He immediately looked uncomfortable. "Miss Olivia, Boss didn't mean it like that..."

I let out a hollow laugh and looked toward the empty seat where Alaric should've been.

"Really? Has he forgotten who personally sent me to prison?”

I didn't say another word.

The assistant didn't answer either. He simply gripped the steering wheel and kept driving as silence settled over the car. Slowly, I closed my eyes, and the memories came rushing back.

Back to that courtroom.

Back to the moment my life was destroyed.

My voice had been shaking so badly that day when I looked at Alaric and asked the only question that mattered.

...

"Why?"

Why did you do this to me? Why did you choose her? Why wasn't I enough?

For a moment, something flickered across his face. It looked like guilt, pain, maybe even regret, but it disappeared almost as quickly as it came.

"Marga was assaulted at a bar after our breakup," he said quietly. "That incident made her mental condition worse."

I stared at him, unable to understand what any of that had to do with me.

His jaw tightened. "A long time ago, I promised her something. I told her I'd grant her six wishes as compensation."

The explanation sounded ridiculous, almost insane, yet he continued anyway.

"When she got arrested, she told me she didn't want to go to prison," he said, lowering his voice. "And I couldn't refuse her."

A chill spread through my body.

Alaric finally looked at me, "Olivia... I'm sorry."

Sorry?

The word echoed through my mind.

Before I could respond, he continued, "Listen to me. No matter how many years this takes, I'll wait for you. I'll be here when you get out. I swear it. You're my wife. That won't change."

I laughed.

The sound startled even me. I laughed until my stomach hurt, until tears streamed down my face and the bitterness in my mouth became unbearable, like poison slowly tearing me apart from the inside.

Seven years.

I'd loved Alaric Hamilton for seven damn years.

Back when Margaret left him, he practically lived inside bars, spent night after night drinking himself numb.

And every night, I was there.

I made sure he got home safely. I made sure nobody took advantage of him. When he buried himself in work and forgot to eat, I brought meals to his office. I learned every preference he had, every habit, every little detail that made him who he was.

I waited quietly.

Patiently.

I loved him when he barely noticed I existed.

Then one day, he looked at me and said the words I'd spent years dreaming about.

"Olivia, marry me."

I thought my waiting had finally been rewarded.

After our wedding, he treated me well. If I glanced at something for more than a few seconds, he'd buy it. If I casually mentioned wanting something, it would appear the next day. He remembered every dish I liked, every holiday, every anniversary.

He made me believe I was loved.

But all it took was one sentence from Margaret.

I don't want to go to prison.

Suddenly, none of it mattered and without hesitation, he chose her.

To save her, he threw me away.

Alaric leaned forward, "Olivia, I'll help defend you."

I looked at him without blinking.

"We'll prove you didn't commit intentional murder," he continued. "If you plead guilty and cooperate, your sentence can be reduced." His voice softened further. "Trust me."

Trust him?

The man who had just buried me alive?

"My wife will always be you, Olivia."

Those were the last words he said to me that day.

...

"Olivia. We've arrived."

Bob's voice pulled me back to reality.

The memory vanished, and I slowly opened my eyes. They felt sore, dry, and faintly burning. How long had it been since I'd cried?

Years.

In prison, I'd cried until there was nothing left. The prison doctor once told me my tear glands had been permanently damaged.

"You'll probably never cry normally again."

At the time, I hadn't cared. There was nothing left worth crying over.

I turned toward the window. The street outside was unfamiliar, lined with luxury restaurants and upscale storefronts.

Before I could ask where we were, the car door opened and bright sunlight flooded the interior.

A familiar figure appeared.

Alaric.

My husband.

Eight years had passed, yet he looked exactly the same. Tall, handsome, powerful, his sharp features still carrying the confidence of a man who could alter countless lives with a single command.

A smile spread across his face when he saw me.

"Olivia," he said warmly. "Hurry up and get out."

He extended a hand toward me.

"Marga spent all day preparing a welcome party for you. You're the only one we're waiting for."

The words almost made me laugh.

Alaric was still the same. Gentle, patient, and kind.

At least when it came to Margaret.

His hand settled naturally on my shoulder, and my body stiffened immediately.

Before I could move away, a cheerful voice rang out nearby.

"Olivia!"

The moment Margaret appeared, I noticed Alaric quietly remove his hand from my shoulder, as if he'd been caught doing something wrong.

I lowered my eyes.

Yeah, right.

Margaret hurried over, her eyes already red and shining with tears. Before I could avoid her, she grabbed my hand.

"Olivia," she said in a trembling voice, "I'm sorry about everything that happened before. I know I've hurt you, I killed your brother and I've regretted it every day. I really wanted to apologize properly."

I didn't respond.

The atmosphere instantly became awkward.

Margaret bit her lip, looking even more pitiful than before.

As expected, Alaric stepped in."Marga got up before sunrise today," he said, his expression softening immediately. "She spent the whole day choosing a venue and decorating everything herself."

Margaret quickly shook her head. "Alaric, don't say that."

But he ignored her protest. "She hasn't even eaten yet," his gaze fixed on her. "She was worried everything wouldn't be perfect."

Only then did he look at me.

"Olivia, she's genuinely trying to apologize."

"I really am," Margaret added immediately.

Together, they made it sound like I was the unreasonable one, like eight years in prison had been nothing more than a misunderstanding.

Nobody asked how I'd survived.

Nobody asked what prison had done to me.

Nobody asked how many nights I'd cried myself to sleep or how it felt to be framed for my brother's death.

Nobody cared.

All they cared about was whether Margaret felt guilty enough.

I was about to say something when Alaric suddenly grabbed my wrist.

"Come on," he said.

Without waiting for my response, he led me toward the restaurant.

Before we even stepped inside, voices drifted through the door. They were loud, clear, and impossible to ignore.

"If it wasn't for Alaric and Marga, I wouldn't even be here. Imagine throwing a welcome party for a murderer."

Someone snorted.

"Right? What exactly are we celebrating? The fact that she got away with killing her own brother?"

A burst of laughter followed.

My fingers slowly curled into my palms.

"I warned Alaric years ago," another person said. "A girl from that kind of background was never going to be clean."

"Exactly."

"I heard her brother abused and fucking rape her for years. Since she was little all the way through high school."

My chest tightened.

Every word was a lie, but they kept talking.

"They said she finally snapped and killed him."

"That's not even the worst part." The speaker lowered their voice dramatically. "I heard she also killed her parents because they always favored the older brother."

"What?! Really?"

"Yeah. Apparently she hated them. Then suddenly they died in a car accident. Tell me that's not suspicious."

"I knew it."

"God, she's terrifying."

The rumors grew louder and more confident, as though repeating a lie often enough could somehow make it true. Nobody mentioned that my brother had never touched me. Nobody mentioned that my parents died because their brakes failed. Nobody mentioned that Margaret was the one who had spent years feeding these stories to anyone willing to listen.

Why would they?

The truth was boring.

The lie was entertaining.

Beside me, Alaric suddenly froze. His expression darkened, and a second later he wrapped an arm around me. One hand covered my ear while the other pulled me tightly against his chest.

It was a familiar gesture.

For years, whenever rumors surfaced about my family, whenever I broke down crying, Alaric would do exactly this. He'd shield me from the world, hold me close, and promise everything would be okay. Back then, I believed he was my safe place. My protector. My home.

Funny, wasn't it?

The man who had taught the world to stab me was now trying to shield me from the knife.

The trembling he expected never came.

Slowly, I lifted my hands. Prison had left them thin and bony. Without hesitation, I pushed him away.

Alaric stared at me. His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment I saw shock, confusion, maybe even hurt.

I knew exactly what he was thinking.

There was a time when hearing those rumors would've destroyed me. There was a time when he was the one who comforted me.

“Nobody's gonna hurt you again, Liv. I'll protect you. I swear on my life.”

And I had believed every word but now, I didn't need his protection anymore.

Something shifted in Alaric's expression. For a brief moment, he looked almost suffocated. Then anger flashed across his face, directed not at me but at the people inside.

The next second, he kicked the restaurant door open.

The loud bang silenced the entire room.

Everyone immediately turned pale.

Alaric stepped inside like a storm, tall, broad-shouldered, and terrifying. The room suddenly remembered why he was feared.

His cold gaze swept across the room.

"If you've got something to say, say it in front of me."

Nobody answered.

His voice turned colder. "Olivia's my wife."

The room remained silent.

"She didn't ask for any of the shit that's happened to her. So if you've got a problem with her, bring it to me."

Nobody moved.

"What happened? You people were talking pretty damn loudly a minute ago."

Several guests lowered their heads.

"Don't want to be here? Then leave. Nobody's forcing you."

The pressure in the room became suffocating.

"And if I hear anyone talking behind her back again, we're gonna have a different conversation."

That finally shut everyone up.

Across the room, Margaret's smile nearly cracked. For a split second, jealousy flashed across her eyes before she quickly buried it beneath a pitiful expression.

Picking up a glass of wine, she walked toward us.

"Alaric..." she said softly.

Instantly, his expression softened.

Margaret stopped in front of me carrying two glasses.

"I know I've made mistakes to Olivia," she said, her voice trembling. "I really do." She raised one glass and emptied it in a single gulp before placing the second in front of me. "I never wanted things to turn out like this."

A tear slid down her cheek.

"I just wanted everyone to get along." She bit her lip. "I've been carrying guilt for eight years. Please..." Her voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Can you forgive me?"

The entire room watched, waiting, and watching me as if I were the villain.

As if I were the cruel one.

As if I was supposed to comfort the woman whose lies had destroyed my life.

Slowly, I lowered my gaze to the glass.

Before I could say anything, several people nearby immediately spoke up.

"What is her problem? Marga already apologized so sincerely. She's practically begging for forgiveness. What more does Olivia want?"

Another person scoffed. "We didn't come here tonight to watch Marga get bullied."

"Exactly. Marga stayed by Alaric's side for three whole years and didn't even care about her own reputation. And this is the thanks she gets?"

Their voices grew louder with every sentence, painting me as the unreasonable one, the villain who refused to appreciate Margaret's generosity. I lowered my eyes and remained silent.

Across from me, Margaret bit her lip and looked on the verge of tears. Alaric glanced at her before turning to me, his jaw tightening.

Finally, he reached over and took the wine glass from Margaret's hand. Without a word, he held it in front of me.

"Olivia," he said in a low voice, calm but unmistakably dangerous, "be good. Don't make this into a bigger scene than it already is."

I almost laughed.

A scene?

Who exactly was making a scene here?

Me, or the woman who destroyed my life and was now performing innocence in front of an audience?

When I still didn't take the glass, Alaric leaned closer. His breath brushed against my ear.

"You haven't seen your grandfather in years."

My body froze instantly.

Alaric noticed.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed his eyes.

"Drink it," he said, softening his tone slightly. "Be good for me, Liv."

Then came the threat hidden beneath the gentleness.

"Drink this glass, and I'll personally take you to see your grandfather afterward."

My throat tightened.

Grandfather was the only family I had left.

The only person who still mattered.

For a moment, I stared at the wine as the dark liquid swayed inside the glass. A metallic taste suddenly rose into my throat, but I didn't hesitate any longer. I took the glass from Alaric's hand and drank every drop.

The atmosphere immediately relaxed.

Conversations resumed.

People laughed again.

Everyone looked pleased, as though I'd finally learned my lesson and become obedient enough to satisfy them.

At that moment, Alaric peeled a shrimp for Margaret and placed it onto her plate. Margaret smiled sweetly, then suddenly picked up the plate and walked over to me.

Without a word, she held a shrimp in front of my face.

"Olivia," she said warmly, "since we're friends now, have a bite. This is imported shrimp. It costs over a thousand dollars."

I stared at the shrimp.

For a moment, I genuinely thought I was hallucinating.

Alaric knew.

He knew I was allergic to seafood.

Years ago, when we were still dating, I'd nearly died after accidentally eating shrimp at a company banquet. He'd stayed beside my hospital bed for three straight days without sleeping. He knew every ingredient I couldn't eat. He used to remove seafood from dishes before they ever reached me.

Yet now he sat there watching Margaret offer me shrimp.

I almost laughed.

Had he forgotten? Or did he simply not care anymore?

When I didn't move, Alaric's expression darkened. "If you don't eat it, I'll shove it into your mouth myself," he said coldly.

The room immediately fell silent.

Margaret stepped forward and said softly, "Alaric, don't be angry. Olivia, I just want us to be friends again. That's all I've ever wanted."

Before I could react, she pushed the shrimp closer.

My entire body froze as a memory surfaced without warning. In prison, several inmates had laughed while one of them mixed crab meat into my food despite knowing I was allergic. I remembered the suffocating pain that followed, the ambulance ride, the six days I spent confined to a hospital bed, and the internal bleeding so severe that doctors had nearly rushed me into emergency surgery.

Alaric knew all of that.

He had received the medical reports.

He knew exactly what seafood could do to me.

Yet neither he nor Margaret stopped.

The shrimp touched my lips. Instinctively, I tried to turn away.

"Try spitting it out," Alaric said quietly while looking directly into my eyes. "If you do, your grandfather will spend the rest of the year alone. Don't test my patience, Olivia."

My body went rigid.

Margaret smiled sadly as though she were the victim. "Olivia, please. I'm trying so hard to make things right between us."

I looked at the shrimp, then at Alaric, then at Margaret. Slowly, I opened my mouth.

Margaret immediately pushed the shrimp inside.

The room visibly relaxed. Several guests even smiled as though they had just witnessed a touching reconciliation instead of humiliation.

I chewed, swallowed, and sat there in silence.

"There," Margaret said happily. "See? Now we're friends again. I knew you'd forgive me eventually."

Laughter rippled through the room.

Margaret continued placing shrimp onto my plate while Alaric peeled more for her. He never stopped her. In fact, he calmly peeled one shrimp after another and placed them in front of me.

"Eat," Alaric ordered. "Marga prepared this dinner for you. Don't waste her effort."

So I ate.

One shrimp after another disappeared from my plate. Each bite felt like swallowing shards of glass. Nobody noticed. Or maybe nobody cared.

Especially not Alaric.

His attention remained fixed on Margaret.

"Eat more," he told her gently while placing another peeled shrimp onto her plate. "You barely touched your food all day. You'll get sick if you keep neglecting yourself."

Margaret smiled shyly. "Thank you, Alaric. You're always taking care of me."

The tenderness in his voice used to belong to me.

Now it belonged to someone else.

My stomach began twisting violently. The pain was familiar, sharp, burning, and dangerous. Sweat dampened my back while the room slowly started spinning around me.

Across the table, Margaret was still smiling.

"Olivia, let's eat together," she said while lifting another shrimp toward me. "After tonight, we'll put everything behind us."

I looked at the food and felt my stomach lurch. Something surged up my throat. My breathing stopped and a sharp pain exploded through my chest.

I coughed!

Blood burst from my mouth.

Bright red blood splattered across the tablecloth.

The entire room froze.

Someone screamed. Chairs scraped violently across the floor. And Margaret's face turned white.

Alaric reacted instantly. Without hesitation, he stepped in front of Margaret, and the blood splashed across his white shirt.

His first instinct had always been to protect her.

Not me.

Never me.

That was my final thought before darkness swallowed everything.

My body collapsed backward, and the last thing I heard was someone shouting my name.

"Olivia!"