Every time my wife brought her assistant into the bedroom, she made me kneel by the bed and wait.

If the assistant didn’t know how to do it, she’d have me demonstrate—step by humiliating step.

I always waited patiently for them to finish, then went over to serve them tea and water.

Celeste would pinch the back of my neck and ask:

“Aren’t you jealous?”

I shook my head, even helping them prepare contraceptives when needed.

That only infuriated her more. She’d throw me onto the bed again and again out of spite.

But the next day, I’d still kneel obediently beside the bed, waiting like always.

She’d grit her teeth and say:

“A grown man acting like this... You’re pathetic!”

I only smiled at her.

She didn’t know—

That would be the last time I’d ever be with her.

——

When I got home that evening, the scene on the sofa was all too familiar.

Damien had his back to me but turned at the sound of the door, a mocking smile curling on his lips.

Celeste raised her voice deliberately, just loud enough for me to hear.

I tied on my apron and walked into the kitchen, pretending I hadn’t seen anything. I chopped vegetables and waited for them to finish. Then I stepped out to clean up the aftermath.

Damien Locke, as always, needed honey water afterward. His throat got dry.

I knelt beside him silently, offering the drink with both hands.

I felt like a servant from some ancient dynasty.

Celeste was doing her makeup. She glanced at me, her brows furrowing slightly.

“Plop!”

The cup hit the ground. Hot honey water splashed across the floor, scalding my skin.

“Hey! Gid, are you okay?” Damien rushed over, pretending to help.

He grabbed my arm—hard—digging his fingers into the flesh until I gasped.

His smile stayed pleasant, but he leaned in and whispered with veiled menace:

“Brother, why so clumsy? If you don’t want to serve me, just say so. No need to make a scene.”

I gritted my teeth, forced a smile.

“Why trouble you with something so trivial?”

I invited him to sit down, then knelt again to clean up the spilled honey.

My palms and knees burned with small cuts, and the sticky sweetness stung where it touched broken skin. But I didn’t let it show.

I even lifted Damien’s feet gently to wipe beneath them.

Celeste tossed his clothes at him.

“Go home.”

He looked surprised.

“Mr. Hartwell?”

“You’ve got nothing left to do here.”

Damien gave me a long, resentful glance before slipping on his clothes, fastening the expensive watch she’d bought him. Then he left without another word.

I stayed kneeling, unmoving.

Not because I wanted to—but because the pain in my knees was sharp and raw. Even the smallest shift hurt.

Celeste’s voice turned cold.

“Still nothing to say?”

I shook my head.

She clenched her jaw.

“It’s just the two of us here. No listening devices. You can talk freely.”

“I know,” I replied quietly.

She threw her cigarette to the ground and stormed toward me. One hand gripped my neck, the other held up a photo of a woman.

“You and I both know she’s the killer. Why won’t you testify? What’s your connection to her?”

I stared at the woman in the photo and let out a bitter laugh.

“I don’t know her.”

“Then why protect her?”

I met Celeste’s furious gaze, unwavering.

“I’m not protecting her.”

She shoved me to the floor, pacing the room like a storm waiting to break.

“Was my brother not good to you?”

At the mention of Alden, my throat tightened. My eyes stung.

I shook my head.

“He was the best brother I’ve ever had.”

She crouched beside me and yanked my chin up.

“Then how can you let the one who killed him walk free? Is this how you repay him?”

I was speechless.

With a snarl, Celeste hurled the photo at me. It landed at my feet, the image facing up.

It was Alden—his body mangled, dangling from a tree like discarded trash. Blood crusted over open wounds. His lifeless eyes stared right through me.

I gasped and instinctively covered my eyes. That image...

It was the nightmare that had haunted me every night since.

“You can’t stand it, can you?” she hissed, stepping closer.

She grabbed my chin, forcing me to look at her.

“Then tell me what that bitch did!”

Her voice shook with fury and desperation.

“If you testify—I swear—I’ll send Damien away immediately!”

My vision blurred as tears welled up, but I still managed a bitter smile.

“No need.”

Her hand on my shoulder froze.

“Are you seriously okay with watching me sleep with him, right in front of you?”

I nodded faintly.

“It’s okay.”

Slap!

The force of her hand turned my face to the side. My skin burned.

Her fist trembled in the air.

“Gideon, you’re such a—such a damn coward!” she shouted, voice cracking.

“You’re pathetic... pathetic…”

Each word struck harder than the slap itself.

How could she say that?

This was the same Celeste Hartwell who used to stand up for me in school, fists on her hips, forcing bullies to apologize when they mocked my grades.

After we married, she became even more protective—once, when she scraped her fingertip, I’d tried to bandage it, but she’d insisted on holding my hand and blowing on my finger instead.

I used to believe her love would last forever.

That we would last forever.

“Celeste…” I murmured, my voice hoarse.

She spun around, eyes wide, a flicker of hope sparking in them.

I tried to stand, but collapsed hard onto the floor.

Pain radiated from my chest, and Alden’s mutilated body flashed before my eyes once more.

Clutching my shirt, I looked up—just as the door creaked open.

Damien.

He hadn’t left after all.

He stood in the doorway, peeking through the crack. His eyes locked onto mine, lips curling into a smirk. Then he raised a finger to his mouth:

Shhh.

“What were you about to say?” Celeste asked, still watching me.

I hesitated.

She stepped closer.

“Say it. You must have something to tell me.”

“Sir?” Damien called out from the hallway, tone light.

Celeste’s body tensed—but she didn’t leave. She waited.

I glanced at Damien’s feigned look of concern. Slowly, I reached behind me and pulled out a box of Ritz crackers. I held it out.

“Don’t forget this.”

Celeste stared at it in disbelief. Her anger boiled over.

She snatched the box and flung it at my face.

“You bastard!” she snapped, turning on her heel and storming off.

Damien reached for the doorknob and, with deliberate care, closed the door.

He lingered a moment, red lips lifting in satisfaction. Then—slam. The lock clicked shut.

I sagged against the wall, fingers gripping my shirt.

No… not yet. Just wait. Wait a little longer.

---

I searched every corner of the massive manor before finding a small, dusty first aid kit. I patched myself up as best I could.

For an entire month, Celeste didn’t come home.

Then one day, the front door burst open with a loud bang.

Celeste stumbled in, supporting a bloodied Damien. Behind her, a private medical team rushed in—the same elite team that had once been assigned to me, back when Alden was alive.

They had been dismissed after his death.

Now, they were back—but not for me.

I leaned weakly against the wall, watching the scene unfold.

Celeste turned to me, eyes wide with accusation.

“Why did you push him down the stairs?” she demanded.

I blinked, stunned.

“Did you know I’m over a month pregnant? And you still tried to hurt him on purpose?”

Pregnant?

I looked toward Damien in shock.

He was slumped on the stretcher, brows furrowed slightly—but not in real pain. His cries, however, were shrill and dramatic. He shot me a look of warning behind Celeste’s back.

I couldn’t help it—I laughed.

“Yes,” I said. “What about it?”

Celeste froze, unsure whether she’d heard me right.

She studied my face carefully.

“Do you even realize what you’re saying?”

I met her eyes, steady and calm.

“I do.”

“Aren’t you going to explain yourself?”

“There’s nothing to explain.”

“If you admit it now, I’ll charge you with intentional assault.”

My body went rigid.

I looked at her, stunned.

She wasn’t bluffing—her eyes were deadly serious.

“Or…” she said, voice tight, “tell me the truth about your brother’s death. Do that, and I’ll drop everything.”

I glanced at Damien, who was hovering nearby.

Then I took a slow, steady breath.

“You’ll find out,” I said.

A flicker of hope crossed her eyes.

“But not yet.”

Her shoulders stiffened. Her eyes reddened.

“What is your relationship with that murderer?” she snapped. “Would you really rather go to jail than give her up?”

“I told you, Celeste. I have nothing to do with her.”

She was so angry she could barely get the words out.

Her voice shook as she growled through clenched teeth.

“You think I won’t sue you?”

I met her gaze.

She shoved me aside and stormed off.

---

Three days later, I received a court summons.

When I stood in court and pleaded guilty, Damien smirked and raised an eyebrow—as if to say, figures.

Only Celeste’s face was completely expressionless.

Pale. Cold. Frighteningly calm.

She had hired a top-tier lawyer—someone who twisted the language of the law into a weapon. Through strategic misinterpretations and subtle exaggerations, they pushed my sentence up to eight years.

Not long after the verdict, she came to visit me.

“If you testify for Alden,” she said quietly, “I’ll get you out. I swear it.”

I gave her a faint smile.

“Ms. Hartwell,” I said, “take care of yourself.”

I didn’t know if I’d make it out alive.

She inhaled sharply. Her voice trembled as she whispered, “You knew everything, didn’t you? That night… it was just you and that bitch. You saw everything, didn’t you?”

I didn’t answer.

She continued, desperate now.

“Back in middle school, when you barely had enough to eat, it was Alden who spent his allowance to share a meal with you. Don’t you remember that?”

Tears spilled from her eyes.

I nodded.

“I haven’t forgotten.”

“Then why didn’t you tell me the truth?”

“Why not now?”

“Do you want me to die before you’ll finally speak?”

I stayed silent, then slowly shook my head.

“It wasn’t her who died that night,” I said.

“It was me.”

The truth would come out—without my help.

The murderer would be exposed sooner or later.

But if I told her everything now, I feared Celeste would lose her mind.

So I waited.

---

As it turned out, I didn’t have to wait long.

Within a month, the court overturned the verdict and acquitted me.

I was released.

My mind was a storm of confusion.

Outside, parked at the gate, a Rolls-Royce was waiting.

Celeste stood beside it.

Neither of us spoke on the ride home.

The silence between us was heavier than chains.

Only after we entered the house did I finally say, “Thank you.”

She paused. But she didn’t look at me.

She went upstairs without a word.

“Gideon,” she called from the staircase. “You’re such a bastard.”

I smiled faintly.

Tears slid down my face.

---

After that, she stopped bringing anyone home.

Stopped showing off her recklessness in front of me.

She needed to protect the child.

Though we lived under the same roof, we were strangers.

Even when we passed each other in the hall, she wouldn’t meet my eyes.

Wouldn’t touch the food I cooked. Wouldn’t say a single word.

I didn’t react.

I just kept doing what I had always done—quietly, patiently.

---

Then, one night, she finally cracked.

She knocked on my door, the stench of alcohol still clinging to her clothes.

Her eyes were bloodshot.

“Let’s talk,” she said. Her voice was small.

I let her in.

For the first time in forever, we sat down calmly—face to face.

She stared at me, pleading.

“Please,” she whispered, “I’m begging you. Testify for Alden. Just once.”

She lowered her head.

“If you do… I’ll get rid of the child. I’ll give you my entire fortune. Anything you want.”