I survived that ordeal at the cost of my child.

The doctor said I could never conceive again. This was the price of survival.

I don't know how many days I was unconscious. But when I awoke, my butler told me what happened next.

Pete ordered his men to take Mia out of town and place her in a secluded, safe location.

He prepared everything for her, arranging for constant protection.

Careful and meticulous. Afraid of any harm to her.

And the butler told me he had discovered Pete's affair had lasted for at least a decade.

All these years, I had never known.

Pete had hidden it very well.

The first thing I did afterward was bury the already formed child.

Pete didn't come, saying the Mafia was in turmoil.

But I knew he was with Mia.

Later, when Pete came to see me, I filed for divorce. I didn't make any demands.

I only wanted to take my son, Berg, with me. But to my disappointment...

Just minutes before, the boy was sitting by my bedside, holding my hand, asking if I was in pain.

Now he pulled his hand away.

"Just for something this trivial?" he said, frowning. "Mother, you're too suspicious. If you weren't pregnant, Father wouldn't have gone to Mia. This is your problem."

"Father has respected you. You shouldn't cause any more trouble."

"Besides, Mia is a good person. She never interferes with me," he added.

"Unlike you, who has a private tutor controlling me every day. I'm not happy at all."

I heard every word clearly.

I never expected him to say such a thing.

I sat there, speechless for a long time.

Pete noticed my silence and casually reprimanded Berg.

"That's enough," he said. “Isabella, don’t listen to him. I can compromise on everything else.”

“But divorce. Absolutely not.”

I ignored him, forcing myself to sit up straight.

“Berg,” I asked softly, “when did you meet her?”

“How could you know her?” He hesitated. “When I was four, Dad—”

Pete rushed forward and covered his mouth, pulling him away.

That is to say, he had known her since he was four. My own child had kept it from me for over a decade.

I smiled.

Because at that moment, my last attachment to this family vanished.

I no longer wanted any of them.

I left. Completely left.

The first few months after leaving myself were unbearable.

I numbed myself with alcohol and gambling, enduring day after day.

Then I went to the hospital, and the diagnosis came back.

The cancer was already in its late stages; surgery was impossible.

I only had a month to live.

Just then, the family elders found me and sent word, urging me to return.

Peter and Berg had gone mad after my disappearance—no one knew why, only that they had become irrational, reckless, almost uncontrollable. The elders feared the family would tear itself apart, so they came looking for me.

After some thought, I agreed.

Going back would stabilize everything.

Not because I wanted to face the father and son who had once betrayed me—but because I owed the elders a debt.

Years ago, when my parents were hospitalized and I had no way out, it was the elder who paid every medical bill. I could turn my back on Peter and Berg, but I could not walk away from that kindness.

Shortly after I returned, chaos erupted outside the courtyard.

A maid knocked and stepped inside.

“Madam,” she said cautiously, “Peter has decided to give Oshmia Estate to Mia.”

“He requires you to move to the maid’s quarters.”

“Yes,” I said calmly. “I will move.”

The maid hesitated.

“Peter also said…” She lowered her voice. “That you are to rely on yourself from now on. That you’ll learn your lesson.”

“Yes,” I replied.

I packed only a few sets of clothes and two blankets. I had just stepped outside when I was pushed to the ground. I weakly coughed up blood.

Everything fell to the ground.

I looked up.

Mia stood there. She smiled sweetly, her eyes filled with smugness and mockery.

“Long time no see, I’m back after all.”

I didn’t answer. I bent down to pick something up.

She stepped on my hand.

“Still pretending nothing’s wrong?” she said casually. “Do you really think that by acting indifferent, you can fool him—that he won’t see through your little trick?”

She let out a soft chuckle.

“Look at you,” she went on, her tone light and cruel. “So cowardly. Faced with your husband’s and your son’s betrayal, all you dare to do is endure in silence. How utterly pathetic.”

“When you weren’t here, he came to see me often,” she added. “Always bringing jewelry. Ornaments. Little tokens of affection.”

I glanced at her, then yanked my hand free.

She lost her balance, screamed, and fell backward—straight into Pete’s arms.

Berg followed closely behind, his face drained of all color.

“Mia! Are you hurt?”

“I’m fine,” she said weakly.

“Pete…maybe I should move somewhere else.”

“Your wife doesn’t want me here.”

I covered the marks left on my hands. “I didn’t say that. I’m glad you’re back,” I replied calmly.

Pete blocked my way.

“Are you going to throw everything away?” he asked.

“All of these?”

He pointed to the things the servants had taken away, the wedding jewelry, the gifts he gave me every year.

These were things I had once treasured.

But to be honest, since I came back, I found them utterly unsightly.

I had thought about throwing them away. Then I thought it wasn’t worth it. Let them gather dust.

"You've misunderstood," I said calmly.

"You're the one who gave this place to her."

"And these things were brought out by the servants," I continued.

He frowned. "Then why didn't you take them away?"

I met his gaze.

"The rooms assigned to the servants are very small," I said calmly. "There's no place to put these things."

"So I intend to get rid of them."

Pete's face instantly darkened. “Then destroy it. I hope you won't regret it.”

I didn't respond. I walked past them without looking back.

Berg blocked my way.

“If you don't forgive us,” he said tautly, “I'll go out partying tomorrow and won't come home.”

He'd used this tactic before.

Before, I would always advise him, make him study hard, make him understand that as the heir to the family, he needed wisdom, not just brute force; such a family wouldn't last.

Now, I'm tired.

So tired that even breathing is a burden.

“Do as you please, do whatever you want,” I said.

As soon as I stepped into the house, the old wooden door behind me slammed shut.

A lock slid into place.

“This is Mr. Pete's order,” a woman outside said, “You stay here and reflect until you realize your mistakes.”

I remained silent.

Over the next few days, the food became increasingly scarce, and eventually, even the food that was delivered was spoiled.

He waited for me to apologize, as I had always done.

But I was dying; it didn't matter anymore.

The pain in my chest had long since killed my appetite. After what seemed like an eternity, someone came.

It was Berg.

He placed an ear of corn on the table.

“Father is marrying Mia tomorrow,” he said coldly, “as his second Donna. Are you satisfied now?”

He didn't wait for my answer.

“As long as you apologize, Donna's place will still be yours.”

“Whatever, I don't want to be her anymore,” I said.

He lost control and said, “Fine, then you won't be my mother anymore.”

On the wedding day, news of Mia's fainting spell spread throughout the entire family.

They said her suffering wasn't due to illness, but to a demon.

They summoned the pastor from the church, who pointed to a spot in the east courtyard—under the old oak tree.

My second child is buried there. My daughter. She was nine months old when she died.

Panic washed over me instantly. I pushed past the guard and ran.

When I reached the tree, the soil had already been disturbed, the earth freshly turned, the grave only moments away from being broken open.

I felt something deep inside me being torn apart—more thoroughly, more acutely than the pain of cancer.

“Pete!” I screamed, “Are you crazy? She was your child too!”

I rushed forward like a madman, but a pair of hands grabbed my arm and pulled me back.

Pete didn’t even look at me.

He stood by the fire pit, lazily fiddling with his lighter.

“Isabella,” he said calmly, “are you here to apologize?”

“She was your own flesh and blood!” I cried, “You’re using her to threaten me? Are you even human?”

Berg scoffed.

“She’s dead,” he said coldly. “If she turned into a demon and hurt people, then she must be dealt with. Even family members shouldn’t be an exception.”

I laughed.

My vision blurred with tears from my laughter.

To force me to submit, they wouldn’t even admit their daughter was a demon.

Unbelievable.

Mia finally spoke, her voice soft, almost tender.

“Pete is right, we can’t let demons harm the living. You understand…right?”

“Shut up,” I hissed. “I should have killed you.”

She flinched, hiding behind Pete.

He finally turned around, his voice low and firm—confident.

“Isabella,” he said, “you just need to admit you were wrong and forgive us, and I’ll spare your daughter.”

I laughed.

Blood welled from between my teeth.

“Pete,” I said hoarsely, “I regret not killing you too.”

The last glimmer of warmth in his eyes vanished.

“Do it.”

“No—!”

The digging continued.

I tore myself loose and ran forward, throwing myself flat against the ground, pressing my body over my daughter’s grave, letting the hoe come down hard on my ankle without flinching.

Pete seized me from behind.

His voice brushed against my ear, calm and gentle—as if crawling up from the depths of hell.

“As long as you don’t forgive me,” he said softly, “I will torture you forever.”

“Let me go!”

My hand reached for the gun at his waist.

I was about to pull the trigger when a sudden wave of dizziness crashed over me.

A sharp pain shot through my throat.

Blood gushed from my mouth.

The tension supporting my body suddenly snapped.

I fell forward, the ground slamming into me. I heard someone calling my name—

Then, everything went black.