"Call an ambulance! Now! My mother is—"

"Five more minutes." Olivia checked the time. Her voice was ice.

She refused to budge. In her mind, if we walked out that door now, the bad luck would cling to the entrance and ruin Spencer's business.

Looking at her, I felt nothing but bile rising in my throat.

She was repulsive.

I snapped.

I grabbed a heavy wooden chair and smashed it against a decorative pillar. Wood splintered and flew.

"You won't let me save my mother? Fine! Then I'll tear this place apart!"

"Let's see who breaks first!"

If she wouldn't let me leave, I would carve a path out.

Olivia stared at the debris, her chest heaving. Her face—usually beautiful—twisted into something hideous.

*Heh.* In her heart, Spencer Delgado was a god. His restaurant opening was more important than my mother's life.

"You're being unreasonable! Your thinking is archaic. It's just a modeling gig—was it necessary to get so agitated that she fainted?"

*CRASH!*

*CRASH!*

*CRASH!*

I kept smashing. Furniture. Vases. Plates. Everything within reach.

Olivia grabbed a chair and brought it down on my head. Pain exploded in my skull. I crumpled to the floor.

Blood trickled into my eye. Through the red haze, I looked up at her.

She wasn't looking at me like a husband.

She was looking at me like I had murdered her father.

"Smash it! Go ahead! I'll call the police and make you pay for every cent." Her voice dropped to a hiss. "Damn it, your mother just passed out from anger, didn't she? Good. I hope she dies from it."

The bystanders watched with glee, hoping for more drama. Not a single person stepped forward to help. Most were Spencer's friends. The rest were too busy ogling Olivia's exposed skin.

The commotion finally drew the man himself. Spencer Delgado sprinted down from the VIP box on the second floor.

"What the hell is going on? Who is trashing my shop on opening day?"

"It's him!" A bystander pointed at me.

Spencer's eyes darkened. "Christopher Dickerson. Are you sick?"

He strolled over, a sneer curling his lips. "Why smash my shop? Are you that obsessed with me? Even if you die, you want to drag me down?"

A harsh laugh scraped out of my throat. "The culprit who ruined your shop is the person who won't let me take my dying mother to the hospital."

Spencer glanced at my unconscious mother. Not a shred of humanity crossed his face. He smirked and turned to Olivia.

"You did well. They're definitely faking it. This is clearly a coordinated shakedown."

He addressed the room. "First, he comes to cause trouble. Now, he uses a fake fainting spell as an excuse to destroy my property." A dismissive wave of his hand. "Boys, teach him a lesson."

At his command, the security guards descended on me.

I curled into a ball, shielding my mother with my body. Fists and boots rained down on my back.

Through the gaps in my arms, I saw her face. Eyes tightly shut. A single, silent tear leaking from the corner of her eye.

Her hand—which had been gripping mine—went limp and slipped to the floor.

Olivia stood frozen, watching. I saw her waver. A half-step forward. A flicker of conscience battling her obsession.

"Olivia! Make them stop!" My voice cracked. "Mom is dying! She loved you like a daughter—how can you do this to her?"

"Don't listen to his nonsense." Spencer's hand landed on her shoulder, smooth and steady. "Don't sympathize with him. It's all an act."

His words froze her in place.

"Damn it," she muttered. Her eyes hardened again. "I knew you were lying."

In that instant, whatever love I had left for Olivia Swanson turned to ash.

A roar tore from my chest—raw, primal, pure rage. Ignoring the pain, I scrambled up, grabbed a jagged shard of broken vase, and slashed it through the air at the guards surrounding me.

The guards scrambled back, startled by the murderous look in my eyes.

"Come on!" I brandished the shard, blood dripping from my forehead. "If you're not afraid to die, come and get me!"

No one wanted to risk their life against a madman. They parted like the Red Sea.

I wasted no time. I scooped my mother up and sprinted for the exit.

Olivia chased after us. This time, she didn't block the way—the "auspicious hour" had passed. She even handed me her phone to call the ambulance.

"Husband, you two go home first." Her voice was breathless. "I wanted to discuss this with you yesterday, but I knew you wouldn't agree to the body display."

She grabbed my arm, eyes pleading. "But do you know? I owe Spencer a life debt. Years ago, when I was dragged into that alley... he saved me from being raped. He was severely injured in the process. He can never have children because of me."

Spencer Delgado was castrated saving her?

I paused, stunned. The revelation was heavy, but reality didn't offer the luxury of processing it.

"Fine," I said through gritted teeth. "Just help me get Mom to the hospital."

Before she could answer, Spencer rushed out and grabbed her wrist.

"Olivia! Get back in there. The customers are saying they'll leave if the model doesn't return."

He wanted her to go back and lie on that table?

I looked at Olivia, certain she would refuse. My mother was critical. Surely, she would choose us.

But she nodded solemnly, as if facing a war. "Okay. I'll go back and stabilize the situation."

"Olivia!" I shouted.

She didn't turn back.

She walked away decisively. Cleanly. Without a single glance at her dying mother-in-law.

At that moment, I finally woke up.

The bond between us was severed.

***

The wait at the emergency room was an eternity of torment.

Two hours later, the doctor emerged. His expression was grave.

"Your mother has had a heart condition for a long time. The extreme anger triggered a massive attack. She... she might not make it."

The words struck like lightning. A heart condition? I had no idea.

I rushed into the ward. She was awake, but her complexion was gray, her breathing shallow.

She looked at me and offered a weak, bleak smile. "Chris..."

"I didn't tell you... I was afraid you'd worry." Her voice was barely audible. "I knew you'd borrow money, beg people... do anything to save me. I didn't want you and Olivia to fight over the cost. So... cough, cough..."

I broke down.

I fell to my knees beside the bed. I grasped her rough, weather-beaten hand and pressed it to my tear-streaked face.

"Mom, Dad left when I was a baby. You raised me alone. How could you ever be a burden?" A sob tore through me. "I have to save you. I will save you."

She shook her head slowly, tears leaking from her eyes. "My lamp is out of oil, son. Don't do anything foolish for me."

She squeezed my hand weakly. "Back then... it was because I pushed you that you married Olivia. I made you give up your career to stay home and care for her. It's my fault. I ruined your life."

"I only ask one thing..." She gasped for air. "For the rest of your life... live for yourself."

Her hand went slack.

Her eyes slid shut.

"Mom? Mom!"

I screamed her name, shaking her shoulders. No response.

Doctors and nurses rushed in, dragging me away from the bed as the monitors flatlined.

*Live well.* That was her last wish.

But as I watched them work on her, a desperate thought flashed through my mind.

A heart transplant.

It was the only way. But a new heart required money—an astronomical amount of money I didn't have.

My only option was to sell the house. It was my premarital property—legally, Olivia Swanson didn't need to know.

I explained the situation to the doctor in a rush of breathless words, but the hospital's policy was carved in stone: full deposit before they could proceed with the heart transplant.

No hesitation. I sprinted home, ready to put the property on the market that very hour.

*Mom is only fifty.* My chest constricted. *She has decades left. I can't let her die.*

An old classmate had once mentioned wanting to buy my place. My fingers shook as I dialed her number.

"Do you still need a house?" The words tumbled out.

"Actually, yes."

Relief hit me like a wave. A shaky laugh escaped my throat. "Great."

But the moment I hung up and reached my front door, my feet stopped moving.

Strangers. Inside my living room. Inspecting my walls like they owned them.

"Who the hell are you?" I stepped inside. "Why are you breaking into my house?"

One of the men sneered. "Breaking in? Don't make me laugh. From this moment on, this house belongs to us."

"Excuse me?"

"Your wife sold it to us." He looked bored, like I was wasting his time. "Something about needing cash to save her lover's business. Transaction's done. Money's transferred. So get the hell out."

The words didn't compute. Not at first.

Then they did.

Shock curdled into something cold. Something hard.

I yanked out my phone and dialed Olivia. But the voice that answered wasn't hers.

"Looking for Olivia?" Spencer Delgado. Dripping with smug satisfaction.

"Put her on."

"She's still sleeping." A lazy drawl. "Last night was... exhausting. I didn't let her get much rest, if you know what I mean."

My grip tightened until my knuckles went bone-white. "Wake her up. Now. What right does she have to sell my house?"

"Oh, that? My idea." A chuckle. "You trashed my shop. Ruined my business. Consider this compensation."

"Compensation?"

"Olivia feels guilty. Thinks she owes me." His voice turned silky. "So, to make it up to me, she sold the house. Gave me the proceeds."

Red crept into the edges of my vision. "Make him return the money." My voice shook. "That house is my premarital property. She had no legal right to sell it. That's fraud."

"Yeah, yeah."

The line went dead.

Before I could redial, hands shoved me through my own front door. I hit the pavement hard.

I was about to storm off—find Olivia, find Spencer, drag the money out of them myself—when my phone rang.

The doctor.

His voice was grave. Mom had found out about me selling the house. She had refused the surgery.

"She gave up," he said softly. "She only wants to see you one last time. Hurry."

Terror, cold and sharp, pierced straight through my chest.

I dialed Olivia as I ran. Mom had loved her like a daughter. I hoped—God, I hoped—despite everything, Olivia would come to the hospital to say goodbye.

But before the call could connect, a notification appeared.

Olivia had sent me a video.

The thumbnail alone made my stomach turn.

My fingers trembled as I tapped it open.

"Hold me tight." Olivia's voice, whimpering. "Don't let go."

"Baby, you smell so good."

"Do you know who I am?"

"I know... you're Spencer!"

On the screen, Spencer's cruel smile as he kissed her bare skin. What followed—

Bile rose in my throat.

I killed the screen.

Despair crushed the last of my resolve. I couldn't call her. Not now.

I rushed to the hospital.

A hollow shell.

But I was too late.

Mom's eyes were closed.

They would never open again.

I didn't speak.

I didn't cry.

I just sat by her bedside, keeping a silent vigil for a day and a night.

Then I arranged for her cremation.

When I walked out of the funeral home, her urn cradled against my chest, the numbness began to fade.

Something else took its place. Cold. Calculated.

Fury.

I called a lawyer friend. Filed two lawsuits.

One for divorce.

The other to sue Olivia Swanson for illegal asset disposal. The house was mine; she had no right to sell it. I hired a security team to forcibly evict the new "owners" from my property.

I had just finished these arrangements, preparing to leave the city for good, when my phone rang.

The police.

"Mr. Dickerson," the officer said. "We've found him. The culprit who raped your wife years ago."

"Send me the photo."

My voice was devoid of emotion.

When the image loaded, a cruel smile touched my lips.

*Olivia Swanson.*

I stared at the face on my screen.

*I hope you can maintain your composure when you see who really destroyed you.*

I instructed the police to notify Olivia directly. Then I turned off my phone, placed Mom's ashes in the passenger seat, and drove away.

I didn't look back.

When the police found Olivia, she was still in Spencer Delgado's bed.

"Have you found the man?" She sat up, pulling the sheets around her.

"Yes, Ms. Swanson." The officer's voice was solemn. "We promised we wouldn't stop until we caught him."

"It's the man in this photo."

He handed her the printout. She took it, her expression expectant, ready to hate a stranger.

But when her eyes focused on the face—

She froze.

The color drained from her skin. Left her ghostly pale.