I never imagined the night would collapse the way it did. One moment, the garden was alive with music and laughter. The next, Bianca’s scream tore through the air, sharp enough to silence everything.

People surged toward the lake in a rush of panic. In an instant, Bianca was thrashing in the dark water. Victor reacted without pause—he tore off his jacket and dove in, moving with the urgency of a man playing the hero. He wrapped his arms around her as if she were made of glass, lifting her against his chest like the most precious thing he had.

I couldn’t move. My heart slammed painfully as I watched.

By the time he pulled her onto the soaked grass, Bianca was shivering violently, water streaming from her dress. She clung to him, small and fragile, her lashes wet with tears. She looked helpless—perfectly, heartbreakingly so.

“W-Victor…” her voice quivered as she clutched his shirt. “Why would she do that to me? If I upset you, Isabelle, you could have said something. You know how scared I am of water… after what those kidnappers did. They almost drowned me for fun. Why would you push me?”

A stunned gasp rippled through the crowd.

My mouth opened to deny it—but before I could utter a word, my father’s voice sliced through the chaos.

“Isabelle!” he roared. “How could you hurt your own sister?”

He shoved me without hesitation. My heels slid on the slick grass at the lake’s edge, and the next second, I was falling.

The water swallowed me whole.

I can’t swim.

The cold hit like knives, crushing the air from my lungs and dragging me down into the dark. I flailed desperately, limbs heavy, panic tearing through me as the lake pulled me deeper. Above the surface, sounds blurred together—shouts, murmurs, maybe even laughter.

I fought my way up, coughing violently as my head broke through the surface. Water burned my throat. My chest screamed as I gasped for air.

Through my blurred vision, I saw them.

My parents stood on the shore, arms crossed, staring at me like I was something filthy that had washed up by mistake.

“Stop pretending, Isabelle,” my father said coldly. “You’ve been nothing but bad luck to this family. Letting Bianca get kidnapped wasn’t enough for you? Now you try to drown her? We should have abandoned you the day you were born.”

The words hurt more than the freezing water ever could.

My gaze shifted to Victor.

Surely—surely he wouldn’t let me die. He knew I couldn’t swim. Even if he didn’t love me, I wanted to believe he wasn’t completely cruel.

Then he spoke.

“Do you even realize Bianca is pregnant?” His voice was tight with fury. “You nearly killed her—and my child. How could you be so vicious?”

I shook my head wildly, trying to speak, but the lake stole my voice. My body trembled violently, my lungs aching for oxygen.

Victor’s expression hardened. “Stay there tonight. Maybe suffering will teach you something.”

And with that, he turned away.

He carried Bianca from the shore, her wet hair pressed against his shoulder. She clung to him like she belonged there, casting me one final glance—triumphant and satisfied.

One by one, the guests drifted away. My parents left without looking back. Soon, the garden was empty, the silence thick and suffocating, broken only by the slow ripple of water against the bank.

I kicked weakly, arms burning, but my strength faded fast. The cold seeped deeper, dragging me toward darkness. My body began to surrender.

Then—suddenly—a splash.

Strong arms wrapped around me, hauling me upward through the black water.

Who was it?

Who pulled me back from the edge?

---

When I finally opened my eyes, the sterile ceiling of a private hospital room came into focus. My entire body felt unbearably heavy, as if I’d been turned to stone. Even breathing hurt.

I turned my head slowly—and froze.

Victor was sitting beside my bed.

His hair was disheveled, his shirt wrinkled, as though he hadn’t slept all night. The moment he noticed I was awake, his face lit up, playing the role of a devoted husband perfectly.

“Isabelle—thank God,” he said quickly, gripping my hand. “I’m so relieved you’re awake. I’m sorry I had to leave you last night. I didn’t want to, I swear. But Bianca wasn’t well, and Julian was out of town. I had to bring her to the hospital. She’s carrying the Durant heir, sweetheart. I couldn’t take any chances.”

He sighed softly, lowering his voice as if confiding in me. “You understand, don’t you? If something happened to that baby, the family would’ve blamed you. Even your parents wouldn’t forgive you. I did what I did to protect you too.”

His gaze softened, almost begging me to accept his excuse.

I just looked at him.

My chest ached, but I refused to cry. I wouldn’t give him that anymore.

For a brief moment, his smile faltered. Then he tried again, brushing his thumb over my hand gently. “Please don’t be angry with me. You’re my wife. I do care about you. Truly.”

I said nothing.

I simply turned my head toward the window, staring at the sky beyond the glass, letting the silence stretch between us until it swallowed everything he tried to pretend we still had.

That night, the hospital room felt unbearably still. The silence pressed against my ears as I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my phone. Bianca had just sent me a photo. My fingers trembled as I opened it.

It was Victor.

He was bent over her hospital bed, pen in hand, his expression soft and focused—so careful, so intimate—like he was writing something precious. The caption beneath the photo stabbed straight into my chest:

Your husband is unbelievably gentle. He’s written me hundreds of love letters and stayed awake the entire night for me. The nurses said he only left when they told him you had finally regained consciousness.

The pain in my chest grew so intense it felt hard to breathe. Before I could even lock the screen, another message appeared.

Isabelle, you will never win against me. Save yourself the humiliation and give up now.

I bit down on my lip until I tasted blood. I wanted to respond—wanted to scream, to deny it—but my hands wouldn’t move. My fingers hovered uselessly over the screen.

Then the door to my hospital room opened.

A tall man dressed in a crisp black suit stepped inside. He didn’t spare me a glance. His eyes went straight to Victor, who stood by the window with the ease of someone who believed the world already belonged to him.

“Mr. Durant,” the man said politely, “everything is prepared. The press conference is scheduled. The transfer of Durant Crown Holdings to Miss Bianca will be finalized tonight.”

Cold spread through my body, slow and merciless. I turned my head toward Victor, clinging to a fragile hope that I had misunderstood.

But he smiled—relaxed, pleased—like everything was unfolding exactly as he intended.

“Excellent,” he replied smoothly. “If my wife asks about it, inform her the company collapsed financially. She doesn’t need further explanation.”

Then he turned to me.

His expression softened instantly, his voice shifting into that gentle tone I used to trust. He approached and brushed his fingers lightly over my hand. “Baby, I just received bad news. The company’s in trouble, and I need to deal with it immediately. Stay here and rest, okay? Don’t stress yourself. I’ll handle everything.”

If I were still deaf, I would have believed him without question.

He looked convincing—like a devoted husband carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. But I had heard every word. There was no room left for lies.

I simply nodded, too exhausted to argue, and watched as he walked out without turning back. The door closed with a soft click.

The silence that followed was suffocating.

I stared at the empty space he left behind, my hands slowly curling into fists. That was when it truly sank in. There was nothing left to save. No affection. No trust. Not even a shadow of love.

I reached into my bag and pulled out the divorce papers I had hidden there for weeks. The pages were slightly creased, worn from being folded and unfolded so many times. I placed them neatly on the bedside table.

Then I picked up my phone.

I erased everything.

Victor.

Bianca.

My parents.

Each name vanished from my contacts one by one, like cutting threads that had been tightening around my throat for years.

For the first time in a long while, I felt a strange sense of lightness.

---

The press conference looked more like a celebration than a corporate announcement. Reporters crowded the hall, cameras flashing nonstop. Victor stood confidently on stage—with Bianca right beside him—his smile wide, proud, flawless.

I stayed near the back of the room, half-hidden among the crowd, my face concealed behind a mask. My eyes never left them, even when it hurt, even when Fiona clung to Dillon like she belonged at his side. I told myself I was done caring—but my heart hadn’t caught up yet.

“This marks the beginning of a greater future for our family,” Victor announced into the microphone.

Thunderous applause followed. The clapping seemed endless, as if the entire world was celebrating his triumph. My parents sat in the front row, smiling brightly, applauding as though Bianca’s success was their own victory.

When it ended, Victor stepped down from the stage and immediately offered to drive Bianca home himself. She slipped her hand around his arm, glowing—radiant, like a bride being escorted away after her wedding.

I thought the sight would destroy me.

Instead, I felt numb.

They were nearly at the exit when someone suddenly stepped into their path.

Damien.

His gaze shifted between Victor and Bianca before settling back on Victor. “Long time no see,” he said lightly. “Taking your sister-in-law out again? Strange—you didn’t bring your wife. I was hoping to ask her something… about her hearing. I wanted to know if she’s still struggling.”

The room went painfully quiet.

Victor stiffened. The smile drained from his face, replaced by something tense and dark.

“What do you mean?” he asked slowly, his voice low. His eyes flicked around anxiously. “Isabelle… she can hear now?”

Damien frowned. “Yes. Didn’t she tell you? Her hearing came back yesterday. She was excited to share the news.”

That was it.

That was the moment everything ended.

I turned away before anyone could see the tears spilling over. My grip tightened on my bag, my fingers brushing against the edge of my passport inside. It felt like the only thing I still owned—my proof of escape.

I walked out without looking back.

My steps were unsteady, but they carried me all the way to the airport. Tears streamed down my face no matter how hard I tried to stop them.

At the counter, when it was time to book my flight, my voice cracked. “One ticket. First available flight. Paris.”

I handed over my passport, clutching my bag so tightly it hurt.

And deep in my heart, I whispered the promise burning inside me.

You will regret everything, Victor.