Even after three years bound in marriage by blood oath and ceremony, they didn’t always share the same bed.

Don Desmond had claimed he preferred solitude at night.

Valentina understood—it wasn’t just anyone he didn’t want beside him. It was her.

She also knew how careful he’d always been with Selene. The Don had probably rehearsed a long, smooth explanation for her presence, but when Valentina didn’t resist, didn’t argue, it caught him off guard.

“Alright,” she said softly, almost casually. “Most of my things are in that room anyway. I’ll take them all out myself.”

In truth, it made no difference whether she removed her belongings now or later.

The instant she mentioned moving her things, Desmond’s lips parted slightly, a protest almost forming. But before a word could leave, Selene stepped in.

“Thanks, Avy.”

Valentina didn’t reply. She bent to haul a heavy box toward the stairs, her thin arms straining under the weight.

There was far too much crammed inside. Her foot slid on a shard of glass hidden in the shadows, and she tumbled hard. Her knee smashed the floor, shards cutting into her skin.

Pain flared like fire up her leg and into her spine. Beads of sweat dotted her back. She bit her lip to keep silent, gritting her teeth through it.

But Don Desmond didn’t see. Selene had already pulled him away.

Valentina stayed there, trembling as the pain sank deeper. Tears welled and fell, one by one, onto the cold tiles.

In the Marwood mansion, Desmond would never have let Selene lift even a handbag.

“Our Yannie is our princess,” he’d say, voice warm and indulgent. “She deserves nothing but care.”

Yet when Valentina—the maid’s daughter turned wife of the richest man in the city—bore the same weight, no one blinked. No one cared if she got hurt.

Still, everyone sided with Selene. Unquestioningly. Without hesitation.

Valentina had learned to accept it.

The afternoon crawled by as she sorted through her things. By sunset, every item was loaded onto a waiting truck.

“You didn’t need to throw so much away,” Desmond said, frowning as he watched. “Yannie’s only here temporarily. When she leaves, you’ll move back. What’s the point?”

She didn’t flinch. “They’re old,” she replied evenly. “Time to let them go.”

“You’ve never been wasteful.”

No, she hadn’t. She’d never known a life of ease. Every possession she owned had been earned, cherished, made to last.

She only smiled. “They’ve been with me a long time. Sometimes, you need space. Out with the old, right?”

Just like people, she thought.

Her reasoning sounded fair enough. If Desmond pressed further, he’d look petty—so he let it slide.

“There’s an auction tonight,” he said, shifting the topic. “The organizers invited me. You’ll attend. With Yannie.”

She opened her mouth to refuse. He cut her off.

“You’re my secretary,” he reminded her coldly. “I can’t appear at that kind of gathering without one.”

She looked at him, countless words clinging to her throat—And bringing Selene is acceptable?—but none escaped. She only nodded. One final obligation before she walked away forever.

Night fell. Inside the grand hall, chandeliers cast light like noon over the polished floors.

Every important figure in the city’s underworld was present—polished, practiced, dangerous.

The Hacketts had risen fast over the last two years. Jade, the hostess, came out quickly, her expression polite.

“Don Hackett. Your seat is ready. Right this way.”

Jade gestured to a pair of chairs. “I heard you married? The second seat is for your wife.”

For a heartbeat, everyone froze.

The Don’s marriage had always been secret, hidden behind careful walls. No one was supposed to know.

Valentina turned to him, waiting. Two women. One extra seat.

His choice wasn’t unexpected.

“I’m not married,” Desmond said smoothly. “Not sure where that rumor came from.”

The hostess blinked, confused. “And these two?”

He stepped forward, taking Selene’s hand first.

“This is Selene, daughter of S. Marwood Co.’s CEO.”

“Ah… Selene Marwood,” Jade said, nodding politely.

Then, almost reluctantly, Desmond added, “And the one beside you is my secretary.”

Valentina didn’t flinch. She had anticipated this introduction. But knowing the truth didn’t dull the sharp sting in her chest.

Still, she held herself tall, swallowing the hurt and preserving her dignity.

Desmond and Selene took their seats while Valentina lingered behind them, standing.

Maybe it was the chill in the hall. Maybe it was everything. But a stabbing pain hit her lower abdomen, sharp and insistent.

She pressed a hand to her belly and slipped away toward the restroom—silent, like a shadow fleeing from the spotlight.

She hadn’t even started her cycle—so why did the pain hit her like a bullet all of a sudden?

Valentina rose, intending to leave, but the door wouldn’t budge. Locked from the outside.

Then came Selene’s smug, venomous voice from beyond the door.

“Well, well… how’s the cast-off love treating you tonight?”

“Don Desmond has always been mine,” Selene spat, each word dripping with arrogance. “From the very start. Now that I’m back, you’d better get out of our way.

“And really… showing up tonight? Trying to steal my spotlight?”

Valentina doubled over, clutching her stomach. Cold sweat ran down her temple. Her voice was weak, but it held defiance.

“Selene… if you want him, take him. I’m done with caring about him.”

A cruel, icy laugh echoed through the door. “Oh, that’s rich. You think I’d buy that?

“You stole my mother’s attention once, and now you want to steal my man too? Who the hell do you think you are?

“You’re staying in here tonight. No one’s coming to rescue you.”

With a smirk, Selene dragged a “Restricted Area—Do Not Enter” sign and planted it by the door.

The auction’s rules forbade phones in certain rooms, and no one but Selene would dare enter this way.

Wracked with pain, Valentina slid to the floor, her back against the cold wall. Strength slipping fast, she pounded the door, gasping out desperate cries.

“Help… someone… anyone… please…”

But passersby saw the warning sign and ignored her. No one came.

She didn’t know how long she screamed before the agony swallowed her, and darkness claimed her.

When the auction finally ended and Valentina had not appeared, Don Desmond frowned, a crease forming on his brow.

Selene looked up, feigning innocence. “Mondy… maybe she’s upset because I took her seat?

“If I knew she’d get so sensitive, I never would’ve taken it.”

Desmond’s gaze hardened. “You’re the legitimate heir of the Marwoods. Do you think it’s right for a secretary to take your place?

“Forget it. Let her stew. She’s gotten a little too proud lately. Let’s go home.”

Out of sight, Selene’s lips curved in triumph. Valentina… I told you—you can’t beat me. Not my mother, not my lover.

That night, Valentina didn’t return to the estate. And not once did Don Desmond ask after her.

The next morning, during routine cleaning, a janitor unlocked the restroom door.

There she was—huddled in a corner, soaked through, trembling even half-conscious from the night’s cold.

The woman rushed to her side. “Ma’am… how did you get locked in here? You don’t look well. Should I call an ambulance?”

Valentina’s wet lashes flickered open. She pressed her arms against the floor and forced herself up.

“Thank you… but no need.”

The ache in her belly had eased, but the chill of the restroom had been relentless.

She had truly expected Don Desmond to check on her at least once. Clearly, she had misjudged.

She remembered the time Selene vanished for a mere ten minutes—Desmond had nearly dialed 911 in a panic.

And yet… after a whole night of her absence, he hadn’t lifted a finger to find his wife.

So this is what it means, Valentina thought bitterly, love versus indifference.

Leaning against the wall for support, she stepped out slowly, one foot at a time, and hailed a cab home.

Once in the car, she retrieved her phone.

Not a single message from Desmond.

Instead… multiple texts from Rafael.

[Valentina… I can’t wait a month. One week. I’m coming for you in seven days.]

When Valentina saw Rafael’s message, a small spark of warmth returned to her chest.

She tapped a reply immediately: [Okay.]

One month… too long, she thought. One week will do.

In seven days, she would vanish for good—finally severing every tie with Don Desmond Hackett and his world.

The moment she stepped into the Hackett estate, she froze. Selene lounged on the couch in a silken nightgown—Valentina’s nightgown.

The sound of the door made Selene glance up, her smirk sharp as a blade. “Back so soon? You look like a wreck.”

She rose gracefully, stalking toward Valentina, fingers tilting her chin with calculated malice.

“Tsk… that face—pale as parchment. One would think you’re on your deathbed.”

Selene leaned closer, her chest heaving with pride, showing off the marks of last night. “See these bruises? Courtesy of Mondy. Last night… unforgettable.”

Her words grew bolder. A mocking whisper slid into Valentina’s ear.

“In your own bed, he told me I’m the only one who makes him feel like a real man. You? Like a lifeless doll… utterly boring.”

The words struck like bullets. Valentina’s eyes darkened. She raised her hand and struck her sister hard across the face.

“Selene, know your place. I’m still Desmond’s wife. You’re the mistress, nothing more.

“Push me further and I’ll make the world see who you truly are—a maid’s daughter, trying to steal her sister’s husband.”

Valentina had no intention of engaging with her, but Selene insisted on digging her own grave.

Before Selene could respond, Desmond appeared in the doorway. Selene’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor.

“Avy, I’m sorry! I never should’ve come back! I’ll leave today! I’d die if it means I’m out of your way!”

Before Valentina could react, Selene leapt up and bolted toward a pillar.

Desmond was fast—catching her just in time.

“Yannie,” he barked, voice steel, “I invited you. If anyone has a problem with you, they have a problem with me!”

Valentina’s lips curved bitterly.

Supporting Selene, Desmond turned and snapped, “Valentina, apologize!”

“I did nothing wrong. There’s nothing to apologize for. Desmond, don’t you even wonder where I was last night?”

“Did you—” he began, frowning.

She cut him off. “Aren’t you curious—”

“I don’t care where you were!” he snapped. “You will not harm Yannie! Apologize now, or you’ll be suspended—until you admit your wrongdoing!”

To him, Valentina was just his loyal worker. Suspension would be punishment enough.

What he didn’t realize: Valentina had never loved the work. She toiled so that Desmond’s life remained effortless.

Her despair cut through him, tightening his chest with guilt. Yet he turned away, Selene in his arms.

Before leaving, he ordered the maid coldly: “Do not feed her until she apologizes.”

Valentina watched him go, tears tracing silent lines down her face.

This was the man she had loved for seven years. And after this… she would love him no more.

For days, Valentina remained locked inside the estate.

Three times daily, the maid asked if she had realized her mistake.

She never answered, only staring out the window, counting down the days. Five more days—then she’d be free.

Sitting on the balcony swing, her phone buzzed constantly. Every message—Selene.

On the day Valentina planned her departure, another came:

[Bitch, you couldn’t win over our mothers, and you can’t win over a man. One word from me, Mondy won’t come home for a month.]

And Selene proved it.

For two full days, Desmond did not return.

Yet Selene sent footage relentlessly:

Kissing him on the beach.

Photos of him cooking for her.

Intimate, vulgar videos from every angle.

Once, Valentina would have cried. Now… she felt nothing.

A man that flirty, that disloyal, was better off abandoned.

On the fourth day, still refusing to “admit mistakes,” she survived only on water. The maid withheld food.

That evening, she walked into the garden as usual.

A golden retriever lunged at her, slamming her to the ground. Normally harmless, the dog’s strength was deadly to her weakened body.

She collapsed, pain ripping through her belly. Blood soaked her pants. Her face drained of color.

She understood immediately.

Two months ago, during one of the few intimate moments with Desmond, they had not used protection. Now the searing pain told her everything.

Gritting her teeth, she cried out to the bodyguards. The driver rushed her to the car, speeding toward the hospital.

But the streets were blocked.

“Ma’am,” the driver said nervously, “today is Ma’am Selene’s birthday. Sir Desmond shut the roads for her party. We… cannot pass.”

Her clothes soaked in blood, fireworks lit the sky above—Desmond’s love, displayed for Selene.

Valentina closed her eyes in despair.

With what strength she had left, she tore her wedding ring from her finger and flung it out the window.

Her husband. Their marriage. She wanted nothing to do with either anymore.