So this was Veronica’s revenge.

She always knew how to make others do her dirty work.

She knew my grandfather only cared about Linwood Holdings and the power it clung to.

Threatening the partnership was enough to turn him into her executioner.

The belt struck again and again until my skin split open.

Only then did Grandfather call Veronica—through a video chat—so she could inspect the results.

“Appreciate the effort, Mr. Linwood,” Veronica said casually, like she was rating a service.

“The Linwood disciplinary standards are truly… impressive.”

Her gaze slid to me—cold, sharp, unreadable.

“Michael Linwood, the fact you didn’t get locked up after the crash was already a mercy for the sake of both families.”

“As long as you swear to behave from now on—stop hurting Andrew—I’ll drop this. Agreed?”

She forgets this wasn’t the first time she’s seen him beat me like this.

The first time, years ago, she stepped in front of me.

Her face bloody as she screamed at my grandfather:

“If it’s resources you want, Grey Corporation can provide them.

But if you ever force Michael into a marriage again—if you touch a single hair on him—

I will erase Linwood Holdings from this city.”

How strange…

My body bleeds—

Yet it’s my heart that aches.

I dragged myself up, stared into the camera, and let my lips curl into a cruel mockery:

“Keep dreaming.”

Grandfather’s face drained. He seized a heavy glass ashtray and hurled it at my head.

“Veronica Grey just gave you a way out and you spit on it?! You want to ruin us all?!”

Blood blurred my vision—yet the moment I saw Veronica, any trace of surrender burned away.

Her face darkened.

Seeing Grandfather lift the ashtray again, she suddenly snapped:

“Enough!”

“This is your final warning, Michael. Don’t test me again.”

She hung up—almost like she was the one running away.

Once the partnership was secure, Grandfather lost interest in further punishment.

He ordered Aunt Wendy, our longtime housekeeper, to take me inside and treat my wounds.

As she dabbed my torn skin with ointment, she muttered fiercely:

“Mr. Linwood has no right… All these years, Grey Corporation only kept Linwood afloat because of the sacrifices you made. Outsiders don’t know—but he does. How dare he speak to you like that…”

My phone vibrated.

Andrew Clark had sent a message—

A photo of Veronica kneeling before him, tenderly washing his feet like a devoted saint.

His text:

“Still not giving up?

Vera only loves me.

Even if you try everything—she’ll never be yours.”

“Tell her the truth if you want—Linwood and Grey will destroy you.

In her heart, you will always be the murderer who stole her mother.”

Aunt Wendy burst out:

“Andrew is a thief! A fraud! He doesn’t deserve her kindness! Seven years—how long will you keep hurting like this? Tell Veronica everything!”

I shut the screen off and whispered:

“Aunt Wendy… I made her a promise.

So I’ll keep it.”

Everyone thinks Veronica and I are sworn enemies.

But nobody knows…

We used to be everything to each other.

After the crash, Veronica needed brain surgery.

The risk: partial or complete memory loss.

She refused—

So I kissed her again and again, whispering that everything would be okay.

The day patients were allowed visitors…

I ran to her room with fruit and homemade soup—excited like a fool—

Only to find her curled in Andrew Clark’s arms.

She hurled everything I brought at me—

Watching coldly as it shattered across the sterile hospital floor.

“Who gave you permission to ruin the moment between Andrew and me?”

“You murderer — you make my stomach turn. Get out!”

That car accident didn’t just erase her memories of our life together; it stamped me as the one who’d killed her mother. Andrew wasn’t wrong to say I was afraid. But it wasn’t fear of our elders or of families colliding. I was terrified of seeing Veronica Grey collapse again, of watching her hurt herself when she broke.

That night I dreamed again. Just before they wheeled Veronica into surgery she gripped my hand and, choking on her words, swore:

“Mike, I love you so much. I will never forget you. We’ll grow old together in Haven House — we’ll be each other’s lifelong, happy rivals.”

“If I ever do forget you, you can hit me, scold me — just don’t leave me. And if I fall for another man, you must tear us apart with everything you have.”

We made a pact: if she ever harmed me for another man a hundred times, I would let go. With tonight included, the count was at ninety-eight.

Maybe because of that dream, I woke with an urge so raw I had to go back to Haven House. It was the villa Veronica had given me — a private place that, in the years no one noticed, held three years of our happiest memories. When sorrow came, I would sit there and breathe through it.

I hadn’t even left when the house manager called. “Mr. Linwood — Mr. Grey ordered the villa bulldozed. He’s having Andrew build his marital home there.”

“And the child’s grave was dug up too.”

By the time I arrived, the place that had held all our hopes and good dreams was a flattened ruin, as if it had never existed.

Andrew held Veronica, his voice threaded with disgust. “I don’t know who’s this messed up, burying ashes here. I hate that stuff.”

“Vera, you should stop clutching that urn. Feed it to the dog. I heard if you do, the dirty thing will never be reborn.”

Veronica stroked his face with a tenderness that made my chest ache. “Fine. Scare Andrew once more, and even as a ghost I’ll make sure it gets no peace.”

She whistled; a huge golden retriever — half the height of a man — loped over, drooling, waiting to be fed. Blood boiled in my veins. I couldn’t stand it. I charged forward and drove a knife into the dog’s belly.

Andrew screamed. I slapped him hard, twice. “How dare your animal touch my child? How dare you trespass on what’s mine? Get out!”

“Michael Linwood, what the hell is wrong with you?!” someone shouted.

Veronica wrapped herself around Andrew and glared at me. “Mr. Linwood, that villa was under Vera’s name. You took it because she was too busy to manage it — who raised you to be so shameless?”

Andrew spat, venom in every word. “I was wondering why there were ashes here. Turns out you knocked someone up, got rid of the scandal, and secretly buried it. Isn’t that disgusting? You’re sickening, and we’re the ones cursed by the bad luck!”

Those words hit a nerve Veronica hadn’t known she had. Color drained from her face; a cold laugh escaped. “I knew it. That night’s private photos — you swapped that woman’s face with mine.”

“Michael, you spent years trying to sabotage me and Andrew’s relationship, while secretly cavorting with others — you even fathered a bastard. How dare you bury that filthy thing in my home?!”

Even she didn’t know why she was that furious. Her accusation sliced through me and left a chill I couldn’t thaw.

Yes — Veronica and I once had a child. But she’d been gone the day we were supposed to register our marriage; Veronica had been in the accident that knocked her unconscious. Doctors issued grave notices and told us to prepare.

Richard Grey — Veronica’s father — decided she was a liability and started hunting among relatives for a new heir. He donated money and never showed up at her bedside.

I stayed with her without sleeping for three days, pleading with every god and priest and superstition I could think of to let Veronica live. The baby couldn’t be saved.

When Veronica came back to consciousness, she ignored medical warnings and insisted we bury the child at Haven House. She clung to me and wept until she couldn’t breathe. “Mike, it’s my fault. It’s all my fault.”

“Let’s bury our baby here. I’m afraid that when he reincarnates he won’t find his way home. Whether in life or death, our family will always be together…”

And now she called our child “filth”?

“Veronica, what if I tell you this was our child?” I asked quietly.

She froze, then glanced at the urn without thinking. On it, in a hand she knew, someone had written a short epitaph: “From the heavens to the underworld, may my son find peace and safety.” It was unmistakably her handwriting.

A sharp headache folded Veronica in half; she pressed her palms to her temples. “Vera!” Andrew moved quickly, trying to steady her. He snatched the urn and glared at me. “Michael Linwood, that’s enough. Haven’t you tormented Vera enough?”

“Even if you two were lifelong enemies, have some decency. First you ruin our wedding, and now you forge handwriting? Vera hates you — there’s no way she’d have a child with you.”

“You dump this river of filth on her and call it justice. What kind of person are you?”

Then Andrew did something strange: he took the urn lid off and pulled from inside a small voodoo-like doll pierced with pins. Little tags stuck to it bore a birth date and a name — the doll’s face eerily modeled like his.

“So you knew Vera wanted to make this place our marital home and you couldn’t stand our happiness. You used this disgusting occult trick to hurt me. No wonder I’ve been feeling ill lately.”

Veronica’s suspicion vanished and was replaced by white rage. “Michael Linwood — I know your grandfather talks to those so-called occultists to protect your family fortune. I never thought you’d prey on Andrew being my weakness with such despicable tactics. You’re sick.” She pointed with controlled fury. “Kneel and apologize to Andrew right now.”

I smiled, cold. “Why should I apologize for what I didn’t do?”

“But if these charms actually work,” I said, voice low, “I’d happily make a hundred of them and stick them in Andrew’s bedroll until that dog of a man couldn’t live or die in peace.”

Veronica snapped. Her security team moved to take me down by force.

“Vera, Michael is a lunatic. He won’t admit guilt. I know a thing or two about psychiatry — the proper cure for someone like him is high-voltage electroshock.” Andrew smirked as if he’d discovered the perfect solution.

Veronica’s expression softened a fraction. “You mean…?”

Andrew’s grin widened. “Someone twisted enough to cause this much trouble needs radical treatment. Shock therapy will do the trick.”

Veronica’s voice was icy when she spoke in my ear: “Michael Linwood, whether I can protect my man is not up to you. Let Andrew vent — and if you don’t, I won’t promise what I’ll do to your bastard’s ashes.”

Her look was a warning, hard and absolute.