By the time I stumbled back to the house, it was already midnight.

This was the home I had designed with my own hands, every corner built with my sweat and devotion.

Yet now, it felt like a lavish tomb, burying five years of my youth.

The master bedroom glowed with a warm golden light.

Matthew wasn’t there, but his phone sat charging on the nightstand.

The screen suddenly lit up with a WhatsApp message.

Out of habit, I opened it.

Matthew had never set a password—he used to say there should be no secrets between husband and wife.

Looking back, the irony was almost laughable.

The message was from Sophie: [Miss me, baby?]

Attached was a steamy bathroom selfie, blurred by mist.

She was completely naked.

My stomach lurched.

“What are you looking at?”

I looked up.

Sophie leaned casually against the doorframe, wrapped in my bath towel.

She strolled in and sat on the edge of the bed—on my side.

“You know,” she said, her voice dripping with false sweetness, “this bed… we were on it last night…”

She let the words hang, her eyes taunting me.

I ignored her and scrolled through Matthew’s phone.

There was an encrypted album labeled Ella.

I tried her birthday—0415—and it opened.

Every photo was of Ella, from her first moments to now, each one captured with care.

The earliest was time-stamped April 15th, five years ago, in the early morning.

In it, Matthew held a newborn in his arms, his face glowing with pride and tenderness.

April 15th—the day after our wedding.

That morning, I had woken up alone.

He’d told me there was an urgent matter at work.

I had believed him, so much so that I made breakfast and waited for him to return.

In truth, he’d been in a delivery room with another woman.

I kept scrolling until I found a video.

Matthew held Ella, his voice melting with affection.

“You’re Daddy’s little princess… Daddy will always love you.”

Sophie’s weak voice came from behind the camera, “Thank you for being here, Matthew.”

“Of course,” he had said as he kissed the baby’s forehead.

“You gave me a daughter. I’ll always be here for you. Thank you, Sophie.”

My hands trembled.

“See?” Sophie leaned in, her chin resting on my shoulder, her breath brushing my ear.

“Ella looks just like Matthew—especially those eyes. It’s like they were carved from the same mold.”

She pulled out her phone.

“Since you’ve already seen that, why not see these too?”

She opened a video.

The camera shook, but the scene was unmistakable—two bodies tangled together. Matthew pressed over Sophie, his movements fierce, her moans sharp and grating.

“This was the night before last,” she said, licking her lips.

“While you were in the hospital, Matthew told me he missed me.”

She swiped to a photo.

Matthew, shirtless on a hotel bed, Sophie draped across his chest. Both of them looked utterly satisfied.

“This was this afternoon,” she continued.

“He told you he had a meeting. He came to me.” She leaned close enough for me to smell her perfume.

“He said you were boring. Like a dead fish.”

One picture after another. One video after another.

Five years—and they’d never stopped. And I, fool that I was, had only just learned the truth.

“Well?” Sophie tilted her head as she savored my expression.

“You were just a stand-in. Matthew needed the perfect wife for appearances. But I am his true love.”

I set Matthew’s phone down and pulled out my own.

I dialed the number I had already called once in the elevator, but I needed to hear it again.

“Changed your mind?” David asked. He sounded slightly tense.

“No.” My eyes stayed locked on Sophie.

“I just wanted to confirm—three days from now, you’ll be waiting for me at City Hall, right?”

“Ava,” his tone sharpened into certainty, “I’ve waited five years for you. I meant every word. I swear it.”

I ended the call and stood up.

Sophie blinked, caught off guard.

“Who were you speaking to? David? The Wall Street prince?”

“That’s none of your concern.”

I walked into the dressing room and began packing a few important documents and a change of clothes.

I left behind every luxury item Matthew had ever bought me. I wanted none of them.

“Ava!” Sophie hurried after me.

“Are you out of your mind? You’re going to David's? Do you really think he’ll want you? You’re damaged goods!”

Damaged goods.

I stopped and turned to face her.

“You’re right, Sophie. I am damaged.

“But you? You don’t even count as merchandise—you’re just some loose woman Matthew keeps on the side.”

“You—!” She raised her hand to slap me.

I caught her wrist.

“Don’t forget—this is my home. One word from me, and Matthew will throw you out.”

“He won’t.” She smirked.

“He can’t bear to.”

“You’re right—he can’t.” I released her wrist.

“Which is why I’m going to give him a very special gift.”

The door opened, and Matthew walked in.

As he watched me pack, he casually asked, “What are you doing?”

“Nothing. Just organizing,” I said without stopping.

“Need help?”

“No, I’ve got it.”

My voice was calm, as if nothing had happened.

“By the way, weren’t you planning a welcome party for Ella?”

“Yes. I was thinking of the day after tomorrow. What do you think?”

The day after tomorrow. Exactly seventy-two hours away.

“Perfect,” I said, glancing at him.

“Let me organize it. I’ll make sure it’s a welcome party you’ll never forget.”

He hesitated.

“That’s great. Ella will be so happy…”

Sophie had clung to his arm.

“I’m tired.”

His attention shifted instantly, so I walked into the guest room and locked the door.

At 2:00 am, I called the party planner, Kathleen Grant.

I knew it was rude to call at such an hour, but I didn’t care.

“Kathleen, this is Ava Vanguard.”

“Ms. Vanguard? It’s very late. Is everything all right?” Kathleen asked, a note of concern in her voice.

“I need to host a welcome party. The day after tomorrow. Unlimited budget.”

“No problem!” Kathleen was instantly alert.

“Any special requests?”

“Yes. I want a backdrop—three meters by five. I’ll send you the photo shortly.”

“Consider it done.”

I hung up and sent Kathleen the photo Sophie had shown me earlier of Matthew and Sophie tangled together on the bed.

At 3:00 am, my father called.

“Ava, what happened?”

Hearing his voice, my tears finally broke. “Dad…”

“Where are you, Ava? I’ll come get you.”

“I’m fine.” I wiped my face. “I need a favor, Dad.”

“Anything.”

“Withdraw everything we’ve invested in Spark Enterprise.”

He was silent for a while.

“All right. First thing in the morning.”

“Dad…?” My voice caught. “I’m sorry.”

“Silly girl, what’s there to be sorry for?” His voice trembled.

“Come home. We’re waiting for you.”

I ended the call and walked to the window.

In the yard, the rose garden shimmered a deep red under the moonlight.

Matthew had planted it himself on our wedding day.

He had said that the roses represented his everlasting and passionate love for me.

I let out a cold laugh.

Tomorrow, I would burn it to the ground—just as he had reduced my life to ashes.

“Mr. Spark has asked you to come to the dining room,” Mary Bennett, the housekeeper, called from outside.

I glanced at my phone—48 hours left on the countdown.

In the dining room, Matthew sat at the head of the table, with Sophie to his right—the seat that had once been mine.

Ella sat beside her, eating breakfast.

“Come here, Ava,” Matthew pointed to the seat on his left.

I sat down.

On the table lay a delicate breakfast Sophie had prepared.

“Tomorrow is Ella’s welcome party. I’m really looking forward to it,” Matthew said as he sliced into his omelet.

“It’s the official moment to welcome her into our family.”

Our family?

I glanced at Ella.

She was undeniably pretty, with features that did carry some trace of Matthew’s.

“Sure,” I said with a smile.

Matthew looked slightly surprised.

“You really mean it?”

“Of course.” I turned to Ella.

“Ella, I’ll throw you the most special welcome party you’ve ever seen.”

Ella glanced at me timidly before diving into Sophie’s arms.

Sophie stroked Ella’s hair softly..

“Don’t be afraid, baby. Mama’s here,” she cooed as her eyes challenged me.

“Oh, right, Ava,” Matthew added suddenly.

“Sophie’s luggage is still at the hotel. Could you go with her to pick it up? She’s going to stay here for a while.”

Stay here?

I stood. “I’ll pack my things.”

“Ava.” Matthew stopped me. “Aren’t you having breakfast?”

“I’m not hungry.”

Back in the guest room, I took out my phone and called Kathleen.

“Is the backdrop ready?”

“Ms. Vanguard. It’s being made exactly to your specifications. But this photo…”

“Is there a problem?”

“No… It’ll be ready on time, Ma’am. I promise.”

I hung up and walked out to the yard.

The rose garden blazed crimson in the morning light.

The same ones that Matthew promised would live for his love for me.

What a joke.

From the tool shed, I took a can of gasoline and poured it, bucket after bucket, over the rose bushes.

“Mrs. Spark, what are you doing!” The gardener ran toward me in alarm.

“Burn them,” I said calmly.

“But Mr. Spark had planted them himself!”

“I said burn it.”

The gardener didn’t dare stop me and stepped back, trembling.

I lit the lighter and tossed it into the rose bushes.

Flames leapt up instantly; crimson petals writhed in the fire, blackened, and crumbled into ash.

Thick smoke rolled upward, stinging my eyes with tears.

“Ava! Are you insane?”

Matthew rushed out, trying to put out the fire, but it was too late.

The entire rose garden was ablaze.

“Do you even know what you’re doing?” He seized my shoulders and shook me.

“I know.”

I pushed him away. “Just as you knew exactly what you were doing.”

“What do you mean?”

I didn’t answer. I turned and walked back into the house.

In the living room, I began gathering every photograph—wedding portraits, travel snapshots, moments from daily life—pulling each from its frame and piling them on the floor.

“These are all photos of you and Mr. Spark,” Mary murmured.

“I know.”

I carried the photos into the yard and threw them into the fire.

The flames roared higher.

Matthew stood to the side, his face dark in the shadows cast by the flames.

“That’s enough, Ava!”

“Hardly,” I said as I went back inside and hauled out every gift he had ever given me—bags, jewelry, clothes—and tossed them all into the fire.

“That Chanel is a limited edition!” Sophie screamed.

“Then go fetch it,” I said.

Sophie started forward, but Matthew held her back.

I stood before the blaze, watching five years of memories go up in flames.

“Ava…,” Matthew came over, his voice soft.

“What’s wrong with you? Is it because of Sophie? I can have her move out.”

“No need for that.”

I turned to look at him. “Do you remember what you said about the roses? For as long as they loved, your love for me would never fade.”

He froze.

“Now the roses are dead.” I smiled faintly.

“So your love should die too.”

At that moment, Sophie walked over and slipped her arm through his.

“Matthew, I feel a little dizzy.”

He immediately steadied.

“Was it because last night was too exhausting?” he asked.

Last night?

They exchanged a knowing smile, the kind of tacit intimacy that stabbed into my eyes.

I took out my phone and messaged my assistant: [Sell all the stocks under my name. Convert everything to cash.]

Then I checked the time—forty-six hours left.

That night, Matthew couldn’t sleep.

He stood at the window of his study, staring at the scorched earth in the yard.

I had burned more than just roses—I had burned my past with him.

He thought about talking to me. His hand was already on the doorknob when he heard my muffled sobs in the guest room.

His hand froze midair.

“Matthew?” Sophie’s voice called out from behind him.

“What are you doing here?”

He turned to see her wearing my pajamas. A wave of irritation rose in his chest. “Nothing.”

“Are you worried about Ava?” Sophie stepped closer.

“I think she’s just throwing a tantrum—”

“Enough,” Matthew cut her off. “Go back to the room.”