Dad's face froze when he saw me. The anger twisted in his expression faltered, and he quickly lowered the gun.

Mom pulled me tightly into her arms, her whole body trembling.

She must be terrified, I thought.

I wrapped my arms around her, copying the way she usually comforted me, patting her back clumsily.

"Mom, don't be scared. Justin is here."

But her trembling only grew worse. She looked up at Dad, eyes full of despair, and held out a divorce agreement.

"Steven, let's divorce. Justin will stay with me."

Dad didn't even hesitate. He tore the papers into shreds and shoved them into the trash.

"We agreed on the day we married—between us, there will never be divorce. Only death."

His voice softened a little as he continued, almost weary.

"This was my fault. I shouldn't have let Bella move in next door without warning you—it provoked you. So you don't need to apologize to her. I'll find a way to atone for you."

Without another glance at us, Dad turned and left.

Watching his back as he walked away, I felt something shift in our family. Something broken that couldn't be put back together.

I thought he wouldn't return for a long time, the way it always was.

But the very next day, when Mom picked me up from school, Dad was already home.

The woman from yesterday—Bella—stood in the living room, directing bodyguards as they hauled our furniture out piece by piece. In its place, pink furnishings—colors that Mom hated—were carried in.

When Dad saw us, he stubbed out his cigarette and walked over. His voice carried exhaustion.

"Gianna, Bella wants to stay here for postpartum recovery. She doesn't like the old furniture, so we're replacing it. We've used this set long enough anyway—it's time for new ones. I know you don't like her, so I've bought tickets for you and Justin. Spend the month traveling abroad."

But this was our home! Why should Mom and I leave just because of an outsider?

Bella noticed us too. She walked straight up to me and pinched my cheek hard.

"You little brat. So the sickly weakling knows how to tattle, huh? I was planning to make you serve your baby brother once he was born, but instead you ran to your mother first. You really have a big mouth."

She leaned closer, voice sharp with malice. "Women like me don't like tattletales. When your dad and I have another child, not a single cent of Pearson inheritance will go to you."

Her perfume was thick and suffocating, making my chest tighten and my breath hitch.

Mom instantly pulled me into her arms.

"Justin is having an asthma attack! Quick, get his medicine!"

One of the bodyguards hurried to fetch it, but just as he came downstairs, Bella blocked his path. She took the inhaler and dumped everything into the trash.

"I'm a doctor," she said coldly. "Justin doesn't have asthma, just a little trouble breathing. He'll get over it without medicine."

My throat burned like a fist was clamped around it. I struggled harder to breathe.

Bella's eyes glinted with cruel satisfaction.

"Do you know why you're so weak, Justin? Why you keep getting sick? Because while your mom was pregnant with you, she slept around with countless men and caught something dirty. She passed her disease on to you."

Her smile twisted venomously. “Your mother is a whore who’s been with thousands. That makes you just as filthy. Not like me—I’m clean because I respect myself.”

But I knew the truth. Mom had only gotten sick because she sacrificed herself to save Dad. It had nothing to do with other men.

Had Dad forgotten that?

He sat on the sofa, head bent over work documents, silent. As if he hadn't heard a word.

Finally, Mom snapped. She kicked Bella hard, sending her stumbling aside, then snatched the medicine out of the trash. She pressed it to my nose with shaking hands.

Finally, I could breathe.

Bella's head hit the coffee table and blood bloomed quickly. But the man who had been calmly dealing with work a moment before shot forward like an arrow to shield her.

"Gianna, are you out of your mind?" he barked. "Can't you even hear the truth Bella is telling? If it weren't for you, why would Justin always be sick and unable to live like other kids?"

"Gianna, my patience has limits—apologize to Bella right now!"

Mom only laughed coldly and turned to me.

"Justin, do you think Mommy did anything wrong?" she asked.

I stuck up my thumb without hesitation. "I'll always support Mommy."

She smiled through tears.

Dad's face twisted with rage. "Look at how you raised Justin! You're not fit to be a mother. From now on, Justin will be raised by Bella."

He yanked me toward Bella.

Her cloying perfume tightened around my throat like a rope. I thrashed, but his grip only got harder.

My asthma flared, even worse than before. It felt as if a thousand ants were biting my neck. I collapsed to the floor.

"Come on, Justin," Dad sneered. "Bella already said you're fine. Stop pretending."

But I wasn't pretending. I could barely breathe.

Before I blacked out, I saw my mother fight her way through them, scoop me into her arms, and run outside.

As she carried me, I glanced back toward the living room—where my father was bent over, fussing over Aunt Bella’s injuries.

A wave of hatred crashed over me.

He once swore he would love Mom and me for a lifetime—but forever turned out to be so short. He'd changed so fast.

During my hospital stay those days, Dad never came to see me once. Yet when Mom pushed my wheelchair outside for air, I saw him again—sitting vigil in the neighboring room, tenderly attending to Bella.

I knew Mom had seen him too; her eyes were wet. I wiped them for her and buried my head in her shoulder.

"Mom, divorce him. Let's get rid of him," I said.

She paused, then pinched my cheek. "Do you even know what divorce means?"

I nodded, then nodded again. "Divorce means we never have to live with Dad again. Then you won't cry because of him."

She smiled ruefully and kissed my forehead. "Alright. I'll give him one more chance. If he doesn't change, then we'll divorce."

...

Three days later I was discharged. It was also my birthday. Mom threw me a grand party.

Just as we were about to cut the cake, Bella arrived—bringing a whole funeral procession with her. She stormed in wailing.

"My poor son," she sobbed. "Only four months old and burned alive. The mastermind walks free and now throws a birthday party for her child—how unfair the heavens are!"

"My son—oh, it's my fault. I couldn't fight like Miss Andrews to use power and get revenge. Boohoo—"

Her cries drowned the music. Guests who had been smiling at our celebration turned pale and stared at Mom and me with strange, sympathetic eyes.

Mom's face went cold; she signaled the bodyguards to throw Bella out. But Bella pressed a hand to her belly and hissed.

"Gianna, I'm pregnant again. Last time you killed my baby—Steven let you go. But this time he's already warned you: if you lift a finger against me again, he'll make sure you die in a heartbeat."

"Gianna, Steven doesn't love you anymore. Do you really think you can keep making trouble like before? Even if you don't care about yourself, you should think about your son."

Bella turned the knife toward me again.

Mom hesitated, her grip on my hand tightening. That was her way of telling me to be strong, so I squeezed her hand back with all my strength.

Then, as if shedding her gloom, Mom suddenly smiled—calm, almost serene.

"In that case, do as you please," she said.

Seeing Mom retreat, Bella's grin widened, her arrogance swelling. She tossed all my birthday gifts out, then split my cake in two with a vicious swipe.

But just then, the chandelier above groaned with a sharp creak.

Mom's eyes flicked upward instinctively. Too absorbed in smashing everything she could get her hands on, Bella didn't notice.

The next second, the chandelier snapped free and came crashing down, striking her squarely.

Blood splattered across the polished floor.

Mom quickly covered my eyes, but I still heard her voice, laced with a smile.

"Oops, Bella. I forgot to tell you—the chandelier is rusty. It could've fallen at any time."

Bella was carried out by an ambulance that night.

And I got a brand-new strawberry cake and fresh gifts from Mom.

The incident made the papers the very next day. Strangely, Dad didn't get angry at Mom the way he had before. Instead, he started coming home more often, and for the first time, he never mentioned Bella's name again.

I didn't understand why, until one late night when I overheard Mom speaking to the butler in the study.

"Bella's child died under that chandelier. Her face was ruined too. I suppose Mr. Pearson decided she was no longer of use, so he cast her aside. Now he's preparing to return to his family, to you and the young master," the butler said.

Mom stared out the dark window, her voice was cold. "Let's hope so."

In the days that followed, Dad really did change. He came home early, bringing me piles of toys and treats.

Mom's jewelry case filled quickly, and those designer clothes could hardly fit into the wardrobe.

Mom seemed to have also felt Dad's change, and the smile on her face gradually returned.

One day, Dad said he wanted to take us to visit Grandpa and Grandma. Their home was far away; and we drove for hours.

When the car reached a bridge, Dad suddenly stopped.

I thought he wanted to enjoy the view.

But in the next heartbeat, the doors flew open. Mom and I were dragged out.

Gone was his gentle facade—he looked at us with naked killing intent.

"Gianna, I told you Bella was no threat to your position, but you targeted her again and again. Because of you, she can't bear children anymore, and her face is ruined beyond recognition. Do you have any idea how deeply that destroyed her?"

"I've been coming home every day, treating you and Justin well, just so you'd let your guard down—so you'd agree to ride in this car today without your bodyguards."

With that, he gave the order. His men seized me and hurled me into the raging river below.

The moment I hit the water, Mom clutched me tight, her scalding tears falling onto my face.

Above the roar of the current, I still heard Dad's voice.

"Justin, don't blame me for being cruel. Your mother refuses to behave and is leading you astray. This is just a little lesson for both of you."

As the icy water swallowed me whole, I suddenly understood the words my mother once whispered, sitting alone in her room with red-rimmed eyes, staring at the wedding photo of her and my father in their youth.

"Times change, and people change with them."

My father's heart had grown as cold and indifferent as that river.

When I woke up again, I was in a hospital bed. Mom—wrapped in bandages—sat at my bedside, her eyes red and swollen from crying. She held me tight and kept apologizing, blaming herself for the pain I'd suffered.

But Mom was the one who had suffered the most, yet she never once complained.

That night she told me to sleep early because she had to go out to handle something. I felt uneasy and quietly followed her.

She went to the villa Dad had bought for Bella. With a group of bodyguards, she smashed the place, throwing everything into pieces, and then bound Bella.

When Dad arrived, windblown and furious, his face was ashen with rage.

“Gianna, must you push me to the grave to feel satisfied?” Mom sneered, toying the dagger between her fingers.

“I’m only treating you the way you treat others—how does that become forcing you to death when it’s you?” she snapped.

She pressed the blade to Bella's throat, and blood oozed out quickly.

Dad dropped to his knees without hesitation. "Gianna, please—please don't hurt Bella. She's innocent. If you let her go, I'll do whatever you want."

"You're doing this to force a divorce, aren't you?" he begged. "Fine—I'll sign."

He barked the words out, then had someone fetch the papers. With shaking hands he signed and pushed the agreement toward her.

Mom didn't even look at it—she ripped the page to shreds.

"You said when we got married, there's no divorce, only death. Today I must kill you both," she said, calm as a blade.