By then, the burglars had lost all patience. One of them yanked Margaret by the hair and slammed her onto the floor with brutal force.

"You old woman! Aren't you supposed to be some billionaire's mother? And yet, you're not even worth ten million dollars? What are you good for?"

Margaret cried out as pain ripped through her scalp while her body writhed against the ground.

"Jess, run! Run now!"

Even in the face of terror, Margaret kept urging me to escape.

But her agonized screams did the opposite—they didn't paralyze me with fear. Instead, they fueled my courage. I sprang to my feet, determined to snatch her away from them.

"Agh!" Before I could even reach Margaret, another burglar shoved me hard from behind.

My head slammed against the sharp edge of a table, and blood gushed out instantly.

"You shameless woman! Are you trying to fight back?"

Through the haze of pain and crimson, I saw the burglar grab a heavy ashtray. He raised it high before bringing it down on my fingers again and again until I heard the sickening snap of bones.

The searing pain sent me into unconsciousness multiple times, but each time, Margaret's cries yanked me back to the surface.

When the burglars finally got tired of beating me, another one grabbed Margaret and flung her to the other side of the room. Then, he pulled out his phone and started a live stream.

Their voices were cruel and heartbreaking.

"They say seeing is believing, right? Since a phone call isn't enough, let's start a live stream and let that bastard witness it for himself!

"I refuse to believe a man that rich would sit back and do nothing while his own mother and wife suffer!"

That day, two headlines dominated social media.

First, a 60-year-old woman was livestreamed undressed during a hostage situation. Second, the business mogul Henry Larson had announced his engagement.

Both trended at the top, neck and neck, flooding every corner of the internet.

Henry was all smiles in the video as he gently stroked Derrick's head.

Facing the media, he declared, "That's all for today, everyone. The interview is over. Derrick is tired, and Beth and I need to take him to rest."

Bethany lowered her gaze, and a soft smile tugged at her lips as she said, "Henry has always been like this. Family always comes first for him."

Meanwhile, back in the hostage room, the burglars had torn Margaret's shirt from her body, leaving bruises in the wake of their hands.

They shoved her toward the camera like a prop, laughing and treating her suffering like entertainment.

My head was pinned to the ground beneath the burglar's foot, and blood and tears streamed as I watched the scene unfold helplessly.

Margaret's screams gradually faded from desperate cries of "Don't touch me!" and "Henry, save me!" to incoherent whimpers.

Her eyes lost focus, and she started to drool.

The live stream was flooded with comments. "This is sickening! That poor woman!"

"Someone help her! The burglars said they'd release her if her son shows up, right?"

"People on the internet, find her son! Hurry!"

The burglar kicked Margaret's limp body aside and sneered.

"Well, old woman, looks like your precious billionaire son doesn't give a damn about you. In that case…"

Then, without hesitation, he raised a knife and drove it toward Margaret's throat.

My body seized with terror, and I pleaded desperately.

I struggled, thrashed, and screamed. "Please! Please, let her go! Take me instead! I'll give you whatever you want! Just don't hurt her!"

Blood bubbled up my throat, spilling onto the floor as I choked on my sobs. A hard slap sent my head snapping to the side, and warm liquid dripped from my ear.

Soon, the air stank of blood.

Margaret, barely clinging to consciousness, turned her empty gaze toward me after hearing my cries. And even then, she tried to comfort me.

"Jess, don't cry. I'm okay. Don't be scared, sweetheart…"

I felt like I was going insane. Her voice sent an unbearable chill through my bones.

But I couldn't afford to break.

Margaret was already 65 years old. She should have been enjoying her golden years, surrounded by love, not enduring this inhuman torment.

Tears mixed with blood as they slid down my face.

I forced my voice to stay steady. "Margaret, I'm right here with you. Don't be afraid."

Abruptly, Margaret flashed a smile at me. That smile shattered me completely.

The burglar chuckled. Then, with a flick of his wrist, he plunged the knife downward.

"Useless old woman!"

In that split second, a force beyond reason and fear took over me. I lunged, shoving Margaret aside—just as the blade buried itself deep into my throat.

Blood gushed like a fountain.

So this was what dying feels like—numb, almost distant.

Even when the knife was pulled out, I bit back my sobs, forcing myself to stay silent.

I couldn't let Margaret know how much it hurt. I needed her to know that I was still with her.

Before I closed my eyes, memories flickered before me.

I saw the day Henry proposed—how he bought a cruise named after me, knelt at my feet, and swore lifelong devotion as he slid the ring called "Eternal Love" onto my finger.

Then, on our wedding day, Henry swore over and over that he would always take care of me.

And then, Bethany. After she returned from abroad, she set one trap after another—dragging me, step by step, into ruin.

I saw the shift in Henry's eyes—first doubt, then disbelief, and finally, pure disgust.

My thoughts started to scatter, but I heard Margaret's trembling voice somewhere in the distance.

"Jess, what's wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart. Jess, answer me! Where are you?"

I wanted to tell her I was here, but I couldn't. My throat had been torn open.

There were so many things I regretted when it came to Margaret. I wanted to say sorry to her. I should have protected her.

Finally, I let my eyes slip shut.

By then, Margaret finally caught the heavy scent of blood drifting toward her. As she moved closer, her hands brushed against the warm, sticky pool spreading across the floor.

When her fingers found the gaping wound in my neck, she froze completely.

The live stream chat erupted.

"OMG! Where is that man? Why hasn't he shown up yet?"

"Someone please find out who her husband is! Is this real? Help! She's dying!"

…

The burglar dropped the knife, and panic flashed across his face. "His wife's dead. No money now. What do we do?"

His partner let out a cold laugh and said decisively, "No big deal. We've still got the old woman alive. She's his real mother, after all. That ten million dollars will be ours!"

The burglar yanked Margaret up by the throat, nearly choking her, and shoved her toward the camera.

"Look closely! This old woman's son is Jensburg's very own billionaire—Henry Larson!"

In an instant, the comment section exploded.

"Wait, what? Henry's mother is at the wedding, right? He literally just announced his engagement to that painter, Ms. Foster!"

"Are these guys insane? How could they make up stories just for ransom money now?"

Just as confusion rippled through the chat, a new comment scrolled across the screen.

"Hold on—I'm on the cruise ship right now! I just saw Mr. Larson staring at his phone. His face looks tense!"

"Don't hurt Mrs. Larson! Mr. Larson definitely saw the messages—he'll pay!"

Then, a bolded message appeared, catching the burglars' attention. They read the comment aloud. "I'm Henry Larson! Stop everything right now!"

The moment Margaret heard "Henry", she lurched toward the voice and flailed her hands. "Henry! Save Jess!"

The burglars quickly connected to the caller, but the voice on the other end wasn't Henry.

Realizing they'd been played, the lead burglar cursed and threw Margaret to the ground. Her head hit the floor with a sickening crack, and blood pooled beneath her.

Margaret gasped in pain.

At the sight of that, the comments kept flooding in.

"Don't hurt Mrs. Larson! I'm Mr. Larson's assistant!"

"Henry's real mother is at the wedding! You guys abducted the wrong person!"

The burglar glanced at a nearby framed photo and laughed mockingly. Then, without hesitation, he picked up the same knife he had used on me and pressed the blade to Margaret's eye.

"Get Henry on the phone now, or I'll carve out this old woman's eyes and make soup out of them!"

It was a life-or-death moment, so the assistant had to dial Henry.

"Hello? Who's this?" A child's innocent voice answered.

Then, a warm voice followed in the background. "Derrick, come here. I made soup for you. Let me feed you."

Derrick handed over the phone.

Henry's voice came next, but his tone was irritated and sharp. "I said I'm not dealing with anything today. Why are you calling?"

The assistant hesitated. But seeing how Margaret was barely holding on, he had no choice.

"Mr. Larson… is Margaret Chapman your mother? She—"

Henry cut him off with an icy snap. "Jessica found you, didn't she? I'm warning you—if you ever let someone use my mother to get my attention again, you're fired. On the spot!"

His cold, final words echoed through the livestream. They rang in Margaret's ears.

She only heard the irritation in his voice.

"Henry…" Margaret whispered his name, but the moment the tears spilled from her eyes, her body gave out.

She crumpled to the ground like a butterfly with broken wings as the last hope crushed beneath her. And this time, she didn't fight it.

In the end, the live stream was shut down after being reported too many times.

The burglars, furious over losing ten million dollars, were seething with rage. One of them grabbed a knife, ready to strike, but his companion stopped him.

After clicking his tongue, he sneered at Margaret. "Since Henry refuses to acknowledge this mother of his, well…"

"Let's cut her tongue and blind her—make her both mute and sightless."

"She cried her heart out when that daughter-in-law of hers died. Let's give this old woman the honor of getting rid of this corpse."

Without hesitation, the knife slashed into Margaret's tongue. She couldn't even scream as blood splattered everywhere in an instant.

At the same time, Henry—who had been feeding Derrick soup—suddenly lost his grip on the spoon. It clattered to the floor as a sharp pain shot through his heart.

When Margaret regained consciousness, she was lying on the lower deck of a cruise ship—tattered, blind, and abandoned.

Somewhere nearby, she could hear Henry's gentle voice coaxing Derrick.

With great effort, she turned over. Her body trembled at the sound of his voice.

"Henry…"

Then, the burglars' words came back to her. They said I was dead and she had to collect my body.

Blood and tears streamed down Margaret's face as she choked out my name.

The severed tendon in her tongue had given her a brief reprieve, but now the pain was unbearable. Every attempt to open her mouth sent another gush of blood spilling down her chin.

The waves crashed over Margaret, then receded, only to surge forward again. She crawled forward with difficulty as she couldn't see. At the same time, her mouth was also burning with pain.

The seawater swallowed her, retreated, and swallowed her again in an endless cycle. Saltwater flooded her nose and throat.

Any other day, Margaret would've recoiled at something as simple as rain—yet now, she simply wiped the water from her face. Her deathly pale skin was set with determination as she crawled forward.

As Henry's voice was getting closer, Margaret said to herself, "Don't give up… Jess is waiting for you…"

Finally, she could hear him just within reach.

After summoning every ounce of strength she had left, she lifted her head and, despite the excruciating pain, screamed with everything in her—

"Henry!"

Henry's head snapped down.

And then, he froze. On the ground lay Margaret—looking like nothing more than a tattered, discarded rag.

For a second, pain flashed across his face. He instinctively reached for her, wanting to help her up—

But then Bethany's voice cut through the air. "Henry, is this Mrs. Larson? Didn't Jessica say she was taken hostage? Why is she here?"

Her expression was soft, but her eyes were sharp and maliciously cold.

"Well… it makes sense. Jessica's always been jealous of how much you care for Derrick and me. She's always tried to sabotage things.

"And today is such an important day for us… I wouldn't be surprised if she was just pulling the same tricks again."

Bethany sighed and added, "Poor Mrs. Larson though… She's not young anymore, yet she's still being used like this."

Her words sent a chill through Henry's expression.

His gaze turned cold and detached, like he was looking at a stranger.

"Mom, how could you go along with everything Jessica says? How could you show up in this filthy state, trying to act pitiful?

"There are reporters everywhere. Do you have any idea how humiliating this is?

"Drop the act already. Get up!"

Margaret's heart shattered. She reached for Henry's pants, but the pain was unbearable. She could no longer force out a single word—only blood dripped from her lips.

Seeing this, Henry let out a cold laugh and impatiently pulled his foot back.

"You even used ketchup to fake blood? Mom, this is getting ridiculous."

With that, he kicked her aside. Her body hit the ground hard, and her forehead slammed into a nearby rock.

She wanted to tell Henry how much it hurt. She wanted to say something—anything. But she didn't even have the strength to open her mouth.

When Margaret didn't move, Henry stepped closer and reached down to pull her up—

Then, a sudden ringtone shattered the moment.

"Hello, is this Mr. Larson? Your wife, Jessica Bennett, and your mother, Margaret Chapman, were taken hostage earlier today for ransom.

"Your wife was killed on the spot, and your mother's whereabouts are currently unknown. We need you to come in for an investigation right now."

Henry's heart skipped a beat.

His gaze snapped back down just in time to see Margaret cough up another mouthful of blood.

Her lifeless eyes stared into the void. Her trembling fingers instinctively reached for him as he crouched down.

Her torn lips moved so she could sum up a whisper. "Henry… save Jess…"

Henry squatted down, and a wave crashed over them, soaking his clothes—and his heart. Without hesitation, Henry scooped Margaret into his arms.

His voice broke, raw with anguish. "What is going on?"