Zara never imagined the man who once swore to love her forever would now crush her dignity just to defend another woman.

The moment he nodded, something inside her shattered.

“Conrad,” she said in disbelief, "we’ve been married three years. Are you really going to let them hit me for that mis–”

Her voice cut into a scream.

“Forgive me, ma’am!”

The maid slapped her hard, again and again. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, her face swelling fast and her started to blur.

While the world spinning around her, Zara thought she saw Conrad lift a hand. “That’s enough. Stop—”

“Mr. Fowler, my face hurts so much. What if it’s scarred? Please call a doctor…”

Conrad snapped his attention back to Wrena.

Without a second thought, he picked her up and ordered the family doctor over.

Zara crumpled to the floor, coughing up blood after ten slaps landed on her face. 

The pain was excruciating.

But the it didn’t compare to the agony in her chest.

Once, when a maid accidentally broke a bowl and a shard cut her hand, Conrad had summoned a dozen experts to treat her. He’d even made every staff member go through strict screening, with one rule above all: her’s safety comes first.

But now, that same man stood by as they beat her.

His love was too heavy to bear.

For the next few days, Zara stayed in bed to heal. She didn’t leave the house, barely stepped outside her room.

She secretly searched for news of her parents and finally managed to contact them.

After seeing them, she returned home to find Wrena bossing around the staff, throwing out her belongings.

She spotted a lucky charm among the tossed-out items—one she had knelt for twelve hours to pray for.

“Who says you can to touch my stuff, Wrena? Do you have any idea how important that charm is to me?”

“Oh, really?” Wrena said coolly. “You know, you can’t always rely on lucky charm for safety. Try to rely on yourself once. Even with this lucky charm, you’re not always safe, are you?”

Right in front of her, Wrena ripped the charm in two.

Zara lunged at her.

What happened next was shocking: Wrena tumbled down the stairs and sobbed pitifully.

“Mrs. Fowler, I only wanted to stay here a few days. Why would you push me off the stairs? What did I ever do to make you hate me so much?”

“It wasn’t me! She fell on her own!”

Zara turned toward Conrad, who had just rushed in, tears spilling down her face.

She reached for him, but he shoved her away.

She lost her footing and tumbled down the stairs.

“Wrena! Are you hurt? I’ll get you to the hospital.”

He scooped up Wrena, not even glancing at Zara.

Panicked, Zara cried out, “There are cameras! The house has surveillance! Just check and you’ll see she did it on purpose!”

“So what if she did?” Conrad snapped. “Why didn’t you catch her?”

“If you could be a little more tolerant, Wrena wouldn’t have to keep hurting herself just to get my attention!”

His angry voice echoed as he walked out the door.

Zara lay at the foot of the stairs, her back throbbing with pain. Cold sweat drenched her clothes.

She thought her heart would ache.

But all she felt… was how ridiculous it all was.

Her husband actually thought it was her fault—for not letting him keep a mistress.

She was wrong for marrying him in the first place.

Zara stayed crumpled on the floor for over twenty minutes.

Just a month ago, Conrad had held her on the couch, brushing soft kisses across her brow. "Zara, you're all I need in this life. My heart is only so big—it can’t hold anyone else."

But now, he said she was the one who couldn’t tolerate others.

Her lower back throbbed in pain, but she forced herself to the hospital, got checked out, picked up medication and had just left when a group of nurses hurried past her.

“They say Mr. Fowler's handing out cash in the patient wing! His wife fell down the stairs and refuses to take her meds. Whoever gets her to take them wins a million bucks. Let’s give it a shot!”

“That’s not all! I heard he flew in the top surgeons in the country. I just want to see the drama.”

Someone bumped into Zara. She nearly fell but was caught just in time by the doctor who had examined her earlier.

“Oh, it’s you. With pain like that, no one came with you? What kind of family lets you go through this alone?”

She wanted to say her husband was with another woman. But the words wouldn’t come out.

That night, she returned home, lifted her shirt and saw her back covered in deep purple bruises. She tried to apply the medicine herself, but her hands couldn’t reach all the right spots.

She was still struggling when the door suddenly opened.

“You’re home? Wait—you’re hurt?” Conrad’s brows furrowed when he saw the marks on her back.

Before she could speak, he walked over and took the medicine from her.

“How could you be so careless? I told you—leave things like this to me…”

His gentle tone was so familiar, it caught her off guard. Her throat tightened.

Conrad realized he’d slipped up.

Just then, a maid called out from the hallway, "Mr. Fowler, Miss Lawson's bags are packed. She’s waiting. She said she’s craving some pork rib soup."

Only then did Zara snap out of it. He wasn’t here for her. He was picking up clothes for Wrena.

She bit down hard on her lip.

“Now that you’ve got the medicine on,” he said, “can you move? If so, go make some rib soup. Wrena’s hurt because you pushed her—she needs something nourishing. And your soup is her favorite.”

Zara stared at him, stunned.

Her blood ran cold. Even her fingers trembled.

“You want me… to make soup… for that mistress?”

“She’s not a homewrecker,” Conrad said, annoyed. "Don’t push me, Zara. Otherwise, you’ll regret for what I’m about to have done." 

If Wrena is not a mistress, then what is she?!

Zara wanted to shout it out. 

But she knew—her status, her wealth, even her pride, all came from Conrad.

If he wanted to take it all away, she couldn’t stop him.

Her parents’ fate was proof enough.

She spent three hours cooking that soup. Her back ached like it was being stabbed with needles. She could barely stay on her feet.

When she finally handed the soup over, Conrad said, “See? If you’d just done it, you could’ve spared yourself all the troubles.”

“Don’t worry. Divorce isn’t an option in my family. As long as you behave, no one can take your place.”

The roar of a sports car engine echoed through the villa.

Just like three years ago, when he brought a hundred luxury cars to take her home from the island.

But this time, he left her behind—and went running to someone else.

Zara returned to her room in silence.

She had lived in that house for three years. Every inch of it carried her presence.

The painting in the living room was her favorite. The garden was filled with blue hydrangeas she loved. Her scent lingered in every corner of the bedroom.

Over the next three days, she hired workers to tear out every flower.

She sold every luxury brand from the walk-in closet Conrad had built for her.

She threw out all the perfumes, trinkets and antiques.

The Fowler Family might have never had a divorce.

But no one ever said she couldn’t become a widow.

“Conrad… when you faked your amnesia to fool me, did you ever stop to think what it feels like to be the one who’s been fooled?”

That afternoon, Zara had just woken from a nap when Conrad burst into her room.

"What are you doing?" she protested.

He dragged her out and shoved her into the car. Her wrist turned red from the force, but Conrad didn’t seem to care. A cold smirk played on his lips.

“Today’s our anniversary. Did you forget? I’m taking you out to celebrate.”

How could she forget?

Every year before this, he’d started planning a month in advance. Showered her with diamonds and jewels. Everyone envied her.

But now he had Wrena. Why was he still pretending to care?

Zara was dressed in a custom gown. The massive diamond earrings made her ears ache. Her twelve-centimeter heels cut blisters into her feet.

“Conrad, my feet hurt. Can I sit down for a bit?”

At the banquet, he ignored her and dragged her around for toast after toast.

She drank one glass after another. She had no idea how many. Her vision blurred.

She turned—and Conrad was gone.

Her head spun. She dug her nails into her palm to stay awake.

She stumbled down the hall and heard a familiar voice from one of the rooms.

“Mr. Fowler, I thought you adored your wife. How could you get her drunk and arrange...”

Dread crept over her.

Before she could process anything, a man who looked like a vagrant grabbed her and shoved her into the room.

The stench was overpowering. Zara screamed, “Help! Don’t come near me!”

“My husband’s in the next room. If he finds out what you’re doing, he’ll kill you!”

She tried to crawl away, tears soaking her face.

The man laughed. “Yeah, right! Your husband paid me to sleep with you, sweetheart.”

“W-what did you say...?”

Her ears rang. It couldn’t be true.

Back when a man had tried to grope her on the island, Conrad had his hands chopped off on the spot.

He’d never...

She listened closely as the man continued. "You think I could get into a place this fancy without help? He got you drunk. You really didn’t notice?"

“He said if I slept with you and got pictures, you’d never be able to question his mistresses again.”

The man grinned, revealing yellowed teeth.

His words were like thunder, destroying everything she once believed about her marriage.

In a surge of desperation, Zara grabbed an ashtray off the table and smashed it into the man’s head, giving her just enough time to stumble out of the room and escape.

It bought her just enough time to flee.

But the world was too big. Where could she even go?

She pushed through the crowd, desperate to leave—only for Conrad to grab her wrist and throw her to the ground.

“How does it feel to be humiliated, First Lady? You like that?” 

He stood over her, eyes full of mockery. "You drugged Wrena. Did you think there wouldn’t be consequences?"

"I didn’t! I don’t know what—"

Before she could explain, a giant screen lit up.

Her own voice played back: "Help! Don’t come near me... My husband’s in the next room..."

Gasps, laughter and disgusted murmurs filled the room.

All they saw was the once-dignified First Lady, pinned beneath a filthy homeless man—exposed for all to see.