"Son, that's what happened, right? We're calling the police! We'll throw this tramp in jail!"

The moment those words left his mother's mouth, Roberta's bravado crumbled. Her eyes welled with tears, and she shrank into Clay's arms.

"Enough!"

Clay roared, shielding Roberta with his entire body.

He lifted his head and looked at me through the crowd.

His eyes were dark, impenetrable. Not a flicker of panic. Not a trace of guilt.

"Lydia, let's talk."

The Vance parents cleared everyone out of the room.

Only the three of us remained.

I didn't think there was anything left to say.

All I could think about was why, in this life, I hadn't sent Roberta to prison, hadn't let her rot behind bars. And yet he could still face me like this without an ounce of remorse.

I couldn't tell if what I felt was bitterness or hatred.

I pulled off my wedding ring and tossed it into the trash can.

My voice was flat.

"You made a vow. If you lied to me, we divorce."

"Clay, I'll have the divorce papers drawn up as soon as possible."

"Lydia!"

Clay's voice stopped me from behind.

"I'm not divorcing you."

I spun around, and for the first time, I looked at him with pure hatred.

"Then I'll file for divorce in court!"

"Go ahead and try."

Clay's face was half-swallowed by the dim light, his features blurred and unreadable.

"If you dare file for divorce, I'll cut off your mother's treatment immediately."

"I guarantee that no hospital in this city—no, in the entire country—will take her."

"Clay Vance!"

I clenched my jaw. My whole body trembled uncontrollably.

I must have looked utterly pathetic and powerless, because I saw Roberta break into a gleeful smile.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

"If you love her, just divorce me! You two can be together out in the open! Why do you have to drag me into this?"

I looked at Clay through my tears.

"I already stepped aside for you. I've never done a single thing to wrong you! Why won't you just let me go?"

Clay's voice was cold and detached.

"You haven't wronged me. But you've wronged Roberta."

My eyes went wide.

"When did I ever—"

Clay let out a scornful laugh.

"Every single boyfriend Roberta ever had—didn't you steal them all?"

"You, hiding behind that so-called 'loyalty tester' act, seduced every one of Roberta's boyfriends, slept with them, pushed her into depression until she nearly killed herself!"

"You stole so many of her lovers. It's about time you found out what it feels like to have your own man taken from you."

"And your mother! Do you dare tell everyone what actually caused her brain hemorrhage?"

"Your mother tried to help you steal a man. She showed up at Roberta's wedding and made a scene, and people cursed her until she collapsed. Your mother's lying there half-dead because she deserved it."

My head exploded. I lunged at them on pure instinct.

My palm cracked across Clay's face.

But when I raised my hand again, swinging at Roberta—

Clay shoved me away.

"Enough! Even now, you're still bullying Roberta!"

I wiped my tears and ground out every word through clenched teeth.

"I never did any of that! None of it! Clay Vance! Roberta is the one who stole my boyfriends! She's the one who eloped with my ex at the wedding and sent my mother into a rage until she collapsed!"

"There were witnesses. Every chat log is still on my phone. You can check for yourself—"

"Enough!"

Clay's palm cracked across my face, cutting me off mid-sentence.

His expression was murderous.

"Even now, you won't admit it. You won't repent."

"Lydia, I never knew you were this shameless. This heartless."

"You won't confess? Still lying?" His voice dropped to something dangerous. "Fine. Let's see just how stubborn you really are."

He stood, seized my arm, and dragged me toward the stairs.

"Clay! Let go of me!"

He ignored my struggling, hauled me down to the basement freezer, and shoved me inside. The lock clicked into place.

"Let me out! Clay!"

I slammed my fists against the door, over and over.

The only answer was his voice, cold and merciless, from the other side.

"You won't admit it? Then let's find out what gives first. Your life, or your pride."

"The moment you confess and get on your knees to apologize to Roberta, I'll let you out."

I pounded on the door until my hands went numb. No one came.

The cold seeped in fast.

I slid to the floor, helpless, my body temperature dropping by the second.

I didn't know how long I'd been in there when the door finally opened.

I looked up. Roberta rushed in, face full of concern, reaching down to help me to my feet.

"Sweetie, are you okay? Come on, let's get you out of here! We need to get you to a hospital!"

I stared at the sincerity painted across her face, and something inside me split apart.

"Roberta, why are you doing this to me?" My voice cracked, barely holding together. "What did I ever do to you? Why do you keep hurting me?"

If I had to choose who I hated more, it wasn't Clay. It was her.

We'd grown up together. We'd been best friends since childhood.

I was the one who stepped in front of her when that senior girl tried to slap her in school. Took the hit for her.

And she'd clung to my arm and sworn we'd be together forever.

Yet this was the same girl who, later, drove a knife into my heart again and again.

Roberta put on a wounded, aggrieved expression.

"I was just worried you'd been deceived by a terrible man. I only wanted to help you find a husband who truly loved you and trusted you."

"Look! If I hadn't tested him this time, you would've married a bad man. What if someday another woman came along and made up lies about you, just like I did? Then you'd—"

I flung her hand off, sobbing so hard I could barely breathe.

"You weren't doing it for my sake! Every single time, all you've done is hurt me!"

Roberta blinked, her eyes wide and innocent.

"Okay, okay. You're right. It's my fault. Let's just get you to the hospital first."

She pulled me up by force. My legs could barely hold me. She pushed me into the car.

The car drove straight past the hospital. Straight toward a hotel.

I watched the road with growing alarm.

"What are you doing? Where are you taking me?"

She just smiled, something secretive curling at the corners of her mouth, and dragged my weakened body out of the car and into a room.

The door swung open. Inside stood a group of burly men, leering, their faces twisted with ugly intent.

Roberta let out a piercing scream, ripped her own clothes, smashed her own forehead against the doorframe until it bled, and bolted out of the room.

"I'm sorry! I'm so sorry, Miss Sawyer! I won't fight you for him! I won't fight you for anything! Please stop hitting me!"

Every instinct in my body screamed danger. I forced myself upright, reaching for her, trying to grab hold of her.

Before I could steady myself, the door was kicked open.

Clay took in the scene. Me. The men behind me.

His eyes went red.

His hand whipped across my face.

"Lydia! Do you have a death wish?!"

"Not only do you refuse to repent, now you're trying to destroy Roberta?! You'd go this far to ruin her?! How can you be this vicious?!"

"I didn't!"

I bit down on my lip and screamed.

"It was Roberta who opened the freezer and brought me here!"

"Enough!" Clay's voice was a whip crack. "I'm the only one who knows the passcode to that freezer. There's no way Roberta could have opened it. You obviously unlocked it yourself and dragged her in here!"

He ground his teeth, his eyes savage.

"Fine. Threatening your life won't make you bend. Let's see if your mother's life does the trick."

My eyes went wide. "What are you going to do?!"

Clay turned to his men without hesitation. "Have Lydia's mother removed from the hospital immediately. No one touches her case."

"No!"

I threw myself at his feet, sobbing. "I'll apologize! You want me to apologize to Roberta? I'll do it! Just don't touch my mother!"

"Too late."

His voice was ice.

"When Roberta wakes up and decides to forgive you, that's when I'll decide whether your mother lives or dies."

I looked at Roberta, still cradled in his arms, and caught her snapping her eyes shut the instant my gaze landed on her. Faking unconsciousness.

A wail of despair tore out of me.

"I'm begging you, Clay. Do whatever you want to me. Anything. Just leave my mother alone."

"Roberta, I'll give you whatever you want! Just let us go!"

The only answer was Clay's back as he walked away, his voice carrying behind him like a verdict.

"Watch her. Make her kneel. If she tries to stand, break her legs."

One hour. Two hours.

I knelt there, crying, praying that Roberta would show a shred of mercy and wake up to stop Clay.

What I got instead was a phone call. Assistant Miller's voice, flat and clinical:

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Vance. Your mother passed away. Since you weren't present to sign for the body, we've already sent it to the crematorium."

"No!"

The scream ripped from my throat, and I doubled over, retching up mouthfuls of blood.

The bodyguard's phone buzzed. He read the message, then hauled me off the floor.

"Mr. Vance is hosting a birthday party for Miss Harding tonight. You're to clean yourself up and go to the venue. You'll kneel and apologize in front of everyone. That's your gift to the birthday girl."

I moved like a corpse. I followed them to the car, rode home in silence, walked into the bedroom, and began getting ready.

They waited outside the door.

Minutes passed. Then more minutes.

I never came out.

They kicked the bedroom door open and found the room empty.

The only thing left was a beautifully wrapped gift box sitting on the bed.

...

Clay wore a smile as he watched Roberta blow out her candles and slice into the cake with that sweet, guileless grin of hers.

But irritation gnawed at him.

Lydia still hadn't shown up.

He'd pushed her hard enough. All he'd wanted was for her to apologize to Roberta, to put an end to the wrongs she'd committed. Was that really so much to ask?

His agitation was climbing when a bodyguard hurried into the room.

Clay's eyes lit up, scanning the doorway behind the man. When he didn't see Lydia, the light died.

"Where is she?"

The bodyguards were drenched in cold sweat. One of them held out the gift box with trembling hands. "This is from Mrs. Vance. She asked you to open it."