I was out of options. All I could do was dig out the photographs documenting our past—the love letters where we'd poured out our hearts, the gifts and keepsakes that held meaning only for the two of us.

But every item I pulled out, Sebastian burned.

Eventually, I grew desperate enough to put on lingerie and try to seduce him—anything to make the man who was supposed to be my husband stay home for just one night.

Sebastian did pause. For the first time in ages, he moved toward me.

But just as his lips were about to meet mine, he gripped my chin and smiled—a cruel, mocking twist of his mouth.

"Joy, you really are this pathetic, aren't you?"

"Too bad I have standards. I don't touch dirty things."

The next day, he brought Narelle to a charity auction. My intimate photos—the ones I'd sent only to him—had been printed out and placed on the auction block.

When I was dragged into the venue, the first thing I saw was my own image splashed across the massive screen.

Sebastian watched the color drain from my face, his smile wide and vicious.

"Like it, wife? Happy first anniversary."

Laughter rippled through the crowd. Dozens of leering gazes crawled over my skin.

Narelle draped herself against Sebastian's chest, her delicate frame pressed into his arms as she giggled at me.

"With my sister's notorious reputation, Sebastian, this gift really does suit her perfectly!"

"Though, ever since you and I got together, you haven't touched her once, have you? Someone with her... appetites... no wonder she's throwing herself at you."

"I'm not a petty woman. She's still technically your wife, after all. Maybe you should satisfy her sometime?" She pouted, tracing a finger down his chest. "You wear me out every night—I can barely keep up with how insatiable you are..."

At her words, Sebastian's gaze landed on me. The desire I'd once prayed to see had curdled into pure disgust.

"Touch her? I'd rather not catch something."

He turned and nuzzled Narelle's nose.

"Don't worry, sweetheart. I only want someone pure like you. Once the auction money comes through, I'll buy you that bag you wanted, hmm?"

Watching them wrapped around each other, I closed my eyes. Tears spilled down my cheeks, and despair—black and absolute—finally pulled me under.

My voice came out slow. Steady. Final.

"Sebastian. Let's get a divorce."

He glanced at me sideways. Then he laughed.

"Joy, what makes you think you have the right to ask me for a divorce?"

He rose, looming over me to drink in my anguish. His thumb brushed across my cheek, wiping away a tear with mock tenderness.

"Did you forget what I told you? I'm going to make you suffer for the rest of your life. And this?" He gestured around us. "This is just the beginning."

"As long as I don't sign, you'll never be free of this marriage."

To punish my disobedience, Sebastian moved Narelle into our home.

The living room. The kitchen. The bathroom. The storage closet.

Anywhere I'd been, I'd find them the next morning—used tissues and condom wrappers scattered across the floor.

I stopped sleeping. Entire nights passed with my eyes fixed on the ceiling. I saw doctors. I swallowed antidepressants, following their instructions to the letter.

Then one day, Narelle barged into my room, tablet in hand.

"Joy, after all these years, you're still this useless?"

"Watching you live like a dog every day... even I'm starting to feel sorry for you."

"Fine. I'll be generous and let you die with some clarity." Her smile sharpened. "That night—when you and Hubert were drugged? That was me."

She turned the tablet toward me.

On the screen, surveillance footage played in crisp detail: Narelle, tipping white powder into my glass.

My first instinct was to snatch the tablet and rush to show Sebastian the evidence.

But when he saw the surveillance footage, his eyes turned cold as ice.

"Narelle was right. To cover up your filthy affair, you really would frame her for it."

The AI-generated watermark at the end of the video destroyed me completely.

Narelle threw herself into Sebastian's arms, sobbing. He stroked her hair, comforting her, while his lips curled into a sneer aimed at me.

"Like mother, like daughter. Your mother must have been the same—couldn't keep her legs closed, cheated on your father, then killed herself out of guilt when she was about to be caught."

"First you tried to pin your mother's sins on Narelle's mother. Now you're pulling the same trick on Narelle herself." His voice dripped with contempt. "Did you really think I'd keep falling for your manipulations?"

I stared at him, unable to process what I was hearing.

The deepest, most guarded wound in my soul—and for Narelle's sake, he'd turned it into a blade without a moment's hesitation.

My hand flew up to slap him, but Sebastian caught my wrist and hurled me to the floor like garbage.

"Without my indulgence, Joy, do you really think you have the right to bare your claws at me?"

Narelle rushed over, pretending to help me up. But as she leaned close, her whisper was pure venom.

"You're just as stupid as your dead mother. Yes, I did it—but did you really think I'd hand you the evidence on a silver platter?"

"Your mother couldn't beat mine. And you'll never beat me."

Tears streamed down my face, numb and endless. Somewhere in the middle of crying, I started to laugh.

I lunged for the scissors on the nearby table and drove them toward Narelle.

Sebastian kicked them from my hand. His expression twisted with horror and disgust.

"Have you gone completely insane?"

He swept Narelle into his arms and summoned every top medical specialist in the city to treat her scratch. Then he moved her into my hidden estate.

My condition deteriorated rapidly.

I swallowed antidepressants by the handful. My hair began falling out in clumps. My memory fractured, pieces slipping away like water through cracks.

To survive, I forced myself to stop thinking about Sebastian. I locked myself in my room and buried myself in restoring ancient manuscripts, one crumbling page at a time.

I'd discovered this work by accident after the wedding—a way to escape the pain. Back then, I never imagined it would become my lifeline, the very thing that would help me finally leave Sebastian.

I stopped following news about Sebastian and Narelle.

But as Capital City's power couple, their stories found me anyway.

Today, Sebastian bought Narelle a private island. Tomorrow, they'd appear at some ribbon-cutting ceremony, her arm threaded through his.

Narelle had seamlessly stepped into the role of Mrs. Gilbert. Meanwhile, I had been erased from existence—forgotten, as if I'd never been real at all.

At least I'd grown numb enough that the days somehow kept passing.

Six months slipped by. Then one night, Sebastian came home.

He was drunk—completely wrecked. The moment he walked through the door, his mouth crashed into mine.

I kicked. I clawed. I fought. But he was a man unhinged, deaf to everything, and he took what he wanted.

The next morning, I woke to a bucket of ice water.

Sebastian stood at the bedside, revulsion pouring off him.

"You're disgusting."

"Crawling into my bed while I was drunk—is that how you used to seduce men?"

He called in a professional cleaning crew to sanitize the entire master bedroom. Halfway through, he decided it wasn't enough and had the whole room gutted and rebuilt.

I watched in silence. I didn't bother explaining anymore.

Sebastian would never believe me anyway.

It wasn't until my follow-up appointment that I discovered, completely by accident, that I was pregnant.

When the faint, steady rhythm of my baby's heartbeat filled the ultrasound room, tears I thought had long since dried up spilled down my cheeks again, beyond my control.

I had no one left in this world. Not a single family member. Not a single person who loved me.

But this child—this child made me greedy.

I wanted to keep it.

I didn't dare let Sebastian find out. I was terrified he'd force me to terminate the pregnancy.

Before I could figure out what to do, disaster struck.

During my second prenatal checkup, a fire broke out in the hospital.

As I fled, I saw Sebastian carrying Narelle out of another OB-GYN room.

The moment our eyes met, I was shoved by the stampeding crowd and lost my balance, crashing to the ground.

Panicked feet trampled over me, one after another.

Crimson blood pooled beneath me, spreading across the floor in an instant.

I screamed for help, terrified. Sebastian's gaze lingered on me for barely a second—then he turned away, Narelle still in his arms, and never looked back.

I lay there in agony, frozen.

So this is where we are now.

I pulled myself out of the memory. My pillow was already soaked with tears.

My hand drifted to my stomach, still aching with a dull, phantom pain. I apologized in silence.

I'm sorry, baby. Mommy couldn't protect you.

And your father... he really, truly doesn't love me anymore.

I should have let go a long time ago.

Just then, a courier arrived with a delivery to my hospital room.

It was an official appointment letter from the Federal Heritage Administration.

When I'd returned the restored manuscripts to the museum, Dr. Margaret Winslow had been astonished by my work. She'd immediately recommended me to her contacts higher up.

They had already promised: the moment I confirmed my acceptance, the government would automatically dissolve my marriage.

After completing my discharge paperwork, I walked out through the hospital's main entrance.

Sebastian's Maybach was parked right outside.

He stood with one hand braced against the top of the car door, carefully helping Narelle inside.

His eyes swept over me. A cold, dismissive smirk tugged at his lips. Then he slid into the car and signaled the driver to leave.

The moment his car pulled away, the vehicle the Administration had sent for me arrived, as if on cue.

I climbed in. The car made a U-turn and headed straight for the airport.