The moment the message sent, Mavis powered off her phone.

She told herself, over and over, to hold on a little longer. Once she was gone, she'd never have to swallow anyone's temper again.

All night, Mavis slept poorly, sharp pains stabbing through her lower abdomen.

Only at daybreak did she drift into a shallow sleep, but she'd barely closed her eyes before a thunderous slam of the door jolted her awake.

Bartholomew, gone all night, had finally come home. His face was twisted with rage.

He clamped down on Mavis's wrist, gripping so hard he nearly crushed the bone.

“Mavis, why can't you stand the sight of Sonia? You sent her threatening messages, scared her so badly she ran away from home. Are you satisfied now?”

“Years ago you stole the place that should have been hers, the rightful Swanson heiress. Now you pull every trick in the book to drive her out. Do you think that's going to win you more of our love?”

“Keep dreaming! All you've done is make us hate you, make us sick to our stomachs over you!”

Mavis's head buzzed. She'd ached the whole night through, the sweat on her pillow still damp. But Bartholomew couldn't see that. There was room for no one in his eyes but Sonia.

Her nose stung, and her eyes brimmed with wounded grief.

“Bartholomew, are you blind? Can't you see Sonia provoked me first? All I did was tell her the truth. Which part of it, which single word, did I get wrong?”

Seeing Mavis on the verge of breaking, Bartholomew's brow knit faintly, yet his voice stayed hard:

“Sonia's younger than you. She's got a grudge against you in her heart. Would it kill you to give in to her a little?”

“Mavis, I'm the one who loves her, I'm the one who wants to be with her. If you've got a problem, take it up with me. Picking on a young girl, what does that make you?”

The man's iron-edged words struck the very bottom of her heart, blow after blow.

She remembered the first time Sonia had bullied her. Back then, Bartholomew had stood by her without question. He'd said:

“Sonia, so what if you're the real Swanson heiress? Mavis is my wife. Whatever grudge you've got against her, bring it to me. Don't you dare pick on her.”

How long ago had that been? And now the man's attitude had flipped to the opposite extreme.

Inch by inch, Mavis's heart iced over. Stubbornly, she lifted her gaze and locked it on him:

“I've already said what I said. What's the point of you coming to me now?”

Bartholomew: “To take you to find Sonia, so you can apologize to her face to face!”

The scorn on Mavis's face deepened.

She wasn't the one who'd done wrong, yet she was the one being ordered to apologize to Sonia.

But the old Bartholomew, he used to ache just hearing her speak a single soft word to anyone else.

Mavis's nails dug into her palm, blood seeping out drop by drop. She spoke each word slow and deliberate:

“I did nothing wrong, and I will not apologize!”

In an instant, Bartholomew's face went dark, and he hauled Mavis downstairs.

She hadn't even put on shoes. The skin of her feet scraped raw against the floor, and she winced, brows pinched tight with pain.

“Bartholomew, let go of me. I want a divorce. You have no right to treat me like this!”

But Bartholomew shot back: “Divorce you, and let you crawl back to the Swansons so you can bully Sonia even more freely? Mavis, I will never give you that chance!”

Mavis's feet hurt, but what hurt more was her heart.

So he'd refused the divorce not because he loved her, but because he couldn't bear to see Sonia suffer the slightest wrong.

No sooner had she been dragged downstairs, dizzy and still unable to find her feet, than a slap cracked hard across her face.

Mavis's vision went black, her ears ringing, her skull splitting with pain. It took a long while before she could make out the face in front of her.

Davina Swanson looked at her the way one looks at a mortal enemy.

“Mavis, if I'd known you'd hurt our flesh-and-blood daughter like this, we never should have taken you in. We should have strangled you the moment you came back!”

Mavis's heart felt like it was being twisted by a merciless blade, the pain stealing the breath from her lungs.

The day Sonia had been brought home, the Swansons had promised her with their own lips:

“Mavis, no matter what happens, you'll always be Mom and Dad's good daughter.”

The Davina of those days had been afraid of hurting her if she so much as snagged a hair while brushing it. Now she drove the knife in, again and again.

Then Davina pulled a document from her bag and flung it in Mavis's face.

“This is the disownment agreement between you and the Swansons. From this day on, you are no longer our daughter!”

“Mavis, we will never give you another chance to hurt Sonia!”

The color drained from Mavis's face inch by inch. She looked at her arm, at the burn scars on it, and her eyes turned red.

She was the one who'd been hurt all along, yet her husband, her parents, every last one of them stood on Sonia's side.

Fine. If they cared about Sonia that much, then let them all be together for the rest of their lives.

She would never, ever give them another chance to hurt her.

Because the family ties had been severed, the elder Swansons forbade her from ever setting foot in the Swanson house again.

Bartholomew had gone out with them to look for Sonia.

Mavis dragged herself up from the floor inch by inch, but a flood of dark red blood seeped from between her thighs.

Her vision went black, and she collapsed completely.

When she woke again, the servants had already carried her to the bed. The family doctor finished examining her and said, with concern,

"Mrs. Henson, you've just suffered a miscarriage. The bleeding hasn't fully passed, and with such violent swings in your emotions, if this keeps up, I'm afraid you'll be left with permanent damage."

Permanent damage?

All these years, she'd been schemed against by Sonia, in the open and behind her back. The wounds on her body were too many to count.

Before she could say a word, the television in front of her blared out the hottest headline of the moment.

"Breaking news: Mavis Swanson, eldest daughter of the Swanson Group, is a fake heiress who has secretly bullied the true heiress, Sonia Swanson, for years."

What followed was a barrage of video "evidence," shot from every angle, of her tormenting Sonia.

There was even official confirmation from Bartholomew and the Swanson parents. Just like that, she had become the wicked woman on everyone's lips.

The family doctor was on fairly good terms with Mavis, and offered kindly,

"Mrs. Henson, would you like me to tell Mr. Henson that you've only just had a miscarriage, so that he'll take better care of you?"

Mavis shook her head. "Thank you for your kindness, but please don't tell him I was pregnant. When the time is right, I'll tell him myself."

The doctor didn't understand, but respected her wishes.

"All right. This is a private matter between you and Mr. Henson, so I won't say a word."

Weak as she was, Mavis slept through the entire afternoon.

When she woke that evening and came downstairs to find something to eat, she happened to see Bartholomew walking in with Sonia.

Sonia pointed at Mavis and said,

"Bartholomew, you said it yourself. My sister has to be my maid for seven days."

Bartholomew noticed how pale Mavis looked, and felt a flicker of reluctance.

Sonia caught the man's hesitation and pretended to be hurt.

"Never mind. If you don't want to, I won't force it. I just don't know how my dear sister will bully me next time."

At that, Bartholomew immediately caved.

"Fine, fine, I promise you. She really was in the wrong this time, and she really does owe you some kind of amends."

The two of them simply made the decision for Mavis, as though she weren't even there.

"Bartholomew," Mavis said, "what gives you the right to decide for me?"

"I did nothing wrong, and there's no way I'm playing Sonia's maid to apologize. Dream on, both of you!"

With that, Mavis turned to leave, only for Bartholomew to seize her arm.

"Mavis, don't be ridiculous. You were a counterfeit heiress to begin with, and now you've hurt Sonia again. What's wrong with being her maid and letting her vent a little?"

Mavis's throat closed up, every word she wanted to say jamming in her mouth.

The day her identity had been exposed, this man had said the one he loved would always be her, no matter who she was.

Now it was clear. All of it had been garbage.

Mavis drew in a deep breath. Perhaps she should end this as quickly as possible.

"You want me to be her maid? Then sign something for me."

Mavis went into the room, took out the divorce agreement, flipped straight to the last page, and held out a pen.

Bartholomew didn't flip through it. He cared about only one thing. "Once I sign this agreement, you'll agree to be Sonia's maid?"

Mavis answered without a shred of hesitation. "Yes."

Sonia tugged at the corner of Bartholomew's shirt, wheedling,

"Bartholomew, hurry and sign it."

Bartholomew didn't hesitate. He didn't even read a single line. He simply signed his name.

Watching the man's signature land on the page, Mavis's throat went dry and raw.

Once, to marry him, she had stolen the family's household registration book, and Bartholomew had clawed his way up through years of grueling struggle.

And now, divorcing was this effortless.

Mavis took the divorce agreement and turned to go.

But at that very moment, the pregnancy test slip from before slipped free and fell, and Bartholomew, a step quicker than she was, saw what was written on it.

His expression turned grave in an instant.

"Mavis, you were pregnant?"

Mavis's heart leapt straight into her throat.

Before she could even reach for an excuse, Bartholomew let out a soft scoff.

：“Fake, obviously. Just another one of your little stunts to get my attention.”

“Mavis, you'd fake a pregnancy now? All to fight for my favor?”

She froze for a moment, then laughed. A bitter, mocking sound.

“That's right. There's no baby. It's fake.”

“How could I ever have a child with you?”

A love this rotten didn't deserve a child.

Watching how little she seemed to care, Bartholomew felt as if a boulder had settled on his chest, crushing the air out of him.

“There's a business banquet tonight. You're coming with me.”

：“Bartholomew, you already have Sonia,” Mavis said. ”Why drag me along?”

“Sonia's the precious heiress. You're my secretary. If anyone tries to push drinks on me, that's your job, naturally.”

Every word she wanted to say jammed in her throat. She only gave a faint smile. ：“Fine. I'll go.”

Once this was over, she'd treat it as the clean, final cut from every feeling that had ever existed between them.

Mavis filed the divorce petition, demanding it be expedited. Three days, and she would have the papers in hand.

……

That evening, just to humiliate her, Sonia made a point of forcing her into a server's uniform.

Amid the clinking glasses and the easy laughter of the banquet, Mavis stood out like a wrong note.

Plenty of people thought she looked familiar, but the outfit threw them, and no one dared place her.

“Mr. Henson, who's this beside you?”

Her marriage to Bartholomew had always been a secret. The world didn't know who she was. But out here, in front of people, he had always acknowledged her work, her ability.

This time, though, Bartholomew tossed out one careless line.

：“The household help.”

She'd known for a long time that the man's heart had turned. Still, hearing it from his own mouth made something inside her ache.

She lowered her eyes and let out a low, cold laugh.

Help? What household help slept in the basement beside her employer, pulled all-nighters on proposals, drank until her stomach bled, again and again, all for his sake?

The host, baffled by whatever was going on between these three, hurried to change the subject.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Mr. Henson. Marrying into the Swanson family? Though I'm told there are two Swanson heiresses now. Which one is the lucky bride?”

Before Bartholomew could answer, a familiar voice cut in from behind. It was Mr. Wagner, a man with deep business ties to Henson Group.

“Secretary Swanson, why on earth are you dressed like that? Is this some new project your company's running?”

Mavis couldn't bring herself to say it: that it was nothing but Sonia's petty revenge, and Bartholomew's silent permission.

Seeing she wouldn't speak, Mr. Wagner went on, teasing with a grin.

：“Never mind, never mind, I won't pry. Maybe it's some private little game between you and Mr. Henson.”

“Word is Mr. Henson's about to get married. You've stood by him all these years, and he's always looked after you so well. Don't tell me the two of you are the ones tying the knot?”

Sonia's face went white in an instant, and Bartholomew's expression turned stiff, too.

Mavis took it all in, then smiled at Mr. Wagner.

：“You're joking, Mr. Wagner. I'm only a secretary. How could I marry Mr. Henson? Besides, I don't even like him.”

Something in those words struck a nerve. Bartholomew's face hardened in a flash, and his voice dropped low.

：“Good thing you know your place. Of course I'd never marry a fake heiress. If I'm marrying anyone, it'll be the real one!”

Mavis had once been the Swanson heiress. Few people knew that.

She was already standing at the eye of the storm, and now Bartholomew had ripped the truth open without warning. Every gaze around her shifted.

Voices started up.

：“An adopted girl, actually dreaming of taking the real heiress's place? Shameless.”

“She probably knew the truth ages ago. Why else would she cling to Mr. Henson's side, playing little secretary all this time?”

The jeers kept coming, sharp and relentless, and Bartholomew didn't react at all.

Mavis laughed at herself, then turned and walked up to the second-floor terrace. She'd had enough of that crowd.

But Sonia had no intention of letting her have any peace, and followed her up.

Away from Bartholomew, she let herself be more brazen, more vicious.

“Mavis, Mom and Dad have cut ties with you. Bartholomew doesn't want you either. How can you still shamelessly cling to the Henson household!”

Mavis fixed her with a cold stare. ：“Sonia, I'm the one who married Bartholomew. I'm the name on his marriage certificate. You're the one clinging to the Henson household. Provoke me again, and I'll walk out there right now and tell every single person that I am Bartholomew's wife, and you're nothing but the mistress wrecking our marriage!”

“Sonia, the only reason I haven't bothered to settle scores with you is that I did spend over a decade enjoying the Swanson wealth in your place. But my patience has a limit. Don't push me again.”