4

Margery’s POV

Ten minutes later Gibson returned, flanked by a group of bodyguards. The look in his eyes toward me was full of coldness.

“Margery, no matter what happened, you shouldn’t have laid a hand on Wanda. Don’t you know she was sobbing until her eyes were red? Come with me now and apologize.”

He seized my arm as he spoke.

“I’m not apologizing,” I shot back, tearing my head away. Anger filled my eyes. “After all, those people only said those accusations and rumors because Wanda secretly told them to.”

“Still, you shouldn’t have done what you did,” he replied, his tone stern and his eyes full of disgust. “Was there even a little wrong in what they said? Your mother died, and at her funeral you said you still planned to go ahead with the wedding. Aren’t their doubts justified?”

My pupils constricted; for a moment my breath stopped.

‘So that’s how Gibson sees me, huh?’

Then, as if answering my thought, another realization came. ‘Of course, he thinks that way of me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have gone so far just to delay our wedding.’

A bitter laugh escaped me, then I steadied my expression and said firmly, “I won’t apologize. You know in your heart that every slap Wanda got was deserved.”

I spoke with finality, and even meant to rise and leave.

But Gibson’s face went stone-cold. He stepped toward me and said, “If you choose to make a scene at your mother’s funeral, it’s clear you don’t care about her death at all. In that case, there’s no point in holding the funeral.”

With that, he waved to the men behind him. The bodyguards surged forward like the kidnappers who had barreled into my mother’s operating room yesterday, and they began to wreak havoc on the funeral.

One of them even lifted my mother’s portrait and the urn high above his head as if to smash them to the floor!

I couldn’t hold back. I lunged forward to stop them.

“What are you doing? Let go! Put down my mother’s ashes!” I screamed.

But they just ignored me, and their faces curled into mocking smiles.

In an instant, I felt that old and familiar helplessness wash over me. My eyes were swollen and red; I struggled forward but Gibson gripped my arm like iron and held me fast.

I watched, frozen, as the urn was about to be smashed. I shouted again. “I’ll do anything! I’ll apologize—anything—just tell them to put down my mother’s ashes!”

I collapsed to the floor, every word falling out of me in a ragged plea. I clutched at my palm until the skin split and bled.

I thought that would be enough to save her ashes. Instead, Gibson only paused for a breath after hearing me, then spoke calmly, “Margery, it’s too late for words. You need to be taught a lesson.”

Just like that, he flicked his hand.

The next second, the clear shattering crack of the urn breaking rang out.

My mind went blank for a moment. All I could see was the scattered ash of my mother on the floor.

“Mom!” I screamed and flung myself forward, hands trembling as I tried to scoop the ashes back into the shattered vessel.

A bodyguard recoiled at my movements and stumbled; his foot happened to land on the ashes.

My mother’s funeral… was ruined, trampled and desecrated, and in the end, my mother’s ashes could not be saved.

I stared at them being trodden underfoot, and at Gibson’s face: unreadable, indifferent.

I could no longer bear it. I collapsed.

In the last second before blacking out, through the fog of unconsciousness, I thought I saw an anxious expression flash across Gibson’s face.

5

Margery’s POV

When I woke up again, I found myself in the hospital—with no one by my side.

My phone buzzed. It was another message from Wanda.

The video showed Gibson treating her with the utmost tenderness. Every small wound on her body was enough to make his expression fill with pain and pity.

I stared at the screen in silence for a long moment, then saved all of the videos.

Along with them, I transferred the surveillance footage from the funeral—the moment when Gibson and Wanda had raised their hands against me—onto a flash drive.

For the next two days, neither of them appeared before me.

The only reminders of their presence were the endless stream of videos Wanda sent, flaunting how blissfully happy they were together.

For the tiniest scratch on her skin, Gibson not only called every doctor in the vicinity but even went so far as to hire top specialists from nearby cities.

In those two days at the hospital, I lost count of how many nurses and patients spoke enviously of Wanda.

And yet, strangely enough, my heart had gone completely still.

After packing my things, I returned to the villa in Belltown. This place was meant to be my marital home with Gibson.

But now, I had made up my mind—I was moving out.

I gathered all the letters he had written to me, the handmade trinkets he had crafted, the preserved flowers he had painstakingly put together, and the little clay figurines that represented “us.”

In this, Gibson had never failed. Every thoughtful gesture, every gift wrapped in love, every tender look—each one had only driven me deeper into a delusion.

But as I looked back now, I realized none of it should have ever existed.

One by one, I threw it all into the fire.

As the flames roared to life, the affection I had once held for Gibson burned away with them, until nothing remained but ashes.

And it was at that very moment—when the fire had nearly consumed everything—that Gibson appeared with Wanda at his side.

His brows furrowed as he looked at me. Behind him, Wanda wore a smug, triumphant smile.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

I said nothing.

He was about to press further, but Wanda tugged lightly at his sleeve.

Immediately, his expression shifted into one of unease.

“Because of what happened a few days ago, Wanda’s health has been fragile,” he said at last. “She’s moving into the villa. That way, I can take proper care of her. Think of it… as my way of atoning for you.”

As he finished, he protected Wanda behind him, as if I were the threat.

The sight of his guarded stance tore a laugh from my throat.

“You destroyed my mother’s funeral for her. You even smashed her ashes. And now, you dare say this is atonement?”

My scorn made his brows knit deeper.

Meanwhile, Wanda’s eyes filled instantly with tears.

“Gibson, maybe I should just leave,” she whispered. “Even though my wounds still hurt, I can bear it. It doesn’t matter.”

She turned as if to go, but Gibson caught her hand at once.

“You’re always so considerate, Wanda. Even when you’re not at fault, you still think of others. Don’t worry. You’re moving in. If anyone dares object, then they can pack their things and leave!”

He said it deliberately, his gaze cutting toward me.

I let out a cold laugh. “You don’t have to drive me out. I have no intention of living under the same roof as people like you.”

Without waiting for a response, I went upstairs, grabbed the suitcase I had already packed, and walked straight out of the villa without sparing them a glance.

Gibson hadn’t expected me to be so decisive. He must have remembered what had happened at the funeral. His eyes flickered with panic and something like… pain.

“Wait—” he called after me, stepping forward.

But before he could take more than a few steps, Wanda tugged at his sleeve with wounded fragility.

He hesitated. And at that moment of hesitation, all he could do was watch my back as I continued to walk away.

6

Margery’s POV

That night, I had barely finished packing when I received another video from Wanda. I hadn’t even had a chance to lie down before the message lit up my phone.

The moment I opened it, their bodies filled the screen—Wanda and Gibson entangled, only inches apart. They were wrapped around each other; Wanda looked utterly seductive, every inch the opposite of the fragile woman she’d shown by day.

I closed my eyes for a beat, then copied the file onto the flash drive.

The next morning, I straightened myself, checked my reflection once, and set off for a party I hadn’t planned on attending—one I only honored because I’d previously promised the host.

At the hall, I hadn’t even said hello to my friends before I saw him—Gibson, calmly moving through the crowd.

And by his side, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, stood Wanda.

Everyone knew Gibson and I were supposed to be engaged. He had every right to come, but to appear with Wanda like this—openly, without an ounce of shame—felt like an insult flung across my face.

I stopped dead and stared at the two of them, unable to tear my eyes away from their brazen closeness.

“Why did you bring her?” I asked, my voice steady but small.

Gibson’s face gave nothing away; his expression was composed.

“Wanda only wanted to see what one of these things is like—to broaden her horizons a little, you know. You should be more understanding,” he said, as if offering a trivial explanation.

He turned away at the timid tug of Wanda’s hand, not bothering to consider what I was supposed to do where I stood.

He led Wanda away without ceremony, leaving me to the furious look that must have shown plainly on my face.

Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind over dry grass.

“Isn’t Margery supposed to be Gibson’s fiancée? Then… why is that woman by his side instead of her?”

“Don’t you know? That’s the woman he actually likes. I bet his bride is going to be replaced soon.”

Hearing that, I could no longer hold myself together. My palms clenched so tightly that I could feel the strain in my knuckles.

And then, like a punch to the gut, I recognized a familiar face in the crowd—one of the men who had stormed my mother’s operating room!

I sprang forward.

The man seemed to sense me and quickened his pace.

We rounded a corner; I nearly had him. My fingers brushed his sleeve—almost enough to grab his arm and drag him to the cops.

But then, like a shadow, a pair of hands shot out from behind me and clamped down.

“Let go of me!” I snarled, but before I could finish the sentence, I was slammed hard to the ground.

I gasped and twisted to look—Gibson stood over me, his eyes burning with contempt, while Wanda flushed and pressed to his side.

His voice was hoarse, layered with disgust.

“Margery! Why would you drug Wanda? She only wanted to try being at a party, and you wanted to make her a spectacle! That’s unforgivable!”

He tightened his grip on my hair and forced my head up so I had no choice but to look at him.

“I… I didn’t—” I choked out, anger and breath both squeezed thin.

But he didn’t listen. His gaze only went cold.

“You need to be taught a lesson.”

Just like that, he gestured to the bodyguards behind him. One stepped forward without hesitation.

“Fill the pool with ice,” Gibson ordered. “Throw her in. Don’t let her out until the sun’s up.”

With Wanda tangled against him and panting, he turned and left. Suddenly, the world narrowed to a humming in my ears; my thoughts scattered like startled birds.

I hadn’t yet found the strength to stand when the guards hauled me away.

With a splash, I was dumped into the pool—a hollow of water packed with jagged ice.

My body shook uncontrollably. I tried to climb out, fingers clawing at the wet edge, but a guard kicked me back down.

Pain spiked through me with every breath; the cold stole my strength as surely as a thief takes pocket change.

From the rooms above, silhouettes moved. Through the frost of my vision, I could see them shifting—close, intimate—while moans and low sounds leaked into the night.

Even though I had long known they were involved in everything, to witness it with my own eyes—my promised husband tangled with another woman—brought a grief so sharp that it felt like drowning.

My chest tightened until breathing itself began to sting.

I shivered until my lower body ached, and then, horrible and sudden, blood flooded between my legs. Hot, profuse crimson rose through the icy shock.

The next moment came as darkness rushing in: I could not hold on. My limbs went loose; the world tipped away, and I slipped into black.