It was already dark when Naya returned home. As soon as she stepped inside, Cesar came over with Abigail.

“Naya, where have you been? Why are you back so late?” he asked, sounding concerned.

Cesar took the backpack from her hand and gave her a once-over, noticing something off about her expression. Her eyes were red.

“Why are you crying? Who dared to bully Mrs. Harmon? I’ll make them pay!” he said playfully, coaxing her with sweet words as he reached for a tissue and gently wiped her eyes.

Watching Cesar fuss over her so thoughtfully, Naya’s memories came rushing back.

After they got married, when her business venture failed and she locked herself in the bathroom to cry, he had comforted her with the same tender voice.

He told her she could rest easy being his wife because he would protect her forever.

Later, when she became pregnant and her career still couldn’t take off, he insisted she quit and stay home full time, caring for him and Abigail.

Both of them were allergic to dust mites, so she bought a top-of-the-line mite remover and cleaned the house down to every corner, fearing they might suffer otherwise.

Abigail was a picky eater with multiple food allergies. Naya studied cooking obsessively, perfecting recipes over and over again until every dish was both beautiful and safe.

Back then, she had been so sure she was living a blissful marriage.

People teased her for looking more like a servant than a wealthy wife, but she didn’t mind. She truly believed she was the happiest woman in the world.

But now, looking at Abigail’s face—so much like her biological mother’s—Naya realized all those years had been a lie she told herself.

The thought brought a fresh wave of pain to her chest, and her eyes began to sting again.

Still, she forced it down, managing a small smile. “Of course not. I just went to the beach. The sandstorm was strong, it got in my eyes,” she said lightly.

As she spoke, her gaze drifted toward Abigail, who was half-hidden in the corner. Maybe she’d overheard what happened after school, her eyes looked uneasy, evasive.

But more than anything, they were full of jealousy.

Naya’s heart twisted. Abigail wasn’t her biological daughter, and her very existence had once been a source of shame.

Yet after raising her for so many years, Naya couldn’t deny the complicated feelings that had taken root.

She instinctively leaned forward, wanting to embrace her. But pain shot through her arm. Abigail had stabbed her with the small pocketknife she had been hiding.

Bright red blood welled up instantly, dripping onto the carpet.

A flicker of satisfaction crossed Abigail’s face. “It’s all your fault! Daddy said he’d take me with him today to see Zora, but you ruined everything!”

“You wicked stepmother! Why don’t you just die!” she shouted, eyes burning with hatred.

Naya stared at the wound on her palm, her heart cracking open.

She still remembered when Abigail was just two years old, barely able to speak. Back then, she had picked up the word “die” from somewhere.

She’d wrapped her tiny arms around Naya’s neck and asked, in a baby-soft voice, what it meant.

And when she learned that one day her mother would grow old and die, she had broken down in tears.

She cried until she was hoarse, nearly on the verge of respiratory alkalosis.

But even then, she clung to Naya tightly, repeating through her sobs, “I don’t want Mommy to die… I don’t want Mommy to die…”

And now, just days after Zora’s return, Abigail had completely turned against her.

As grief swelled in Naya’s chest, Abigail suddenly collapsed to the floor, pointing at her and crying out, “Dad, Mom pushed me! My back hurts, take me to the hospital…”

Startled, Naya turned and saw Cesar approaching, unnoticed until now. The moment Abigail spotted him, she threw herself into his arms, sobbing hysterically.

There was blood on her cheek, Naya’s blood, whether by accident or design, it was hard to tell.

But against Abigail’s pale face, it looked especially terrifying.

Cesar’s face paled. “Abigail, why are you bleeding? Are you hurt?”

“Dad… my head hurts so bad. Mom said she was wronged because of me…” Abigail sniffled, her eyes closed, her nose red from crying. “I’m scared… Will Mom hit me again?”

Cesar’s expression darkened instantly.

“Naya, how could you push her? If you’ve been wronged, say so, but why lash out at a child?” His voice rose sharply.

Naya looked at him, her chest tight. That face, once so full of love, now only showed anger.

When they first married, he used to say she was his everything.

He worried if she so much as stubbed a toe. A mosquito bite would send him into a frenzy—he once ordered drones to spray their garden after she complained of itching.

Now, her palms were bloodied, and he didn’t even glance at them. Without another word, Cesar turned and carried Abigail away.

“Stay home for the next two days,” he said over his shoulder, cold and dismissive. “Think about what you’ve done.”

The door slammed and silence followed. Naya stared out the window, watching his figure disappear down the steps.

A faint, bitter smile crept across her lips.

Four days passed before she saw either of them again. Her luggage was packed by then, waiting for the right moment.

Abigail scowled the second she saw her. “Dad, I don’t want to see Mom. I want to stay with Zora.”

Naya’s lips twitched; half a smile, half something darker.

Of course. They had spent the last few days together and completely forgotten about her.

“Abigail,” Cesar said, waving the servants over. “Take her upstairs.”

The once-bustling living room fell into abrupt silence.

“Naya, I just found out Zora isn’t dead. She’s returned to Chirean. She ran into Abigail at the hospital and stayed with her for a few days. Don’t misunderstand, she and I are just friends. We’re family,” Cesar said, his voice steady.

Naya looked at his serious expression and nearly laughed. ‘Friends? Friends who appear on marriage certificates? Family? And who exactly counts as family?’

The thought made her lips curl into a cold sneer. Still, she didn’t expose him. She simply let him take her hand.

“Naya, what happened to your hand? When did you get this scar?” Cesar turned her palm over, revealing the faded pink mark.

He gently ran his fingers across her skin, his face full of concern, like it meant something. Naya’s stomach turned. The hypocrisy was nauseating.

He didn’t love her, never had. And yet here he was, playing the role of the perfect husband.

“I wasn’t fair the other day,” he murmured. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you over Abigail’s fall. Let me get you some more ointment.”

“No need. It’s already healed,” Naya said, calmly pulling her hand away. Her hand had healed. But the scar on her heart, she knew it would never fade.

Cesar seemed thrown off by her coldness. Without a word, he took her hand again and led her upstairs, saying he had an anniversary gift for her.

Naya opened the box gently. Inside was a set of sheer, flowing chiffon pajamas; lacy, silky, revealing.

The sight of it made her stomach twist.

Cesar had always had odd ideas about what marriage should be. Naya didn’t like them, but she couldn’t stand to see him upset. So she endured the discomfort and played along.

Back then, she was still lost in the illusion that he loved her with all his heart. She believed that the more she gave, the more he would love her in return.

But now, looking at the sheer, sultry sleepwear, all she felt was revulsion. She calmly folded the clothes and pushed them into the back of the closet.

When she looked up, Cesar was staring at her, clearly surprised. Naya just gave a small, knowing smile.

If it were back then, even if she disliked it, she would still pretend to be pleased.

“Abigail’s grown up now,” she said softly. “We should be more careful.”

Cesar sighed and turned to leave the room. But just as he reached the door, his phone rang.

Naya glanced up, and it was none other than Zora.

Cesar’s expression shifted slightly. “Naya, something urgent came up. You should get some rest, no need to wait for me.”

He grabbed his coat and quickly stood up.

Naya watched his flustered figure rush out the door, a dull ache blooming in her chest.

She didn’t listen. Instead of resting at home like he said, she quietly followed him, keeping a careful distance as she trailed him through the night.

The car came to a stop in front of a house, and Cesar hurried through the gate and into the garden.

Inside the glass greenhouse, Zora lay on the sofa, clad in the same sheer chiffon nightwear. She clutched her chest with a delicate expression; brows lightly furrowed, the image of a fragile beauty.

The moment Cesar saw her, he rushed forward and pulled her into his arms. “Zora, don’t wear this anymore. If someone sees us, I’ll lose my mind.”

As he spoke, he took off his coat and wrapped it around her. Zora smiled teasingly. “What about her? Didn’t you give her the same thing?”

“How could she ever compare to you?” Cesar’s voice was thick with desire. “You’re bold, confident. These things were made for you.”

As he spoke, he began to kiss her skin, inch by inch.

But Zora pushed him away, tears shimmering at the corners of her eyes. “Cesar, what do you take me for? Another girl like Naya, someone who sold herself just to climb higher? Tell me, what exactly are we?”

“Of course we’re husband and wife,” Cesar murmured against her lips, kissing her again.

But those words, sharp as ice, cut through both Zora’s and Naya’s hearts like blades.

Zora collapsed into Cesar’s arms, tears streaming down her cheeks. “You’re my husband, but you spend every day with that woman. Even Abigail calls her mom. When will I finally be able to live in the open? Do you love her?”

“Of course not,” Cesar said hurriedly. “If I did, would I have gone so far as to swap your child with hers and toss hers into the trash without even a tombstone?”

Naya’s breath hitched. She staggered back, stunned.

She had imagined the worst before, that the child was discarded, forgotten. But hearing it from Cesar himself shattered something inside her.

He used to pray for their baby. He’d lie next to her belly, listening to every tiny sound.

He stroked her skin, whispered to the life growing inside. He held her hand, told stories, shared dreams of a future.

He’d loved their baby, or so she thought. Yet he left her child to rot, without even a name.

Before she could recover, another noise broke through the glass. Cesar pressed Zora beneath him, their bodies close, their kisses loud and urgent.

Outside, Naya’s eyes reddened. Pain ripped through her chest like a knife.

She glanced up one last time at the scene inside, then turned and walked away without looking back.

Once in the car, she grabbed her phone and called.

“How much longer?” she asked coldly. “I’m done waiting.”

“Two weeks,” the voice answered. “I’ll stage the accident and get him out of your life.”