When I learned my grandfather had been in a car accident and was now in a coma, I called my husband ninety-nine times. Not once did he pick up.

So I brought the perpetrator to court myself.

But when the courtroom doors opened, I found my husband—who claimed to be too busy to answer the phone—seated calmly at the defendant’s table.

As a top lawyer, he stood before the cameras with a righteous expression and declared,

“My wife is an entertainment reporter. She orchestrated this entire charade to stir up attention. She even tried to use her mentally unstable grandfather to frame Ms. Vanessa Blake.”

“As her husband, I will not cross the line of legality for anyone—not even her.”

Vanessa, the defendant, sneered arrogantly: “You want to sue me? One of my car tires costs more than your life.”

I tried to track down the witnesses from that day, but every one of them had been bought off. No one dared speak to me.

And to stop me from collecting further evidence or involving the authorities, my own husband paid someone to break my legs.

When I woke up in the hospital, the first thing I saw was a divorce agreement and a property transfer document placed neatly at my bedside.

“Be good. We’re still technically married. If you cooperate, you won’t have to suffer more. But if you resist… don’t blame me. No one wants a cripple,” his note read.

People cursed me online, blamed me for everything. Even my daughter couldn’t escape the fallout. She was bullied at school, and one day, she was pushed from a tall building. She died on the spot.

In the depths of my grief, I took out my grandfather’s medal of honor—proof of the sacrifices he had made—and swore I would fight for justice.

The second hearing was scheduled in seven days. And this time, I was determined to see whether justice could prevail against the power of money.

“Daniel Harvey, my grandfather, is still in the ICU! And you—you’re defending the person who ran him over?”

My voice trembled with emotion as I confronted my husband, now calmly sitting at the defense table.

His hand rested casually over Vanessa’s. Their interlocked fingers stabbed my heart like knives.

“Emily Carter,” he said coldly, adjusting his gold-rimmed glasses. “This is a court of law, not a wet market. Screaming won’t solve anything.”

He stood and began pacing slowly. “Your grandfather willfully threw himself in front of Ms. Blake’s vehicle, staining her luxury car with blood. Honestly, you should be grateful she hasn’t filed charges against him. You think you can extort her?”

“What the hell are you saying?” I shouted. Every word from his mouth felt like it was ripping my insides apart.

“Ten years ago, my grandfather saved your life—he lost his leg for you! And this is how you repay him?”

“You think this is justice? You think you’re worthy of the man who gave everything for you?”

Tears welled in my eyes, but I held them back. I wouldn't cry—not here.

After my grandfather lost his leg, saving Daniel, he could no longer work as he once did. Life was hard, but he never once complained.

He used to say, “A leg is nothing compared to a life.”

But no one expected his kindness to end like this.

Daniel, without the slightest hint of remorse, said coldly:

“As Vanessa’s attorney, my priority is to defend her rights and reputation.”

He turned to the judge. “Your Honor, it’s precisely because Mr. Carter lost his job and fell into hardship that he began drinking and spiraled into depression. In that state, he aimed to target wealthy people like Ms. Blake for money.”

He then pointed at me. “As for Emily, this woman is using her grandfather’s condition to blackmail my client. And though she is my wife, I stand here first as a lawyer. I will not be swayed by personal bias.”

No personal bias.

What is love, then?

We had been married for ten years. And yet, in my darkest hour, he stood across from me—publicly smearing my name and dragging my family’s dignity through the mud.

It felt like someone had taken a blade to my chest and carved out my heart, throwing it into freezing water.

Swallowing the bitterness in my throat, I approached the judge and handed over two video files.

In them, my grandfather—who had been planning to take me fishing that morning—was instead shown lying unconscious in the ICU.

He had sustained multiple fractures, clearly run over twice.

The bandages wrapped around his body were already soaked in deep red. One of his legs was shredded beyond recognition, as if it had gone through a meat grinder.

The courtroom was silent. I couldn’t speak from the pain.

But Daniel simply scoffed and asked, “And what exactly do these videos prove?”

He looked straight ahead, cold and distant. “Is there any footage that directly shows Ms. Blake breaking traffic laws?”

Was this really the man I had loved? He was now a stranger—terrifyingly heartless.

“Judge,” I pleaded, “the video evidence and the hospital footage have been submitted. Don’t they count?”

My voice cracked as I looked around the emotionless courtroom.

The judge replied, “Atty. Harvey is correct. The evidence is inconclusive. No conclusive footage shows fault. The hospital clip is insufficient.”

“Inconclusive?” My mind spun.

“But the video clearly shows her hitting someone on the side of the road!”

Only… they didn’t.

In the footage, it showed my grandfather hobbling forward on crutches—seemingly throwing himself at the car.

My legs gave out beneath me. This couldn’t be.

I copied the real video myself. Someone had swapped it.

AI-generated video.

Someone had forged the footage.

Vanessa sat nonchalantly, running her fingers through her curls, admiring her manicured nails as if none of this concerned her.

I wanted to tear her apart with my bare hands.

She was confident because they had erased all traces of the truth.

And only one person had access to everything—Daniel.

The day before the crash, he claimed his computer broke and borrowed mine.

He must’ve tampered with the files then.

I lunged at him like a madwoman, grabbing his tie.

“Daniel! You’re a lawyer. You knew the law—and you still destroyed evidence for her?”

The judge pounded the gavel. “Emily! If you don’t calm down, you’ll be held in contempt!”

Daniel brushed off my hand and calmly straightened his collar.

“Your grandfather’s fate is unfortunate, but it’s not Ms. Blake’s concern.”

He looked at me as if I were nothing.

“Vanessa was being merciful. But your greed pushed this too far. In that case, we have no choice but to countersue—for defamation and attempted extortion.”

He turned to the judge and submitted a third video.

The screen came to life. I was in bed, naked, while he was fully dressed beside me.

My voice played clearly:

“Honey, you’re a lawyer. Help me out. This way, we can squeeze money from that rich girl. Grandpa’s getting old—this could solve everything. Even if we can’t get the money, the media buzz will help my career. I need the exposure.”

Gasps filled the courtroom.

Dozens of eyes—curious, judgmental—fell on me.

The man who once hesitated to hold my hand in public was now parading this fake scandal before the world to protect another woman.

His love hadn’t disappeared; it had merely been transferred.

To her.

He whispered softly to Vanessa, trying to calm her as the video ended.

He was worried she might get jealous.

My chest constricted until I could hardly breathe.

I was burning with shame and fury.

I wanted to vanish into the floor.

But I had to stay strong.

My grandfather was still alive. He needed me.

I looked at the footage again, holding back tears.

It was me in the video, yes—but I never said those words.

Someone had edited it.

Now I understood why he was acting so sweet that night, bringing me champagne roses—my favorite, even though he hadn’t bought them in years.

He needed me to feel safe. Needed me vulnerable.

That night was a setup.

So what I mistook for love was nothing more than a plan to exonerate his mistress.

My knees buckled, and I looked at him, desperate for some hint of guilt.

But there was none.

Not a flicker of emotion.

Vanessa leaned over, lazily slipped off one heel, and playfully rubbed her silver-painted toenail along Daniel’s thigh.

“Thanks to Atty. Harvey’s video, I no longer need to explain myself.”

She giggled.

“We’re just defending the truth, aren’t we, darling?”

Daniel nodded solemnly.

“Yes. I’m upholding the law and justice.”

They were still married to me.

Yet they were already flaunting their affair—openly, shamelessly.

Looking at their smug, self-satisfied faces, I felt a surge of nausea.

But I clenched my fists.

This wasn’t over.

They may have money and forged evidence—

But I had truth on my side.

And I would burn their empire to the ground if it was the last thing I did.

For my grandfather.

For my daughter.

For justice.

I was the victim—obviously the victim.

But somehow, I lost the first trial. Worse, I was accused of extortion and even faced jail time.

The audience was giddy with excitement after Daniel’s righteous performance in court:

“This woman is unbelievable! Trying to scam a rich girl, and now she’s blaming her husband for not helping her?”

“Exactly. Good thing that handsome lawyer is such a stand-up guy. He should divorce her immediately!”

“Like grandfather, like granddaughter. Trying to blackmail a kind, rich woman? That old man deserves to be in the ICU!”

“Heh… Say what you will, she’s got a killer figure though!”

Their words pierced me like knives. I stood frozen, my chest tight with anger and humiliation.

Why?

Why did the guilty walk free?

Why was such flimsy evidence allowed?

Why did ten years of love collapse so easily?

I couldn’t accept it. I wouldn’t.

I had to ask him. I had to look Daniel in the eyes and ask why.

In the parking lot, I saw him. He was walking toward his car with Vanessa nestled against him, the two of them laughing like nothing had happened. That broke me.

I rushed forward. My voice cracked as I shouted, “Daniel! Who is your wife—me or her? Why are you treating me and Grandpa like this?”

Tears burned in my eyes. “Has Grandpa ever treated you badly? He’s loved you like his own grandson all these years!”

Daniel looked at me coldly. “Haven’t you had enough of this?” he said impatiently. “I get that you care about your grandfather, but you need to understand who Vanessa is. Don’t go digging your own grave.”

I clenched my fists. “You think you can hide everything just because you have money? Do you think power makes you untouchable? I will find the truth—and I’ll make sure you pay.”

Vanessa narrowed her eyes and glanced at Daniel. He got the message immediately and shoved me hard against the cold hood of the car.

Before I could recover, Vanessa stepped forward, smiling with disdain. She tilted my chin up with her sunglasses.

“You? Sue me? One of my tires is worth more than your entire life.”

She chuckled. “Emily, right? If you kneel and kowtow three times, maybe I’ll let you go.”

Daniel stood beside her, expression blank. “Don’t be stubborn. Apologize.”

“Miss Blake is giving you a chance. You should be grateful,” he added.

Tears fell onto his hand as he held me in place.

“You won’t get away with this,” I hissed. “I will find proof. And when I do, I’ll see you both in prison.”

They stared back at me—two people who saw the law as a toy and lived as disposable.

Then I saw something behind them—reporters approaching with cameras.

Daniel noticed them too and shoved me aside in panic. I stumbled, lost my balance, and fell hard onto the pavement.

Vanessa leaned in again, her voice a venomous whisper meant only for me.

“You know, you’re not all that. But I admit—you have great taste. Your husband’s not only great at arguing in court… he’s amazing in bed too.”

She laughed softly.

“Oh, and about your job? Your transfer to the entertainment channel—that was my first gift to you. The second? Your grandfather. The third… you’ll find out soon.”

My body trembled. I slapped her. Hard.

The sound echoed. Her head jerked to the side, her eyes wide in disbelief.

Daniel instantly stepped in and shielded her. “Have you lost your mind, Emily?! Do you even realize where you are? How dare you hit Vanessa!”

Cameras flashed. Reporters crowded in. All anyone saw was me, striking someone in public.

No one heard the truth. No one cared what led up to this.

Vanessa quickly put on her sunglasses and turned to face the cameras with a saintly expression.

“Please don’t blame her,” she said, her voice soft. “And netizens, don’t cyberbully her. Her grandfather’s in the hospital, and she’s under a lot of emotional pressure. I won’t press charges…”

The reporters gasped in admiration.

“Miss Blake, you’re so kind!”

Then they turned their venom toward me:

“Did your grandfather fake illness just so you could get media attention?”

“Is this revenge because you couldn’t keep your husband?”

“You used to be in media—did you plan this to move back to a better department?”

That wasn’t the truth. None of it was.

I tried to explain, my voice shaking, but no one listened. They’d already made up their minds.

When Vanessa tried to walk away, I grabbed her sleeve out of desperation. The sequins scratched my palm, drawing blood that stained her dress red.

“You’ll pay for this,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’ll make sure of it.”

Vanessa’s gaze darkened, though she kept smiling.

“Daniel,” she pouted, “your wife ruined my dress. I bought it just to see you… and now I’m really upset.”

Daniel’s face softened immediately. He reached out to wipe the blood with his hand.

“Don’t worry, Vanessa. Anyone who upsets you… will suffer.”

Still seeing the red smear, Vanessa yanked off Daniel’s tie and wiped the blood from her dress with it. Then, she dropped it to the ground like garbage.

People stepped over it, trampled it. It was ruined.

That tie…

I gave it to him on our wedding anniversary.

He used to say it was his lucky charm, that it brought him strength in court.

But now, he let her destroy it without a word.

And he just stared at me—cold, unforgiving.

“If you insist on going down this path,” he said slowly, “then you have no one to blame but yourself. You tried to frame Vanessa. We have all the evidence. It seems prison is the only place left for you.”

Then, Daniel and the judge sent me to prison.

Even behind bars, their influence followed me. The prison guards had clearly been bribed. During the day, I was locked in a solitary confinement cell—a suffocating, windowless box where the air was heavy with the stench of rot and metal.

The guards didn’t speak much. They let the electric batons do the talking. Again and again, the sharp shocks tore through my body until I lost track of time, pain, and reason.

At night, things were even worse. When I returned to the main cell block, fresh cruelty awaited. The other women, emboldened by the guards’ indifference, tormented me with gleeful violence. They pulled my hair, dumped buckets of filthy water over me, burned my skin with cigarette butts, and mocked me as I cried.

I was bruised from head to toe, my body barely recognizable, and my spirit almost broken. A week passed like a year. Then came the bleeding.

From my lower body, a steady flow of blood began. At first, I thought it was from another injury. But when the pain hit me, deep and wrenching, I realized with horror: I was miscarrying. Alone. In prison.

I thought I was going to die.

It was only then that I was granted bail—ironically, not out of mercy but because of the miscarriage. My release had nothing to do with justice and everything to do with saving face.

Daniel came to pick me up. He stood by the hospital ward door, a strange look on his face—a mix of hesitation, pity, and something that vaguely resembled heartache.

“You didn’t even know you were pregnant?” he said in a low voice, placing a thermos of soup on the table. “Well, it’s just as well. I didn’t want a second child anyway. If it’s gone, then it’s gone.”

His tone was so casual, like he was talking about a broken umbrella. My gaze dropped to his neck—bright red strawberry marks, fresh and brazen. I turned my head, refusing the soup, my body trembling with disgust.

“Losing the baby works out for you, doesn’t it?” I muttered weakly. “If I’d carried it to term, it would’ve interfered with your chances of making Vanessa’s ‘favorite person’ list.”

The baby must have felt it—how cold it was, how heartless its father was. Maybe that’s why it chose not to be born.

If someone must be blamed, blame me—its mother. Too useless to protect it.

Dear child, if there’s a next life, please be reborn to a better mother. One who can keep you safe.

Daniel’s face hardened as he saw the loathing in my eyes. Whatever flicker of guilt had been in him vanished.

“I’m Vanessa’s lawyer,” he said sharply. “Of course I took her money. That’s my job!”

“Can’t you be reasonable for once, Emily? If you had just admitted slander and apologized to Vanessa, none of this would have happened. But you had to keep clinging to your so-called justice.”

He shouted like I was the criminal, as if I’d burned the world down with my stubbornness.

“The miscarriage? That’s on you. Don’t act like the world owes you anything!”

“And your grandpa?” he sneered. “He’s old. He wouldn’t have lasted much longer anyway. Was all this really worth it—for a dying man?”

His words struck like knives.

“Daniel,” I choked through sobs, “are you even human anymore? That ‘dying man’ raised me! I don’t care if I die—I will fight until I get justice!”

I hated him. I hated his cruelty. I hated how easily he betrayed love and replaced it with profit.

But more than anything, I hated my own helplessness. My weakness. My inability to stop any of this.

Daniel lost his temper. With a roar, he smashed the bowl of soup on the floor, ceramic shards scattering.

“You’ll never win this case!” he shouted. “You better wake up and face the reality!”

He stormed out, slamming the door behind him. I curled up on the hospital bed, tears soaking the pillow as despair engulfed me.

I stared at the ceiling. Gray, cracked, unfeeling.

How did it come to this?

We had once been the light in each other’s lives.

Back then, Daniel had been a young lawyer fighting for the underprivileged. He offended a local gang when he took on a case for free. I was a rookie reporter chasing truth, monitoring the gang’s movements night after night.

We met by chance, two flames in the dark. I remember asking him once, “Aren’t you afraid they’ll come after you?”

He’d smiled bitterly. “I’m scared. But someone has to do it.”

His grandfather lost a leg in a hit-and-run meant for him. After that, Daniel often came to visit him. He’d help mow the lawn, go fishing with Grandpa, talk for hours like family.

Slowly, naturally, we fell in love.

In those early years, we were the envy of everyone—devoted, simple, happy.

But as his career soared, everything changed. He stopped helping the poor and started chasing wealthy clients. His suits became tailored, his shoes branded, his morals blurry.

Still, I clung to the belief that deep down, he was the same man who once stood for justice.

I didn’t see it. I didn’t see how long he’d been with Vanessa. How often they’d been together.

Now it’s clear. I was so, so wrong.

Tears spilled down my cheeks again. The pain tore through me—not just physical but emotional, unbearable.

I passed out.

When I woke up, my eyes were too heavy to open, but I could hear… movement.

Rhythmic creaking. Bedsprings. Moaning.

That sickening music.

I was still lying there—and they were having sex in my hospital room.

Right beside me.

“Vanessa,” Daniel panted, “can we not do this here? What if she wakes up?”

Vanessa’s voice was soft and seductive. “Then it depends—who’s more important to you? Who will you protect? You said you’d listen to me. Do you want to back out now? Still holding on to feelings for her?”

“You know I lost my parents young. I don’t want my daughter growing up the same way. But having a free, loyal nanny at home works out just fine. Don’t worry—when she’s older, I’ll make sure she leaves.”

A… free nanny?

Vanessa laughed. “Your daughter has a servant. But who’s going to serve me?”

Daniel groaned, “Then tonight, let me serve the young lady well.”

Their moans filled the room, echoing in my ears like knives scraping bones.

I thought I had no more tears left. But my heart felt like it was being torn open again.

I couldn’t even roll over. My limbs wouldn’t move. All I could do was lie there—eyes closed, heart shattered, crying silently into my pillow.

Eventually, they left. A nurse came in later to change my bandages.

She sneered, talking to another nurse just outside the door, “This one’s lucky. Miss Blake got her a VIP ward just to keep an eye on her.”

“If I were her, I’d get divorced and make room. Just look at them—handsome man, rich woman. A perfect pair.”

Their laughter rang in my ears like mockery.

I reached for my phone with trembling hands. The screen came to life—and with it, a nightmare.

My face was everywhere.

Photoshopped. Distorted. Memes with vulgar captions.

They’d exposed everything—my name, my address, my ten-year-old daughter.

People I didn’t know flooded my messages with threats, slurs, and curses. My grandfather, who’d done nothing but raise me with love, was being vilified online.

We had become the country’s scapegoats. Hunted. Mocked. Destroyed.

And the only question that kept ringing in my head was:

Why?

We are the victims.

So why are we the ones being burned alive?