"You already said it yourself," I leaned closer, whispering, "between us, there's no divorce. Only death. If you can't kill me, I'll kill you both instead."

Blood dripped to the floor.

He finally noticed the cuts on my hand from smashing the glass. His grip slowly loosened.

"Good," he murmured. "I didn't want that child anyway."

He took my hand, carefully wiping away the blood. When he dabbed iodine onto the wound, he blew gently, the way he always did.

It was a habit born years ago, when I'd come home covered in bruises from my father's beatings. He hadn't had anything but alcohol to disinfect my wounds, and he'd always blown softly, as if it could ease the sting.

Now, even with proper medicine, he was still careful—still afraid of hurting me.

My bloodied palm struck his face.

"Enough. It's filthy."

His face tilted slightly to the side. He didn't ask whether I meant the blood was filthy—or he was.

Instead, he called for Uncle Johnson, the butler, and handed him the medical kit.

The girl's name was Penelope.

When I tried to dig deeper into her background, I found nothing. Derek had erased every trace of her. If I hadn't moved fast, I wouldn't have even learned her name.

I confronted him. "So you like her that much? You've even sealed off her information from me?"

He sighed. "Esther, what's the point of holding onto this?"

I slammed the divorce papers in front of him again. "Sign it, and I won't have a reason to hold on anymore."

The papers barely lasted two seconds in his hands before he ripped them to shreds.

With a flick of his wrist, the fragments scattered across the floor.

"I told you—between us, there's no divorce. Only death."

I laughed.

And the next second, a bottle smashed against his head.

Red liquid streamed down his face—I couldn't tell if it was wine or blood.

I grabbed the knife from the table and drove it forward.

He caught my wrist mid-strike, locking us in a deadly standoff.

"Derek." Our faces were less than an inch apart. "Do you really think I won't do it?"

Our hands trembled, neither yielding.

"Divorce," I hissed, "or one of us dies tonight."

The stalemate lasted only seconds. Then, with a soft laugh, he shifted his strength—guiding the blade into himself.

Pinned by his grip, I watched as the knife buried deep into his shoulder.

Blood splattered across my face.

"I told you," he whispered hoarsely, "I won't let you die before me."

"Derek!"

Grinding my teeth, I yanked the knife out.

He groaned, blood soaking us both, but when he looked at me, his eyes held only the same unwavering tenderness I remembered from years ago.

The coppery scent of blood dragged me back to that rain-soaked night in our final year of high school—when my father beat me half to death in the street.

I had collapsed then too, and it was Derek who caught me, who shielded me with his own body.

"Don't be afraid. It's okay. I'm here."

Even as glass bottles, chairs, and knives rained down on him, he grinned through the pain and said those same words.

We had once embraced in blood. Kissed in the storm.

But when love rots to its core, betrayal becomes monstrous.

I shoved him away. "Don't touch me."

Stumbling, I left that blood-soaked room behind.

For a while, we lived apart in uneasy silence.

He still protected the girl so carefully that I couldn't uncover a single trace.

But youth was impatient. Penelope eventually came to me herself.

"Have you been looking for him lately? Let me save you the trouble—he's with me."

She was dressed in haute couture, her expression smug. "You thought getting rid of my child solved everything?"

She leaned closer, a smirk curling her lips. "As long as his love belongs to me, it doesn't matter how many children I lose. He'll only love me more because of it. In fact, he's been trying even harder lately. I should thank you, sister, for helping me."

Her plunging blouse revealed a flawless neck and the swell of her chest—marred by countless kiss marks, flaunting how completely Derek had adored her.

She pressed a hand to her still-flat belly, pride radiating from her. "Too bad. I'm pregnant again."

I calmly sipped my coffee as she made herself comfortable on my custom-made sofa, resting her chin in her hands.

"They say you've been married for three years and still haven't given him a child. The one time you did..." She chuckled.

"Ha! You couldn't even keep it. Sometimes, you really can't blame men."

The crisp clink of porcelain on wood echoed in the room, followed by her scream.

The bodyguards stared silently as Penelope writhed on the floor, clutching her stomach as blood pooled beneath her.

"Esther! You'll die for this!"

Her shrieks filled the air as the guards dragged her away.

"You're not afraid of Derek's revenge?"

My fingers tapped lightly against the marble tabletop. My voice was calm and steady. "You should know—becoming Mrs. Vazquez isn't about a man's love. That alone will never be enough."

That night, Derek came home—with dozens of men.

They filled an entire floor of the estate.

Unless he was facing a formidable rival, he never made such a show of force.

But this was the first time he had ever turned his blade on me.

We sat at opposite ends of the negotiation table, each backed by rows of men standing silently behind us.

"Twice now."

His slender fingers tapped lightly against the marble surface, the sound seemed sharp in the silence.

"Esther, you owe her an apology," he spat coldly.

I laughed sarcastically. "Anyone foolish enough to walk into a lion's den should be ready to face the consequences of her recklessness."

Half of Derek's face was swallowed in darkness; I couldn't read his expression.

"Does President Vazquez really think his wife is so submissive that when a mistress comes knocking, she'll simply do nothing?"

The lighter flared in the dark. I lit the slim cigarette between my lips, the smoke curling upward.

"Derek, you should remember—every bloody step you clawed your way up, I was right there bleeding with you. And now you want to set a pampered little canary against me? Is it you who has gone mad—or her?"

I slid the divorce papers across the table once more, blowing a slow ring of smoke.

"This is your last chance."

Moonlight spilled over the marble, but it revealed nothing of our faces.

We stared at each other through the shadows.

"From childhood, you were the one who killed the beast that was my father. You stormed into powerful households for me."

"And I... I lost a child for you. I bled myself dry for you. Derek, it's time we cut ties clean. No debts left between us. That's the best ending for us both."

"The best ending..." His low laugh echoed through the darkness.

He picked up the divorce agreement. With the flick of his lighter, the paper caught fire, curling into ash before my eyes.

"She won't appear in front of you again."

The ashes scattered into the air as he rose, leading his men out in a sweeping tide.

A sharp pain stabbed my lower abdomen. I bent forward, clutching my stomach.

My attendants rushed to my side.

"Miss Esther!"

"I'm fine..." My voice was faint. "Just the old problem."

Ever since losing that child, the cramps came back every time it rained. Not even the best gynecologists could cure it.

Perhaps it wasn't just the body that hurt—perhaps the heart made it worse.

This time, it was unbearable enough that I went to the hospital.

There, I walked straight into a storm.

Penelope was in the ward, sobbing and screaming. "Why didn't you kill her? That bitch is no more than an ant to you! Crushing her should be effortless!"

"I want her dead! If you won't do it, I'll kill her myself!"

She snatched up a dagger, ready to storm out.

Derek seized her wrist and yanked her back with brutal force. The blade cut into his palm, blood welling instantly.

Penelope collapsed into his arms, weeping.

With his bleeding hand, he cupped her face. Her tearful eyes looked up at him—and then their mouths crushed together in a fierce kiss.

The dagger clattered to the floor.

The room filled with the sound of their breath, their intimacy, their entanglement.

Once, Derek and I had embraced in blood.

Now, Penelope kissed him in blood.

The door opened and she saw me.

"Esther!"

The dagger was snatched up in an instant—then clattered back onto the ground with a sharp clang.

Her hair was tangled in my fist, forcing her to kneel before me.

Derek seized my wrist. "Enough. Stop lowering yourself to her level."

I sneered, staring straight into his eyes. "Mr. Vazquez, you're the one who refuses to divorce. Since you insist on acknowledging me as your wife, then I must live up to the title. Or do you think your wife is just some pitiful doormat anyone can bully?"

Smack!

My palm landed viciously across Penelope's face.

"Esther!" Derek's furious shout split the air.

He tore me away from her. My ears caught the sound of her sobbing, pitiful and weak.

I yanked free from his grip. "I gave you a chance. Since you refuse divorce, don't blame me for what comes next—"

Suddenly, qsharp pain lanced through my waist.

I spun around almost on instinct and kicked Penelope squarely under the chin.

She slammed into the wall, the dagger she had hidden for a sneak attack flying out of her hand.

"Ahh—!" She clutched her stomach, blood seeping again from a body not yet healed.

"Attacking me? You're courting death!" I snarled and raised my hand high, ready to strike again.

But the slap that followed wasn't hers—it was mine.

The sting exploded across my face.

Derek loomed above me, his eyes filled with a cold fury I had never seen before.

My fingertips brushed the corner of my lips and came away smeared with blood.

"Don't be afraid, it's alright. I'm here..."

He pulled Penelope into his arms, letting her tears soak through his expensive shirt.

The tenderness, the urgency in his gaze—I had only seen it once before.

The day I lost our child.

That sunset was stained in blood. He had clutched my hand to his chest, his own tears threatening to fall as he forced a smile, stroking my face over and over, repeating the words he once said countless times, "Don't be afraid. It's alright. I'm here..."

But now, when his eyes turned on me, there was only ice.

"If it's divorce you want—then we'll divorce."

A laugh broke from me, sharp and bitter.

So this was it. A divorce I couldn't win, even with death as leverage—yet the moment Penelope bled, it became possible.

Pain tore through my lower abdomen, sharper than the day I miscarried.

I bent over, clutching myself, when his shoulder collided with mine. Derek brushed past, carrying Penelope away without a backward glance.

I collapsed to my knees.

The bodyguards rushed in.

Just before I lost consciousness, someone shoved a divorce agreement into my hand.

So men truly could be ruthless—when they chose to act, it was swift and merciless.

I shoved the papers back at the bodyguard.

"Burn it."

I've always been stubborn.

When I was a child, my father told me if I didn't obey, he'd beat me to death. I stiffened my neck and courted death anyway.

When I grew up, I swore to live and die with Derek. Eight months pregnant, I had stormed into a rival's den, wielding a machete to save him.

And now? I had said it before—the last divorce negotiation was his only chance.

He refused.

Then from this moment on, my marriage has only two outcomes: widowhood, or nothing at all.

—

When I woke up, Penelope was already discharged, safe and sound.

This time, she sent over a file.

The bodyguard handed me her handwritten letter.

Her delicate script carried a smug arrogance that bled through every stroke.

[Did you really think Derek still had feelings for you? Are you curious why he loves me and not you?]

[You probably don't even know who I am yet, do you? Well, I've got a surprise for you~]

I tore open the file, and my breath hitched.