When I got home, I noticed splatters of chicken blood on the door. My heart sank as I inserted my key, pushing the door open to find my mother perched on the sofa, waiting for my return.

Before I could take a step, she hurled a cup at me. It grazed my forehead and shattered on the floor, shards scattering like my already fragile spirit. It was the very cup Dave had given me last year during our trip to Shopify.

“You still have the nerve to come back! Why don’t you just die out there?” she screamed, fury radiating from her.

“You’ve ruined my reputation! Do you have any idea what your aunts are saying about me? They’re all criticizing me for not having children while raising you. Your father was seduced by a mistress, and you know how much I despise them. But look at you now—you’ve become someone else’s mistress!”

“You want to talk about love, but you do it in secret. Is being sneaky more fun? You’re just as cheap as your father!” Her words cut deep, each accusation a knife twisting in my heart.

Tears streamed down my face as I pleaded, “Mom, I didn’t do anything! I’m not like that; he wronged me!”

With a sharp slap, she struck my face, sending a jolt through my body. “You think that man framed you? Look in the mirror and see what you really are! How could he possibly frame you?”

She suddenly pulled out a fruit knife, pressing it to her neck. “Record a video right now and post it in the family group, saying you are no longer my daughter. I don’t have a daughter like you. If you don’t, I’ll die right here in front of you.”

Panic surged through me as desperation clawed at my throat. I reluctantly recorded the video and posted it in the family group, knowing she would get exactly what she wanted. Moments later, she added a message: “From today on, Kimberly is no longer my daughter. Whatever she’s done has nothing to do with me. If you want to criticize her, blame her scumbag father instead.”

Her glare burned into me, fierce and unforgiving. “Even though our relationship is severed, you still owe me alimony. For the sake of the 27 years we spent as mother and daughter, you need to pay me a lump sum.”

With trembling hands, I handed over all my savings. As I turned to leave, she spotted a childhood photo of us on the table and smashed it into pieces.

“I feel sick just thinking about being in the same picture with you,” she spat. “Even the thought of carrying a worthless girl like you in my womb makes me want to vomit.”

Once she stormed out, this twisted farce finally came to an end. I slid down against the wall, feeling as if the weight of the world pressed down on me. I don’t know how long I sat there, lost in a haze of despair. When I finally managed to stand, my legs felt numb, as if they could no longer support the burden of what had just transpired.

My phone rang repeatedly. I answered it out of irritation, and Dave’s voice came through.

"Are you okay? Don't be so dramatic. Everyone will forget this in a few days."

His fiancée had maliciously slandered me, yet he thought I was the one being hypocritical.

I cursed under my breath, "Go to hell, you bastard," and hung up decisively.

After putting my phone away, I took screenshots of our chat records, group photos, and all the gifts he had given me over the years, then posted them on Facebook.

"I am the heroine of this mistress scandal, but I am not the mistress. I wonder who really is? I think Mr. Robinson and Ms. Warren know the answer."

"I collapsed the moment I learned about the wedding between the Robinson and Warren families. I suddenly realized that my eight-year love was just a fling in Mr. Robinson's eyes. I was merely his long-term companion. He could have ended things with me before proposing to Ms. Warren, but he chose not to."

"He wants a well-behaved, docile lover and a wife who can keep up with him in the business world. How can anyone expect to have the best of both worlds?"

"I had stopped bothering them, but they fabricated a lie about my infidelity to force me out. This was the first time I realized just how generous Mr. Robinson was, willing to label himself as just a guest in our relationship."

As soon as the blog post went live, it gained a lot of attention. Even though the Robinson and Warren families tried their best to bury the trending topic, they faced many rivals in the business world. Their efforts were futile.

The Robinson family's stock price had plummeted, leaving Dave and Mary too absorbed in their turmoil to pay me any attention. For the first time in ages, I relished a few days of peace—an unusual luxury amidst the chaos.

But trouble lurked just around the corner. A message from Dave flashed on my phone, jolting me back to reality. It was a photo of my mother, grinning as she played poker with a street aunt, casually using the alimony money she had received from me just days ago.

"Kimberly, you’re a smart person. Your careless comments a few days ago have cost the Robinson family dearly. You know what you need to do."

My mother and I had always been each other's lifelines. She was fiercely proud, having raised me alone after my father abandoned her for someone else. Each time someone laughed at her, she took her anger out on me, shaping me into the person I was today.

Now, facing scorn online, I had morphed into the very embodiment of everything she despised. She was doing her best to distance herself from me, and while I couldn’t blame her, the thought of her facing trouble alone twisted my insides.

In the end, I knew I had to find a way to compromise. As soon as the livestream began, millions of viewers tuned in, their eager eyes fixed on the screen. Another message from Dave pinged on my phone: "You know what to say and what not to say."

I shot back a single word: "Get lost."

The comment section exploded with a torrent of question marks and a whirlwind of reactions. Some fiercely defended me, while others rallied behind Dave and Mary.

“How many good men are out there? This isn’t the first time we’ve seen someone cheat!”

“Hey, we believe in you! Hang in there!”

“Is she really like that? The Robinson family is rich and powerful. They could have anyone they want. Why would they cheat? I think she’s just trying to blackmail Dave.”

“Dave has money, but he’s not blind. If I were him, I’d choose Mary too.”

“Hey girl, take my advice. Being a wealthy family’s wife isn’t easy. It’s better to be with someone like me.”

Amid the cacophony of comments, I took a deep breath, my heart pounding in my chest. This was my moment to reclaim my narrative.

“I started this livestream to apologize to everyone. I deceived you all.”

The comments momentarily froze, an uneasy silence enveloping the livestream as viewers processed my words. My heart raced as I pressed on, determined to clarify the truth.

“Mr. Dave and I were in a relationship for a few years, but that was in the past. Ms. Mary and Mr. Dave are well-suited for each other. I was unwilling to accept that, which is why this farce unfolded.”

“I want to take responsibility for my actions. Once again, I apologize to anyone who was hurt because of me. I’m truly sorry.”

In an instant, the mood in the comment section shifted, and a barrage of insults flooded my screen. Words like daggers, they cut deep, but after so much vilification, I had grown numb. The livestream ended abruptly, leaving a void in its wake.

A sharp knock echoed through the silence. I curled up on the sofa, indifferent to who might be on the other side. Was it him? Or had someone simply walked into the wrong apartment? I could hear the unmistakable sound of the fingerprint lock being disengaged, sending a shiver down my spine.

A tall figure stepped inside and sat down across from me. I didn’t need to guess; I knew it was Dave.

He looked at me and said, "You’re being very sensible. I’ve transferred the villa in the east of the city into your name as compensation for all this."

"As long as you want, I can pretend nothing happened," he said, knowing just how to provoke me. When I didn’t respond, he added, "After everything that’s happened, who else would dare to want you except me?"

I sat up from the sofa and quietly walked over to him. The crisp sound of a slap broke the silence of the night. He smirked, touching the spot where I hit him, as if he enjoyed it.

"You’re shameless," I spat.

He grabbed my wrist and smiled, "You’ve known that for a while."

I shouted, "Get out!"

He picked up his suit jacket and placed a card on the table. "There’s five million on the card. You can use it however you want."

Maybe my emotions had been too erratic in the past few days, but suddenly, I felt a sharp pain in my stomach, followed by a warm trickle running down my legs. Just before I lost consciousness, I dialed the emergency number. At least this way, Dave and I would be completely severed.