At the height of Leon Hartman's poverty, my mother threw him a check for 4 million dollars.

At the lowest point of Leon’s life, my mother threw a check worth 4 million dollars at him.

“Take the money and leave my daughter forever.”

He accepted it without a word, disappearing into New York’s elite circles and rising swiftly to the top of the rich list.

That same year, he transferred all his wealth to my name, leaving himself penniless. He built me an elite legal team—a loyal force that would stand behind me no matter what. He swore to make me the happiest woman alive.

But on our wedding day, he left me waiting twelve long hours. What arrived instead was devastating news—his adopted sister, freshly released from a mental institution, had run over my mother multiple times, killing her instantly.

Along with that news came a letter of apology from the man I loved most.

I held a dagger to my throat.

“Either she goes to jail,” I said coldly, “or I die.”

Leon finished a pack of cigarettes in silence before gently removing the bloodstained dagger from my hand.

Eventually, his adopted sister was sentenced to five years in prison.

Four years into our marriage, I stumbled upon an anonymous post online.

“She’s had four abortions and is pregnant again,” it read. “Another abortion might make her infertile. Should she keep the baby?”

People in the comments were confused, and the poster replied,

“She’s serving a five-year sentence. Pregnancy is her only way to avoid the harsh prison life. If she gets pregnant again, her release will come just in time.”

My heart froze. I called someone I trusted.

“Check if Leon’s adopted sister has really been in prison these past few years.”

——

Three minutes later, I had the answer.

“Leon’s adopted sister, Lila Young, was sentenced to five years, yes. But she was found pregnant soon after entering prison, so…”

My fists clenched until my nails dug deep into my skin, yet I felt no pain.

The voice on the other end trembled.

“Lila has been pregnant several times over the years. Each time she’s about to give birth, she’s forced to abort. They say it’s at Leon’s request… and…”

“That’s enough.” My voice cracked, and I wiped away a tear with cold fingers. “Find out where Lila has been hiding all this time.”

After ending the call, my eyes drifted back to the post.

Someone had commented:

“How many pregnancies has your wife had? You’re not talking about her, are you? We’ve all made mistakes, I get it.”

Another replied,

“Let the other woman keep the baby. It’s your child, after all. She’s had four abortions already—don’t make her suffer for your wife’s sake.”

And just below that, I saw it: “Praised by the author.”

That simple note shattered me.

So this was the man who once promised to love me more than his own life.

I logged out, numb, but accidentally opened another system.

Leon once said, “From now on, the password to our house will only be numbers you know.”

Yet today, no matter how many times I typed the code, the system stayed locked. After ten minutes, it froze entirely.

I sat there motionless, staring at the screen, before typing again. This time, my stiff fingers entered the date Lila was sentenced.

“Ding!”

Unlocked.

What appeared before me were 1,500 photos—all of Lila.

I suddenly understood how many angles one woman’s face could be captured from.

Each photo had a caption.

And just like that, my dear husband showed me the truth I had been too blind to see.

Every year—during Spring Festival, Valentine’s Day, Children’s Day, Christmas, even my birthday—after every sweet vacation we shared, when he claimed to be working overtime…

He had been with her.

I clicked through each image, reading every line beneath it. My eyes burned as I scrolled through four years of their intertwined lives, frame by frame.

Then I found it—a letter Lila had written to Leon three days after her imprisonment.

It was short, just a few words.

"Leon, I'm so heartbroken."

After that, she spent the four years she should have been in prison receiving an education, traveling the world.

So did my mother, who she repeatedly ran over and killed in her car dozens of times, deserve this?

I covered my mouth and swallowed back tears.

With trembling hands, I saved the evidence and logged out.

A new text message popped up on my phone, from a completely unfamiliar address. But every house there is worth hundreds of billions.

I smiled bitterly and touched the pregnancy test report in my pocket.

I don't want either the child or you.

Suddenly, a familiar voice rang out.

"What do you want?"

I realized then that I had just let my heart slip. Without wiping my tears, I turned and hugged Leon.

"Leon, I miss you."

I felt his body stiff for a moment, then relaxed. He kissed away my tears, his eyes full of the tenderness I'd grown to trust.

"For the rest of your life, you still have me."

You?

But Leon, are you really still with me in your heart?

He held me, sensing the wrongness in the air. "What's wrong? Who upsets you?"

"Leon, are you hiding something from me?" I asked.

His clear eyes reflected my face. He laughed softly. "How could I? What nonsense are you reading online?"

"Really?" I pulled away from him. "Then I want to go to Manhattan Correctional Facility to see Lila."

Everything froze. His voice went hoarse. "What are you talking about? Why would you go see her when all this time—"

I cut him off. "Lila isn't in prison, is she?"

"In these four years, she's only been in jail for three days, right?"

"Leon, please speak!"

By the time I finished, my eyes were burning and my nails had torn my skin. Leon grabbed my hands, prying them apart to stop me from hurting myself. "Okay, Claire, listen. I can explain."

His phone buzzed—three short tones and one long. He'd called the emergency contact pattern his assistant, and he used it. I had believed him for four years without checking once. Today I glanced, but he was quicker than I was; he hung up without answering.

"Claire, I have to handle an urgent matter. I'll explain when I return." He fumbled for words to soothe me, and I said, "Okay." The blood on my fingertips stained the sheets, and he didn't look at it. He used to change the sheets himself.

Leon told the servants to clean and hurried to put on his shoes. He left the room. His phone rang again; this time, I wasn't beside him, and he answered right away. The tenderness in his voice sounded real. "Brother didn't mean to hang up on you... Be good, stop causing trouble." "What do you want to eat? I'll queue and buy it for you." "I'll stay with you tonight, don't cry."

I knew he wouldn't return tonight. But what I had said was also true: I would find Lila. I wanted her dead.

--

I stared at the surveillance feed, watching Mr. Leon—the business tycoon often featured in financial news—actually queuing at a street food stall. People recognized him; they lifted their phones to record and whisper.

He stood there, ordinary and exposed—no chauffeur, no blacked-out car—just a man in a simple jacket, waiting for his snack as if nothing rotten had ever happened. A shallow, public intimacy that made me sick. My hands trembled. I wiped my face, imagined Lila’s quiet suffering, and promised myself, in that instant, I would unmask every lie and drag the truth into the light now.

"Oh my god, rich people also eat at street vendors?"

"He must have bought it for his wife. They say Mr. Leon dotes on his wife. He recently bought a pair of earrings from a former princess at Sotheby's auction. It's said the accompanying handkerchief is worth 1 million!"

A handkerchief, neatly folded by me, lay on the dressing table. Leon once said he saw the moon embroidered on it and thought it fit me perfectly. He’d gone to great lengths to buy it. It turned out to be an extravagant whim.

He bought what Lila wanted and drove off. He had avoided several surveillance cameras to reach the house. But the cameras at Lila’s home—installed for Leon’s convenience—had already been hacked by the people I hired.

I chuckled. "Leon, there’s no need to look for her. I’ve already invited Lila home for tea."

His tall figure froze. "Claire, don’t be impulsive!"

He shouted, but I ignored him. I turned off the live feed and ordered the servants to silence her while she sobbed. "She’s so noisy—give her a few slaps to wake her up."

Lila’s eyes were full of anger. After she was slapped again and again, she spat the bloody rag out. "So what if they catch me? Leon will come save me!"

"Leon already said your mother will die of old age. I’m the most important person to him."

She grinned through a smear of blood and propped a hand against her still-pregnant belly. "No—my child and I are Leon’s family. We’re worth a hundred times more than an old woman who couldn’t give him an heir."

I kept my expression still, drew the dagger, and struck. "Then bring your child with you to death." The blade hovered a hair above her abdomen when a fierce force shoved my wrist aside.

The dagger clattered by my ear. I felt the hot snap of my wrist as if a bone were breaking. A sharp cry ripped from my throat, and I crumpled to the floor. Pain stabbed my belly. I thought of the three-month-old I’d carried and instinctively clutched my stomach.

When I looked up, Leon stood between me and my bodyguards, trying to pull Lila away. Tears streaked down her face.

"Leon, my face and belly hurt so much. Why would you all try to kill me? Do I deserve to die?"

"I never meant to kill Mrs. Quinn. It was an accident—my fault!" Leon’s eyes were raw with grief. He couldn’t see me, still curled on the floor.

"Claire, let her go!" He gripped my shoulders and hauled me to the sofa.

"Today, choose between me and Lila," I said, voice flat. "Make it clear." Leon stared at me as if I’d asked the impossible.

"You really want to make this so hard?" he whispered.

Tears streamed down my face, but a bitter laugh escaped me. Was this embarrassment? Choosing to lock my mother’s killer in jail—was that such a heavy ask? I hurled the spiked whip at Lila. "Or you can lash her yourself ninety-nine times. I’ll pretend I knew nothing and let her go."

She trembled and spat venomous words. "You monster! No wonder you can’t have children. No wonder your mother died young. I’m cursed—"

"I ran your mother over on purpose. Do you know what she said as she died? She kept calling your name!" I replied, cold as the room.

I sank back onto the sofa, face empty. "Leon, I’ll count to three. If you don't act, we’ll get divorced." He gave me a look that mixed shock and something like sorrow. For a long second, he hesitated, then picked up the whip and passed it to the nearest bodyguard.

The guard advanced. Lila screamed. Outside, the city moved on—ignorant, indifferent, and deaf to the private cruelties of a house that hid more than it showed. I watched him choose cowardice over justice, feeling something inside me harden; that night, I vowed I would not be the quiet wife who accepts lies—I would expose everything, even if it meant losing everything I had left soon.