"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.

Then, he thumped to his knees.

"Lila's pregnant, so she can't get hurt. Have someone beat me."

Looking at him, I suddenly felt so bored.

I stood up, took the whip, and lashed out!

"No!"

Lila suddenly struggled free and threw herself in front of Leon.

At the critical moment, Leon unexpectedly grabbed the whip, which was wrapped in iron thorns, with his bare hands.

His palm was instantly pierced.

A powerful force struck me, pushing me against the table, smashing the vase he and I had made.

Instantly, a searing pain shot through my lower body.

A warm current soaked my black dress.

In the blink of an eye, Leon had already carried the half-conscious Lila. Lila's body was covered in blood, all Leon's.

"Leon, don't go!" I cried.

He paused, gritting his teeth. "Claire, I had Lila have four abortions for you. If this child is gone, she'll never be a mother again."

"But you don't understand this pain."

How could I not understand? For the past four years, I couldn't get pregnant no matter what. I tried everything. Injections, medication, and prayers.

I collapsed to the ground, clutching the hem of his pants. "I'm pregnant, Leon, I'm pregnant too. My stomach hurts..."

"Don't pretend, Claire. It's your period today. It's normal to have stomachaches."

Leon's expression was compassionate, almost cold. He took a step forward and pulled my hand away. I gritted my teeth against the pain.

"Leon, if you dare take her away today, we'll get divorced!"

We'd argued before—harsh words, reconciliations, the usual fractures of a public marriage. If I had spoken about that threat at other times, he might have stalled. But now, without hesitation, he lifted Lila and carried her downstairs.

The bodyguards around me panicked, staring at the blood on the floor, afraid to touch me. I spat out a mouthful of blood and, with the last of my strength, said, "Take me to the hospital..."

When I woke up, the smell of disinfectant filled my nose. The doctor's face was apologetic. "Sorry, Mrs. Hartman, the baby couldn't be saved."

My mind went blank for a long, slow moment. I nodded, mechanically. "Where's Leon?"

The doctor's face went awkward. This hospital belonged to Leon; I owned half of it. He'd insisted on keeping me safe. "Mr. Hartman is upstairs, with..." He trailed off.

Only then did I learn Lila had been treated here. Despite appearing fragile, she had been in this hospital before—several times. The doctor admitted, hesitantly, that she’d had previous abortions here and even a dedicated medical team. Numbness crept over me. Leon had been rehearsing this deception for years.

The doctor saw my pallor and left quietly. I ripped the needle from my hand, forced myself into my gown, and walked upstairs. I didn't find Lila. My phone buzzed: the cemetery manager. "Mrs. Hartman, please come quickly—the old lady's grave is about to be dug up!"

My heart lurched. I sprinted to the cemetery. There she stood—Lila—hands on her hips, barking orders, directing workers. "Dig my grave! This land has good Sacred burial site; it's perfect for burying my dog. He'll be reborn as a human in his next life!"

"Lila, what are you doing!" I shouted.

I leapt from the car and ran at her, each step a hard promise. Workers paused as I shouted, "Stop!" Lila spun and sneered, but the sneer wavered when dirt clung to her shoes. I grabbed the shovel from a stunned worker. Around us, the air tightened—her hired men, the cemetery manager, the wide, shallow pit. I looked at her and felt something chill and decisive hardening inside me. I would unmask everything; I would make the world see, starting now.

I rushed forward and struck her hard. Lila didn’t flinch; she smiled as if she’d been waiting.

“You’re right on time. We’ll dig up your mother’s bones later, so we don’t have to toss them in the trash and pollute the environment.”

She nodded once and started directing the workers with shovels.

“No!” I lunged to stop them, but the bodyguards closed in and pinned me down.

“What are you doing?!” I screamed.

The bodyguards shifted uncomfortably. “Sorry, ma’am. The master said Miss Lila is pregnant, so she’s the priority.”

“She’s the priority?” My voice broke. “Those are my mother’s ashes!”

“Let me go!” I tried to wrench free.

“Shut up!” Lila stamped on my fingers, squeezing with cruel force. The louder I screamed, the harder she pressed. I could only watch as my mother’s urn was dug up and the ashes were scattered to the wind.

My fingertips dragged across the earth, leaving streaks of blood. Lila only released me when she saw I’d cried myself into exhaustion. She lifted the pink urn that held my mother’s remains and moved to place it back into the grave.

Summoning every ounce of strength, I sprang up. With one hand, I knocked the urn aside; with the other, I backhanded Lila across the face.

The urn hit the ground and shattered. Lila collapsed into Leon’s arms, wailing. “Leon, my dog is dead. I must bury him in Mrs. Quinn’s grave so he can be reborn as a human next life.” She sobbed theatrically. “What did I do wrong? Why does Claire Quinn treat me like this? My stomach pains—my baby—”

Leon’s face changed into something I had never seen—sharp and cold. “Claire, why won’t you understand me?” he asked plaintively.

“Even if Lila is pregnant, what does that have to do with you? Why are you protecting her and destroying me?” I spat back.

“You’ve taken this too far. You must answer for it.” His voice held quiet cruelty.

A bodyguard produced a paper: a letter of apology. Another forced my finger to bleed and pressed my wounded hand onto the paper, making a smeared, bloody handprint. Leon stepped forward and used the tip of his shoe to lift my chin.

“I’ll hold a press conference tomorrow. You’ll tell the reporters that your mother deliberately rammed Lila’s car.”

For a moment, the words did not register. “Lila has suffered these last few years in hiding,” he added. “There’s nothing wrong with clearing her name now.”

“Absolutely not!” I roared, eyes wide.

Leon’s pupils darkened. He glanced toward my father’s grave. “Your father’s grave is nearby. Would you like to see it dug up?” he asked, a faint nod, the only movement.

Several bodyguards stepped forward soundlessly.

“Wait!” I begged. Panic filled my chest. “Don’t dig—please—don’t disturb my father…”

Tears streamed down my face, and he reached out to wipe them away with an almost tender hand. “Be good,” he murmured.

They led me back to the car. He stayed with Lila. Workers swept my mother’s ashes into piles and threw them aside like refuse. Lila’s pet urn was placed into my mother’s grave as if it belonged.

I sat numb, staring through the window at the meaningless scenery. The world kept turning.

The next day, they marched me in front of reporters. Cameras focused on my face as questions came fast and loud.

“Mrs. Hartman, was your mother attempting to blackmail Miss Young?”

“Is this how you married into money?”

“Miss Young’s youth was stolen—won’t you kneel and apologize?”

I don’t remember bowing. I don’t remember leaving. I only remember the rotten eggs they hurled at me, the insults hurled like stones.

“Your mother and you are sluts—slept with thousands—and you tried to cheat your way into wealth!” someone shouted.

“You use tricks because your family is poor! Go to hell!” another yelled.

My cheeks stung from the blows and the words. I walked on, hollow and exposed, while the cameras recorded everything—my humiliation made public, my grief turned into a spectacle for strangers to jeer at. Somewhere inside, a small, furious light began to burn for justice.

The bodyguard hesitated.

Just as I moved toward Leon’s car, the crowd erupted.

Hands shoved me sideways, and I toppled into a tangle of bodies. I screamed for help, but my voice was swallowed by the chaos.

Through the pushing mass, I saw Lila inside the car, clutching her head. Leon wrapped his arms around her and murmured something I couldn’t catch. The door shut, and the car lurched forward.

Someone yanked me back. A folded note was pressed into my palm. A masked stranger leaned close and hissed, “Ms. Quinn, remember — you still have family who will stand for justice.”