The next day, she took all the money she had left and bought herself a burial plot. The contact person for the cemetery? Maxwell.

Staring at the phone number she had memorized so perfectly, she suddenly felt pathetic.

Zoey let out a bitter laugh, shut her eyes, and without another word, she blocked Maxwell.

With her own funeral arrangements settled, she went back to the villa.

But the moment she arrived at the gate, she froze. Her personal belongings—her clothes, her books, her memories—were all scattered on the ground like garbage.

Before she could even react, a sticky-sweet voice pierced right through her chest.

"Maxwell… are you sure everything here belongs to me now?"

Maxwell chuckled lazily, then kissed the woman on the lips.

"It's all yours. You're the lady of this house now."

Neither of them noticed Zoey standing frozen at the door. Her body felt stiff, her limbs numb, like she'd been plunged into ice.

She dug her nails hard into her palms, trying to ground herself, to look less pathetic. But before she knew it, she was already charging forward.

On the ground, photos of her and Maxwell—every single one—had been ripped to shreds, fragments scattered like snow.

But what stabbed her heart the most... was the sight of her parents' urns, tossed into dirty, stagnant water, stained and filthy.

"Who did this?!"

Zoey's fists clenched so tight her nails nearly pierced her skin. Rage flared, burning through her.

Nancy yelped, startled. She darted behind Maxwell, her voice trembling with manufactured fear.

"Maxwell… she's so scary. She won't… hit me, right?"

Maxwell's expression didn't even flicker. He simply tightened his arm protectively around Nancy, his voice cool, edged with irritation.

"I did it. Got a problem? This is my house. You've already signed the divorce papers. If you don't like it, get out."

A sharp pain stabbed through Zoey's chest. But when she looked up, her face was calm.

"The divorce isn't finalized yet. This is still my house." She glanced at the woman clinging to his arm. "And her? What's she supposed to be? Should I call the cops?"

Her words struck like a match. Fury flashed in Maxwell's eyes. His brow furrowed, and the disgust in his gaze nearly spilled over.

"Zoey, what happened to that famous pride of yours? Where's that dignity you're always flaunting?" His laugh was cold, bone-deep.

Zoey didn't respond. She bent down, picked up her parents' urns, and without a word, turned and headed upstairs.

Then, right in front of Maxwell, she grabbed all of Nancy's luggage and threw it down the stairs with brutal force.

Nancy's eyes went bloodshot in an instant. She shrieked, crying and wailing, threatening to leave.

Zoey slammed her bedroom door shut, locking everything—and everyone—outside.

She was exhausted. So exhausted.

She closed her eyes, tears slipping down silently. This house… this was the last thing her parents had left her before they died.

And Maxwell knew it. He knew exactly why she'd never wanted to leave. Because this was her home.

But now… her hands trembled weakly. Even the last bit of strength in her seemed to dissolve. She was nearing her limit. She could feel it, down to her bones.

Dragging herself up, she began pulling out everything from the past ten years—the memories, the relics of a marriage she once believed in.

The red dress he gave her for her birthday? Turned out it was just a freebie from buying Nancy a custom couture gown.

And the wedding ring… the one she'd cherished for ten years… the one that had always felt a little too loose.

She finally looked closer.

Inside the band—tiny, almost invisible—were engraved initials. Not hers.

NW. Nancy Westbrook.

Her breath caught. Her vision blurred. It felt like a thousand needles piercing straight into her heart.

How stupid could she have been? How could it take her ten years to finally see it?

Maxwell never loved her. Never.

Her body couldn't take much more. Her heart, barely holding on, seemed moments from giving out.

While Maxwell was out, she quietly dragged everything—the clothes, the gifts, the memories—into the garden and burned it all.

She had barely closed her eyes to rest when her phone suddenly rang.

Then she heard his voice. Cold as ice.

"Zoey, Callie's in trouble. You need to get here. Now."

Her mind snapped awake. She bolted out the door, panic gripping her throat, her heart pounding as fast as her feet could carry her.

Callie Bradford. The child she'd adopted after nearly dying from childbirth. The child with leukemia.

After Maxwell had completely severed ties with her, she had no choice but to send Callie to the orphanage. But every week without fail, she went to visit.

Callie was always so obedient. No matter how much pain she was in, she'd gently hold Zoey's hand and whisper, "Mama, it doesn't hurt."

Zoey could never have her own child again. Callie was her family. Her flesh and blood in every way that mattered.

She stepped on the gas, pushing her car to its limits.

By the time she screeched to a stop and shoved open the orphanage door...

A shrill burst of laughter echoed across the crowd.

"Hahahaha! Maxwell, you were right. Look at her. Just like a dog. One word from you and she comes running."

It was Nancy. Her eyes were bright with malicious delight.

Zoey scanned the faces around her—smirks, sneers, ridicule.

In that instant, everything clicked. She understood.

She turned to leave. But Nancy lunged, grabbed her wrist, and yanked her back.

Zoey struggled, tried to break free. But before she could, Nancy shoved her.

Her body tipped, weightless for a second, then crashed into the lake.

Filthy water surged into her mouth, her nose, her lungs. Her limbs flailed like a drowning frog.

Above the water, Nancy stood, triumphant, her smile gleaming with vicious satisfaction.

"And you dare call me a mistress? Who the heck do you think you are?"

Zoey drifted in that lake for an hour. An hour that felt like eternity.

And when she finally crawled out, trembling, soaked, freezing—the first thing she did was stumble toward Nancy.

Her entire body shook. Her fingers curled into a fist.

Then, with every last ounce of strength left in her…

She slapped Nancy.

When Zoey opened her eyes again, all she could see was the blinding white ceiling of a hospital room.

The sharp smell of disinfectant flooded her senses. She scrambled up in panic, but the stinging shooting across her face and body forced her still.

"Miss!"

Dr. Willow rushed over, grabbing her hand just as she was about to tear at the skin on her face.

"Don't move! You just underwent skin graft surgery. Right now... It's still fragile."

Skin graft...?

Zoey froze.

She stumbled toward the sink, staring at the mirror.

Her face—what was left of it—was covered in open wounds of all sizes. Fresh blood seeped from raw, mangled skin. The sheer sight of it made her eyes shut tight in despair.

Dr. Willow's voice was still behind her, firm but helpless.

"Miss, you shouldn't move. I know... I know it looks bad. But if you take care of it properly, there's still hope. It might heal..."

Tears slipped down her cheeks, soaking into the raw wounds and making them burn worse.

"But I... I don't have a future."

A shadow fell over the doorway.

Maxwell stood there. His gaze was dark and bottomless.

"This... is what you owe Nancy."

His voice was cold and detached.

"That slap you gave her left a gash on her face. Her skin is delicate... she's disfigured now. You're compensating for it. And the fight earlier today... yeah, it was her fault first. But she's been punished already."

Zoey laughed. She laughed so hard it hurt. Her face split open again, and blood oozed out.

"Punishment?"

Maxwell frowned slightly, as if her question annoyed him.

"She's terrified of pain. You think skin graft surgery doesn't hurt enough?"

Zoey had always known he was biased—blatantly biased. But hearing it said out loud still sent tremors through her body, breaking something in her completely.

"So, Maxwell... my face. Thirty-something wounds. Torn flesh. Grafts. All of this... this is equivalent to her feeling pain? This is what you call punishment?"

The air around him turned icy, but his expression remained frozen, as if carved from a block of ice thousands of years old.

"Zoey... what exactly are you still struggling for? Just be obedient. Admit you were wrong. It'll be easier for both of us."

Her fingernails dug deep into her palms until she felt warm blood. Her hands trembled as she grabbed her phone and opened the emergency dial.

Maxwell watched her lazily, completely unfazed.

"Didn't you say it yourself earlier? We're still legally married. That surgery... the consent form? I signed it. So go ahead. Call the police if you want." His lips curved into something colder than a smile. "See if there's a single cop in this city who'll dare touch this case."

With that, he turned, not even bothering to look back.

The door closed.

She sat there, staring at the blurry numbers on the screen—911.

Her hand trembled. Her vision blurred as she thought bitterly, 'I hate him. God, why did I ever love him...'

She didn't bother with further treatment. She went straight home.

When she stepped inside, Nancy was already there.

Nancy was casually sitting in the living room, posing for selfies, fixing the lighting, choosing the right angle to show off her best side for her social media post.

Zoey ignored her completely. She didn't have the energy. She just wanted to get upstairs, find the deed to the house. This house—her parents' last inheritance—she was selling it. No matter what, she wouldn't let it fall into Maxwell's hands.

But the second Nancy saw Zoey, she yelled, "Stop right there."

Zoey didn't respond.

In the next second, her wrist was yanked hard. Her body, too weak to fight back, stumbled forward, dragged until she was face-to-face with Nancy.

Zoey noticed the thin, nearly invisible scar on Nancy's face.

Nancy raised her chin, smug. "Look at this necklace Maxwell got me. There's only one like it in the entire world."

Pride glowed on her face. If it weren't for Maxwell's blind indulgence, Zoey knew, Nancy would never have the guts to act like this.

Zoey didn't answer. Head down, she forced herself to breathe, to conserve what little strength she had left. She needed to get upstairs.

But Nancy wouldn't let her go. She grabbed Zoey's chin, forcing her to look up.

"What's with this act, Zoey? You're furious, aren't you?" Her voice dripped with venom. "The man you've loved for so long... never loved you. Not even once."

Zoey lifted her eyes slowly.

A laugh slipped from her lips as if she'd just heard the most absurd joke in the world.

"And you?" she said, voice sharp as a blade. "A mistress who wrecked someone else's marriage. You really think marrying him means you'll be safe? You're not scared... that one day, another mistress will take your place? Pathetic."

The words sliced deeper than any knife.

Nancy's fragile pride shattered instantly. Her face twisted with rage.

"You... You wait, Zoey." Her voice trembled. "I'm going to take the thing you care about most!"

Zoey thought she meant Maxwell.

But that night... the villa went up in flames.

Smoke billowed. Fire roared.

Someone yanked her roughly from the ground. Firefighters shielded her as they pulled her away from the collapsing house.

The moment her feet touched solid ground, she froze.

"No... No, no, no..." Her scream broke into a sob.

She lunged, trying to rush back in to grab her parents' urns. But strong arms held her back.

The fire swallowed everything.

Nancy was already out. Maxwell was holding her tightly, his arms wrapped around her like she was some fragile porcelain doll. Nancy's face was still twisted in defiance.

"I'm not wrong!" she shrieked. "I didn't do anything wrong! She called me a mistress! She hurt me! This is what she deserves!"

For the first time, Maxwell didn't defend Nancy. His face was cold, his voice even colder.

"Shut up."

But Zoey heard nothing. Nothing at all.

All she could see was the fire. The fire that burned away the last piece of her home, the last piece of her life.

Her scream tore through the night.

Then, everything inside her gave out.

She coughed up blood and collapsed.

Zoey's consciousness drifted in and out, slipping like sand through her fingers.

It was the second day since Zoey had woken up, yet her voice was still broken. Not a single word crossed her lips.

Across from her, Nancy twisted her hands, her eyes red as if the whole world had wronged her.

"I... I'm sorry," she stammered, voice trembling. "But... but you started it. You bullied me first."

Maxwell stood quietly behind her, speaking for her without hesitation.

"Nancy was... immature. It's her fault this time."

Zoey didn't react. She barely even breathed.

"She's young and reckless. It's normal for her to make mistakes," he continued. "I'll include the house as compensation in the divorce agreement."

Zoey sat motionless on the hospital bed. Without warning, she hurled everything within reach.

Her voice rasped out in a hoarse, broken whisper, not even sounding human anymore.

"Get out. All of you. Get out!"

Maxwell didn't argue. His first instinct was to shield Nancy behind him.

After that, he stayed by Zoey's side the entire day.

Even when her throws left bruises on his face, even when her curses tore into him like knives, he stayed. Just like he used to, sitting by her side, helping her practice pronunciation.

But Zoey knew better.

Maxwell was a man who couldn't stand owing anyone anything.

This—this was him paying off his debt. His guilt. For Nancy.

He held her IV bag to keep it warm. He tucked sugar cubes behind bitter pills. His care was so meticulous, so gentle, that for a terrifying moment… Zoey almost let herself believe that he had fallen in love with her again.

But that illusion shattered later that same night.

Her throat burned with pain, forcing her out of bed to find water. The room was dark, and instinctively, she followed the dim glow spilling from the hallway until the sound of laughter and conversation stopped her cold.

Voices. Familiar ones.

Maxwell's friends were over, loud and rowdy. She heard Maxwell's voice, quieter but firm.

"Keep it down. Don't wake her."

His friends chuckled knowingly.

Nancy pouted, her voice full of playful complaint. "Maxwell... you've been with her all day. When are you gonna spend time with me?"

Maxwell didn't answer. He only reached out and pinched her cheek, a soft, indulgent gesture that sent his friends into a chorus of teasing.

They were playing Truth or Dare. The bottle spun on the table, landing in front of Maxwell.

Grinning, one of the guys finally asked the question everyone had been holding back.

"Bro, seriously... back then, you could've pulled off your revenge plan without teaching her to speak, right? Why go through all that trouble?"

Maxwell's expression didn't change. His eyes stayed gentle when he looked at Nancy.

"Because..." His smirked. "If she couldn't speak... she wouldn't be able to moan in bed. Where's the fun in that?"

The room exploded. Cheers. Laughter. Slaps on the table.

And not one of them noticed the trembling figure standing just behind the door.

Zoey pressed both hands over her mouth, trying to choke back the sob rising in her throat. She refused to let herself cry. Not here. Not like this.

She already knew he didn't love her. She knew.

So why... why did it still hurt so much?

Her heart felt like it had been hollowed out. The ache was suffocating.

All those memories—those moments she once believed were real—turned into blades, slicing her open from the inside out.

She stumbled back to her bed.

Turned out... she really was the fool.

From the beginning, Maxwell had come into her life for revenge. Nothing more.

She sat there the entire night, motionless, hands clenched, back straight, staring into nothing.

When Maxwell walked in the next morning, her ghostly pale face made him falter—just for a second.

She stared hatefully at the guy who no longer resembled the boy she once loved.

Her voice broke the silence, brittle but steady, full of loathing.

"Maxwell, you don't need to do any of this for me. You disgust me."

His hand stilled mid-reach. The words hit sharper than any slap. Her speech caught him completely off guard.

Before he could even say a word, she spoke again. Her tone wasn't angry. It wasn't emotional. It just sounded... final.

"Four days from now… we're getting divorced. And you're coming with me to see Callie and sign the adoption papers for her." Her lips pulled into a cold, bitter smile. "Any kid stuck with a father like you… it's pathetic."