For a moment, I couldn’t breathe.

My mother’s ashes—her last remains—were scattered across the floor, clinging to the fragments of the shattered urn. My hands trembled violently as I crouched down, fingers hovering over the gray dust like touching it would break me even more.

Candice gasped, covering her mouth as if she truly cared. “Ma’am—I—I didn’t mean—”

Something snapped inside me. I stood so fast she stumbled backward.

“You—” My voice broke into something unrecognizable. “You destroyed her. My mother—MY MOTHER!”

I slapped her. The sound cracked through the room, sharp and vicious.

Candice staggered, eyes wide, hand flying to her cheek. “Ma’am—please—”

I slapped her again. Harder. “Do you know what you’ve done? Do you have any idea—”

She tried to back away, but I grabbed her arm, shaking. “Those ashes were all I had left of her!”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to!” she cried, sobbing in a panic. “It slipped—I didn’t—”

“You don’t get to touch anything in this house! You don’t get to breathe near her memory!” Another slap landed before I could stop myself. “You will pay for this, Candice. You will—”

“What the hell is going on?!”

Jaxon’s voice tore through the room.

I turned, breathing hard, tears hot on my face. He stood in the doorway—eyes widening at the broken urn, the ashes, at Candice shaking with reddened cheeks.

“Ysobel,” he said slowly, dangerously, “did you just… hit her?”

“She destroyed my mother’s ashes!” I sobbed. “She broke the urn!”

Candice threw herself toward him. “I didn’t mean to! I was cleaning and it slipped. I’m sorry, Jax—she kept hitting me—I couldn’t stop her—”

His eyes darkened toward me. Not her.

"Ysobel, why would you hurt someone? Can you not just talk nicely?"

I stared at him. “She broke my mother’s ashes—she was cleaning something I told her not to touch—she—”

“Candice is important to me and you know that!! And you think you can just hit her just because of the urn? That’s just ashes and your mother is dead no matter what happens!”

I froze and then he realized what he just said. But before he could say another word, I already left.

The next morning, Jaxon acted like nothing happened.

He entered the dining room with a soft smile, sitting beside me as though he hadn’t slapped me bloody the night before.

“Good morning,” he murmured, brushing a hand through my hair. “About last night… let’s not dwell on it. We’re both stressed. I’m sorry and Candice will say sorry about it. I can just buy you a new urn.”

My body stiffened at his touch, but I didn’t move.

He poured juice for me. “Your birthday is approaching. I’m planning a little party. Something intimate. Just close people. I want this year to be special.”

I forced a tight smile. “Whatever you think is best.”

“Good,” he said, kissing my temple. “I want us to feel… normal again.”

I didn’t believe a word.

Candice walked in carrying a tray. She avoided my eyes. Her movements were strangely stiff.

As she placed the tray down, her foot slid on a wet patch on the marble floor.

She shrieked—“Ah!”

The tray crashed.

Jaxon rushed toward her instantly. “Candice! Are you hurt?”

She clung to him dramatically. “My ankle—oh God—does it look swollen? I think I slipped because the floor wasn’t dried… did the maid clean it? Or maybe—maybe Ysobel—”

Jaxon’s head snapped toward me.

I almost laughed. “Are you seriously suggesting I wet the floor for you?”

Candice sniffled. “I… I didn’t say that… I just… I don’t know…”

He glared at me as if it were possible. “We’re going to the hospital. Now.”

He scooped her up and carried her out of the room like she was made of glass.

Leaving me alone at the dining table.

I stared at my plate and started eating as I didn’t want to waste my time on them. Whatever they want to do, it’s up to me.

So I picked up my fork.

One bite. Two. On the third bite—

My throat burned.

I coughed once. Twice. Then the burning spread like fire through my chest. My heart slammed against my ribs.

I grabbed the edge of the table.

“What—what did she—”

My vision doubled. My lungs tightened like someone was squeezing them shut.

The room tilted.

I tried to call the maid, but my voice was a rasp. She rushed in, eyes widening in panic. “Ma’am—are you alright? Oh my God—what happened?”

I pointed weakly to the food. “W-who… made this?”

She froze. “C–Candice did, Ma’am. I—I only served it—”

The world spun violently.

I could feel myself slipping away.

Before it all went dark, I had just enough strength to call my best friend Levi.

When I opened my eyes again, I was inside the hospital. Levi sat by my bedside, eyes swollen, fists clenched. The moment he saw me awake, he exhaled shakily.

“You scared me to death,” he whispered.

“What… happened?” My throat hurt to speak.

His face crumpled. “You were poisoned, Ysobel.”

Tears burned my eyes. My hands instinctively went to my stomach.

Levi swallowed hard. His voice broke. “Ysobel… you lost the baby.”

A quiet, hollow sob escaped me. The pain was too deep to scream. Too sharp to hold.

Levi pulled me into his arms gently. “It will be okay… I’m here. You can have another one someday—when you’re with the right man. Someone who deserves you.”

I cried until I had no breath left. When my sobs finally faded, Levi brushed my hair away and said softly,

“Your father called. He demanded you go home. I think it’s also time for you to go back to him, Ysobel.”

I spent the entire night preparing everything I needed for the next few days, refusing to let my hands stop even for a moment. If I stopped, I would think—about the pain in my body, the pounding emptiness in my womb, the betrayal that replayed like a curse whenever I closed my eyes.

So I busied myself, making sure every detail was in place.

The documents came first. The miscarriage report, stamped and authenticated, still smelled faintly of hospital disinfectant. I placed it inside a folder with trembling fingers.

Then another folder—thicker, heavier—containing evidence of Jaxon’s embezzlement, financial anomalies, ghost transactions, money redirected to accounts he thought no one would ever find. I had spent years loving him, and only days learning how deeply he had betrayed me.

Next came the statement of charges, detailed and precise. Levi handled much of that part—quietly, carefully—while I lay unconscious in the hospital. The moment I woke, he simply handed it to me and said, “Use it when you’re ready.”

I was ready now. But the final gift… that one I prepared with my own hands.

I took out the small black memory card and rolled it between my fingers. It contained the video I recorded using the hidden camera I had installed in our house since I learned the truth.

The footage showed everything—Jaxon and Candice in my bed, in my room, under the blanket embroidered with my initials, while they're on top of each other, whispering each other's names.

I plugged the card into my laptop and replayed it for a few seconds—not because I needed confirmation, but because I wanted to make sure the timestamp was clear. It was. Anyone watching would know exactly when and where it happened.

Satisfied, I forwarded the video file to the staff member I assigned for tonight’s event—the man in charge of the livestream.

The party would be broadcast across multiple platforms, boosted with ads so it would trend almost instantly. The world would see exactly what Jaxon was behind his perfect image.

Before leaving, I texted him: I’ll arrive later. Start the party without me.

He replied within seconds: Of course. I’ll make it unforgettable.

I ignored the way my stomach twisted. It wasn’t dread. Not anymore. It was anticipation mingled with a rage I could finally let breathe.

The car was quiet as it sped along the road toward my father’s estate. Outside, the evening lights of the city blurred together, streaks of gold and white rushing past like ghosts. I leaned back, opened my phone, and watched the livestream.

The party was already in full swing.

There he was.

Jaxon, smiling as if his face had never twisted in cruelty. He greeted officials, businessmen, and their wives with warm confidence. Every gesture looked practiced yet effortless—the perfect husband hosting an event for his beloved wife.

My beloved self. A lie he wore like a second skin.

Then, as I expected, he began his speech. The camera panned to him standing on the stage, holding a microphone with that soft, regretful expression he perfected so well.

“Thank you all for being here tonight,” Jaxon began, his voice trembling just enough to tug at the audience’s heartstrings.

He pressed a hand to his chest, as though steadying a cracked-open heart. “I… I don’t always say this publicly, but my wife—Ysobel—she is the greatest blessing life has ever given me.”

Some guests murmured softly, already moved.

He took a shaky breath, lowering his gaze as if struggling to compose himself. “I wasn’t born lucky. Everything I have, everything I’ve built… none of it would mean anything without her by my side.” His voice cracked, perfectly timed.

“Ysobel has been my home. My anchor. The one person who believed in me even when I didn’t believe in myself.”

Someone near the front whispered, “She’s such a good woman…”

Jaxon nodded toward the murmurs as if agreeing with them. “She is. And because she is… I want tonight to be special. I want her to feel celebrated, cherished, seen." His lips trembled in a way that would look painfully sincere on any camera. “She deserves a birthday worthy of the light she brings into my life.”

The audience applauded—slow at first, then swelling into warmth.

I almost laughed.

The guests murmured sympathetically. Some even clapped. The livestream chat skyrocketed with comments praising him—What a loving husband, So devoted, A real man—their words sharp as needles against my skin.

He continued speaking about our past, reliving selective memories, twisting them into a love story. He thanked me, honored me, called me his strength. He even said he wouldn’t know who he’d be without me.

Lies. All of it.

He was putting on a show for one reason: He wanted me to sign the documents, so he could legally transfer my company to him and leave all the debts to me. He thought that I won't even notice in case he hid those terms in the documents.

And he thought this performance would soften me.

I watched him cry under the lights, the crowd moved to tears, and a cold, vicious satisfaction filled my chest. Good. Let them believe him. Let them adore him. It would make the fall so much harder.

The atmosphere in the hall was reaching its peak, the applause growing louder.

Perfect timing.

I dialed my staff member—the one waiting beside the audiovisual controls.

When he answered, I said only four words: “You can start now.”

The car turned a corner as the screen at the party suddenly flickered. The livestream audience went silent. Even through the small screen of my phone, I could feel the tension in the room.

The big LED wall glowed with static. Then an image appeared—blurry, unfocused at first. The camera seemed to be moving toward a bed. People whispered in confusion.

“Is that… a room?”

“Whose bedroom is that?”

“What’s happening?”

Jaxon stopped speaking mid-sentence, staring at the screen. He squinted, confused. His lips parted slightly. I knew exactly what he was thinking.

That looks familiar… Why does it look familiar?

Because it was our bedroom. Our bed. Our sheets.

Before he could fully react, a man approached him on stage and handed him a sealed package.

“Sir,” the man said loudly, ensuring the microphone picked it up, “we have a delivery for you from your wife.”