Three years into her marriage to Caleb Hampton, Sydney Wilson finally learned the truth: the woman he loved was his sister-in-law.

On the night his brother died, Sydney saw Caleb's true nature. At the funeral, she did not even flinch when Caleb took a slap meant for his sister-in-law.

She always knew he had married her because she was quiet, obedient, and easy to control. She proved it, even in the way she left him.

No dramatic fights. No tearful confrontations. Just a divorce quietly signed, sealed, and hidden.

What Caleb didn't know was that they were already divorced. Sydney had stopped being quiet and was already seeing someone else.

The day Sydney's breakthrough cancer drug took the world by storm, she received accolades and glory.

Everyone cheered—except Caleb, who dropped to one knee, his eyes bloodshot with desperation, begging for a second chance.

But a possessive arm wrapped around Sydney's waist, declaring to the world, "Sorry, but she's getting married. To me."

In the third year of her marriage, on the day Caleb Hampton's older brother died, Sydney Wilson asked for a divorce.

Caleb frowned in confusion. "All because I took a slap for Penny?"

'Penny. How affectionately he said her name,' Sydney thought.

The truth was, Penelope Monroe was his sister-in-law.

Sydney smiled coldly. "Yeah. That's why."

Could a single slap really shatter a marriage? The red mark on Caleb's face that night was hard to ignore. He had shielded Penelope so openly that even the Hampton family had been stunned. Only Sydney had not flinched.

Three days earlier, on their wedding anniversary…

Sydney had planned a surprise trip and taken a late-night flight to the city where Caleb worked. Instead of a warm reunion, she overheard him chatting with two friends.

"Caleb, man, I gotta say it. Running off every year on your anniversary? That's cold. Sydney's been nothing but good to you."

Caleb, usually composed and gentlemanly, looked weary. "You think I want this? If I didn't avoid her, she'd never believe I haven't touched her all these years."

"She…" One friend, clearly holding back, finally snapped. "You mean Penelope? Caleb, are you out of your damn mind? Are you gonna keep pining after her even if she's got another kid on the way?"

He snorted. "And what about Sydney? You keep treating her like this. Aren't you afraid Julian Sterling's gonna come after you?"

"He won't." Caleb rubbed his fingers together calmly. "She married me. That was it for them. Julian's had her blocked on WhatsApp for three years now."

Outside the room, Sydney walked away quietly. Her steps were steady, but her fingers trembled almost imperceptibly.

She had suspected someone else. She had asked around, tried to find out who, but no one had said a word. She had guessed many possibilities but never thought it would be Penelope—the same "sister-in-law" she had greeted politely for three years.

'God, how humiliating,' she thought bitterly.

When Sydney left the club, the sky opened up. She did not react as the rain drenched her like a broken doll.

That night, she took a late flight back to Jouleston.

The moment she got home, she fell ill. She burned with fever for two days. Just as she started to recover, Lucas Hampton, Caleb's older brother, had an accident.

…

A week later, Lucas's funeral was held in Jouleston.

Sydney had barely slept two or three hours each night at the Hampton residence. After the funeral, as she stepped out of the cemetery, her body moved forward while her soul dragged behind.

Their driver waited at the gate.

Sydney climbed in and closed her eyes. "Jack, take me home."

"Not going back to the family house?" he asked.

"No."

The funeral was over, but the drama at the Hamptons had just begun.

Lucas was the eldest son and the family's golden child. He died because Penelope had insisted on skydiving. His equipment failed, and he fell from high altitude. By the time they reached the hospital, it was to stitch his body, not to save him.

The Hampton family's fury at Penelope had not cooled. Sydney had no interest in watching her husband defend another woman. She had her own life to manage.

Unexpectedly, as the car started moving, the rear door opened.

Caleb stood there, dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit. Tall, lean, composed, but with a rare flicker of discomfort on his face.

"Syd, heading home?" he asked.

"Mm." Sydney barely glanced before spotting the woman next to him. It was Penelope, and she was holding a chubby little boy.

Penelope and Lucas' son, Timothy Hampton, was four years old. He was round and soft like a beach ball.

Before Sydney could ask what they were doing there, Timothy scrambled into the car as if it was his. "Aunt Sydney, can you give me and Mommy a ride home?"

Sydney furrowed her brow and glanced at Caleb.

He pressed his lips together. "Mom and Dad are still furious. Let Penny and Timmy stay at our place for now."

Seeing her hesitation, he added, "Didn't you say you wanted a kid? Now's a good time to practice with Timmy."

Sydney almost laughed out loud, then remembered where she was and held it in.

So now he was sending Penelope and her son to stay with them while he faced the heat back at the Hamptons? What a noble man.

…

Back home, the housekeeper, Nancy Potts, had already prepared the guest room. Caleb must have called ahead.

Sydney did not care. After a shower, she collapsed into bed and slept like the dead. When she finally woke, it was 9:00 p.m. As she reached for her phone, it rang. It was her best friend, Tiffany Voss.

"I've drafted the divorce agreement just like you wanted. Want me to send it over for you to review?" Tiffany asked.

"Thanks, Ms. Voss, my beloved lawyer." Sydney's voice was groggy and soft. "No need. Just call a courier and have it delivered."

"You're in a rush?" Tiffany sounded concerned. "Are you sure about this? Caleb might not be the best husband, but in some ways…"

Sydney switched on the lamp and sat up. Her head cleared. "I'm sure, Tiff. I caught him jerking off to another woman's photo."

"What?" Tiffany's mind blanked for a second. She hadn't expected someone as reserved as Sydney to blurt out something like that.

But what stunned her more was that scumbag Caleb actually had the nerve to humiliate Sydney like this.

Tiffany muttered a curse under her breath, then said, "Screw delivery. I'll bring the agreement myself. Then I'll head back to the office and work overtime."

There was no way she was letting some two-wheeled courier outrun her four wheels today.

After hanging up, even Sydney was surprised by how easily the words had come out. Maybe it was because the resentment had been building for so long, clogging her chest, her thoughts, every part of her.

Just like that night at the club, when Caleb had said it himself—he had never touched her. No one would believe it, but after three years of marriage, she was still a virgin.

At first, she had wondered if something might be wrong with him. But later, she caught him more than once in his study, clutching a photo album and pleasuring himself. The low, guttural moans he had made—each one had felt like a slap to her face.

Once, when he realized she'd seen him, he pulled her into his arms and murmured into her neck, "Syd, I'm sorry. I just… I was afraid of hurting you. I couldn't bring myself to do it. So I used your photo instead."

What a joke. And the saddest part? She had believed him and had actually blushed.

But the night she flew back to Jouleston, groggy from fever meds, she used what little strength she had to pry open the locked cabinet in his study. Inside, she found the album. Every page was filled with Penelope—radiant, vibrant, full of life. Every smile and glance was captured like a treasure.

Sydney had never felt more like the punchline of a bad joke.

In a daze, memories came drifting back. She remembered tagging along behind Caleb like a little shadow. But in truth, she hadn't been following him. She'd been following her older brother, who was always by his side. She had seen Caleb so often that eventually, she started to think that marrying him wouldn't be so bad.

Caleb had been patient, gentle, always bringing her little gifts when he visited her brother. Among all his friends, he had seemed the most refined and courteous. And yet this supposed gentleman would rather touch himself to his sister-in-law than lay a hand on his own wife.

…

Sydney hadn't expected Tiffany to show up so fast. She had just finished getting ready and hadn't even made it downstairs when the doorbell rang.

Tiffany arrived with the kind of energy that said, "If the courthouse was open, I would've dragged you both there on the spot."

Sydney felt a little steadier with the agreement in hand. But then a sharp crack echoed through the house.

Before she could react, Nancy rushed down the stairs, face tight with worry. "Ms. Wilson—"

"What is it?"

"Timmy broke the family photo in your bedroom."

Sydney assumed it was just the frame. But then Nancy handed her the pieces, and her face went pale. Her parents had died in an accident when she was five. That photo had been all she had left of them. Her only keepsake.

She clutched the shattered remains and stormed upstairs. At the top of the stairs, Penelope stepped out of her room with her son in her arms.

Sydney's voice turned icy. "Penelope, that was my room."

"Uncle Caleb said this is my home now," Timothy piped up, puffed with bravado. "Uncle Caleb also said he's going to take care of me and Mommy like a real dad!"

Sydney glanced at Penelope, who showed no sign of correcting or scolding her son. She gave a cold laugh, crouched a little, and looked Timothy in the eye. "Do you know what Santa Claus does to children like you on Christmas?"

The boy lifted his chin proudly. "He gives me lots of candy!"

"Wrong." She shook her head, smiling sweetly. "He cuts off the hands of children who break things, bakes them in the oven, and feeds them to monsters."

"WAAAHHH!" Timothy, still just a child, burst into tears and clung to Penelope like his life depended on it.

Penelope glared at her. "He's just a kid. Did you really have to scare him like that?"

"You can't even teach your own child how to behave. What else are you good for besides extreme sports?" Sydney didn't wait for a reply. She turned and walked away.

…

That night, a black Maybach rolled into the driveway.

Sydney stood by the floor-to-ceiling window, watching as Caleb got out. Timothy ran to him immediately, dragging Penelope behind him. The three of them looked like a perfect little family.

Eventually, someone knocked at the door.

Caleb stepped inside. His crisp white shirt and purposeful stride clashed with the tension in his voice. "You scared Timmy?"

"I did," Sydney said, gesturing toward her nightstand. "He destroyed my family photo."

Caleb froze. For the first time, he realized he didn't know the whole story.

He reached out to ruffle her hair, but she stepped back. Thinking she was still angry, he softened his tone. "That's my fault. Let me apologize on his behalf. Do you want anything? I'll make it up to you."

Sydney smiled faintly. "Anything at all?"

Caleb nodded. "Of course."

"I only want two things." She handed him the documents she had prepared.

Caleb glanced at the property transfer contract and signed without hesitation. The second document he flipped straight to the last page and signed just as quickly. When it came to money, he was always generous.

Afterward, he let out a slow breath and gently pulled her into his arms. "Syd, how did your brother raise you to be so obedient and sensible?"

Sydney felt a wave of nausea. Just as she was about to shove him away, there was a knock on the half-open door.

Caleb instinctively stepped back the moment he saw who it was.

Sydney froze. And in that instant, everything clicked. He had gone three years without touching her just to stay loyal to the woman he truly loved. Now that they were under the same roof, he had to perform the part.

Penelope looked mildly annoyed. "Cal, Timmy won't sleep unless you're with him."

"I'm coming." Caleb turned to Sydney. "You're not mad, are you?"

"Not at all," she said flatly.

After he left, Sydney pulled out the second document. It was the divorce agreement.

Yes, she was obedient. So obedient, she'd prepared the divorce papers herself and handed them right to his face.

The next morning, Sydney woke naturally, her internal clock working as usual. She pulled open the curtains and found the world outside buried in white.

The forecast hadn't said a word about snow. Yet this wasn't some light dusting—it was a full-on storm. Even through the glass, she could feel the cold.

She changed into a knit dress and had just started washing up when loud noises echoed through the hallway. They were jarring. If she didn't know better, she might've thought a demolition crew had shown up.

"Nancy, what's going on—" Sydney twisted her hair into a loose knot and opened the door, stopping short mid-sentence.

It wasn't a crew. It looked like an invading army had torn through the place. The pristine house was in ruins. Throw pillows that belonged on the downstairs sofa sat by her door, stained with dark brown gunk. A porcelain vase had rolled across the floor and shattered.

The one-million-dollar oil painting in the hallway was ruined.

It was chaos.

Nancy trailed after Timothy, practically pleading, "Timmy, please, don't touch that. That's Ms. Wilson's favorite tea set."

She was too late. He smashed the tea set into pieces.

Timothy stuck out his tongue and huffed like a tiny tyrant. "Blehhh! I wanna play with it! Uncle Caleb said this is my home now. You're just a servant. Who are you to boss me around?"

Then he looked up and locked eyes with Sydney, who stood watching him in silence. His shoulders sank. That scary woman had frightened him so badly the day before that he'd had nightmares of Santa Claus and monsters chasing him.

He hated her and had to get rid of her. His mother once said that once this woman was gone, Caleb would belong only to them.

Sydney's expression stayed calm. "Go ahead. Play. Take your time."

Timothy blinked. "Really?"

He'd just broken her favorite things, and she wasn't angry?

Sydney leaned against the railing with a faint smile and glanced toward the first floor, where Penelope stood pretending not to hear a thing. "Sure. Just don't touch the ink painting in the guest lounge. That's my favorite."

She didn't know whether Penelope had coached him or if Timothy had come up with this mess on his own. Either way, it didn't matter. She wasn't exactly a saint herself. Someone had once taught her that if you're bullied, you hit back ten times harder.

Timothy's eyes lit up.

"Okay!" he shouted and ran off.

Nancy sighed. "Ms. Wilson, you and Mr. Hampton spoil that child too much."

"It's fine," Sydney said calmly. "Don't stop him. He's the Hampton family's only grandson. As long as he's happy, that's all that matters. And Penelope hasn't said a word, has she? We should respect her parenting. If anything goes wrong, neither of us can afford to take the blame."

Nancy nodded reluctantly. "You're too kind for your own good. That's why people think they can walk all over you."

Sydney kept smiling faintly but didn't comment on that. Instead, she asked, "Do we have any spare gift boxes?"

"What kind?"

"Doesn't matter. Just needs to fit something A4-sized."

"There should be some in the storage room," Nancy said. "I'll go check."

Once she had the box, Sydney returned to her room and locked the door. She placed the signed divorce agreement inside and tied the lid with a ribbon, adding a bow for flair.

A loud crash came from downstairs.

Sydney didn't flinch.

She tightened the bow and nodded slightly. 'Beautiful. Perfectly done.'

Moments later, someone pounded on the door.

Nancy's frantic voice called out, "Ms. Wilson, come down quickly! Timmy just ruined Mr. Benjamin's final painting!"

Sydney shot up, her expression dark. "The one in the guest lounge?"

Nancy nodded. "Yes."

She bolted for the stairs and twisted her ankle on the way down.

Timothy saw her and raised his chin smugly. His whole face said, "What are you gonna do about it?"

Sydney turned to Nancy. "Did you call the Hampton residence?"

"Not yet."

"Call them."

As soon as the words left her mouth, Timothy charged at her. "No! Bad lady, don't tattle!"

Sydney didn't see it coming. He hit her with more force than she expected, knocking her straight to the floor. Pain shot through her tailbone.

Penelope rushed over. "Syd, are you okay?"

Sighing, she said in a chiding tone, "Timothy's spoiled, I know. He doesn't know how to be gentle. But he's just a kid. Please don't be mad at him."

Sydney gripped her side and stared at the ink painting—now torn through the center. She let out a low, cold peal of laughter. "So letting a child destroy someone else's property is part of your parenting philosophy too?"

Tears welled in Penelope's eyes. "I just looked away for one moment! Do you really have to blame me for everything?"

"One moment?" Sydney swept her gaze across the destruction. "Look at all this damage, and it's not even noon. So tell me, exactly when were you watching him?"

Penelope's tone changed the second they were alone. "Sydney! Why do you have to be so unforgiving? You're seriously going to call the old house over a stupid painting? You think Grandma's going to take your side over mine?"

"Correction," Sydney said coolly. "That 'stupid painting' was Grandpa’s final work before he died."

As the words settled in the air, a black sedan pulled into the courtyard.

The Hampton family had arrived—fast.