Kellan stared at the floor, his breath catching in his throat. He didn't dare make a sound.

She didn't want to die.

The thought gave Chelsey a final surge of strength, and she clawed at Vincent's hand. The pressure on her throat eased just enough for her to drag in a ragged breath. She glared at Vincent, her eyes bloodshot.

"V-Vincent..." she rasped. "If I... die today, I die as your wife. And when you die, you'll be buried right beside me in the family plot. My name will be tied to yours for eternity. I'll be a curse on your legacy until you're nothing but dust."

Her voice was a raw scrape, her face a blotchy red. Her grip on his hand faltered, weakening as the world began to blur and her consciousness frayed.

"You think you belong in the Marshall family cemetery?" Vincent's voice was ice. "That you're worthy of a tombstone with our name on it? When you're dead, I'll have your body burned and your ashes dumped in a landfill. That's where trash belongs—rotting with the rest of the garbage."

And then, Chelsey laughed.

Vincent's eyes narrowed, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "What the hell is so funny?"

"Burn my body, Vincent. It won't change a thing. Legally, on every family record, I am your wife. You hate me, don't you? But you will never be rid of me. Even in death, I'll be a stain on your precious name."

Vincent's eyes blazed. His grip tightened, and a strangled gasp escaped Chelsey's lips. A single tear traced a path from the corner of her eye.

Just as her vision swam, the image of that couple from her past life flashing in her mind, Vincent abruptly let go, hurling her to the floor.

Chelsey slammed onto the floor. The impact sent a jolt of agony through her, so intense it felt as if every bone in her body had shattered. The slightest movement made cold sweat break out on her skin.

She coughed violently, her pale lips parted as she desperately gasped for air.

Kellan shot Chelsey an impassive glance before lowering his head. "Mr. Marshall, I failed to escort Mrs. Marshall out. I will accept my punishment."

Valerie, who had gone pale from the murderous intent rolling off Vincent, looked on in fright. She gave a nervous, shallow bow. "Vincent, I... I'm sorry. I should have inspected her belongings faster. She used the delay to lie and stall." Chelsey's chest throbbed, and she coughed again, the effort excruciating.

"I... I didn't steal anything..." she rasped, her voice frail.

Vincent pulled a wet wipe from his pocket and methodically cleaned each finger that had touched Chelsey, his handsome face a mask of undisguised disgust.

"Didn't steal?" he scoffed. "The very clothes on your back were bought with my money. Nothing you have is your own."

Chelsey's lips pressed into a bloodless line. She had nothing to say to that. Her own clothes had been burned long ago, on the very day she married him. Valerie had called her wardrobe "tacky," insisting Vincent would be repulsed. And so, like a fool, she had set fire to everything she owned.

"Strip her. Throw her out." Vincent's voice was glacial. Without a backward glance, he strode away, Kellan following close behind.

The moment they were gone, Valerie rose to her feet. Her meek act vanished, replaced by smug triumph as she sauntered over to Chelsey, stilettos clicking on the floor.

"You lived under his roof, even shared his bed? So what? He still threw you out like trash. Did you honestly think a fat, ugly pig like you could ever win him over? God, you're pathetic. All that makeup, all that weight you put on... you actually believed that's what he wanted? I only told you that to make him despise you more. And you fell for it, hook, line, and sinker."

Chelsey's face was ashen, but she didn't even glance at Valerie. She stared straight ahead, her expression impassive, treating the other woman like nothing more than a gnat buzzing in her ear.

Valerie's expression darkened. "What's with that look, Chelsey?" she seethed, grinding her teeth.

A soft, mocking laugh escaped Chelsey's lips. "Valerie... you're just pitiful."

The quiet laugh cost her. A sickening, wrenching pain twisted through her insides, but she refused to let it show on her face.

Showing even a flicker of weakness would only invite more cruelty from Valerie. Chelsey knew that, so she endured.

"What did you say?!" Valerie's eyes widened. The scornful curl of Chelsey's lips had clearly struck a nerve.

Drawing a painful, shuddering breath, Chelsey enunciated each word with cutting clarity. "I said you're pathetic. It's almost sad. Is being an illegitimate daughter so shameful that you've spent your whole life trying to steal what's mine? As the rightful heiress of the Moore family, my position was always secure. But you... you're just the daughter of a homewrecker. A stain on your family, never fit for polite society."

The words hit their mark. "Shut up!" Valerie shrieked. "Shut your mouth, Chelsey!"

But Chelsey only smiled. "For two years, you used my trust. You preyed on my desperation for Vincent's affection and manipulated me into humiliating myself at every turn. You fanned his indifference into pure disgust, until the very sight of me seemed to soil him. You must have been so proud of yourself."

Valerie's hands clenched into fists, her gaze venomous. "That just proves what an idiot you are."

"You're right. I was an idiot." Chelsey's admission was stark. Thinking of her past self's foolishness made her want to crawl into a hole and die.

An heiress from a prestigious family, living like a brainless parasite. She'd been dealt a winning hand and had managed to lose everything.

"At least you have some self-awareness," Valerie sneered, her laugh dripping with condescension.

"A near-death experience tends to do that. Too bad you haven't had one." Chelsey had to know if anything was broken. She pressed her palms against the floor, trying to push herself up. Agony lanced through her torso, and she nearly collapsed again.

Biting down hard against the pain, she clawed at the floorboards, sweat beading on her forehead as her knuckles turned white with strain.

Valerie's face fell.

"You're at death's door! What right do you have to judge me? You're not Mrs. Marshall anymore! Maryanne Marshall is dead; there's no one left to protect you. If you had any sense, you'd be on your knees begging me to convince Father to let you back into the Moore family home!"

At the mention of Maryanne Marshall, Chelsey's composure wavered for a fraction of a second.

Maryanne had handpicked Chelsey to be Vincent's wife, but she had fallen terminally ill not long after the wedding. In life, she had been Chelsey's staunchest protector—the one person who ensured she could hold her head high in the Marshall family.

"Once I divorce Vincent," Chelsey said, "do you honestly think you'll just waltz in and take my place as the lady of the Marshall Group?"

Valerie puffed out her chest. "And why not? If a worthless thing like you could do it, why can't I?"

"Because you can't," Chelsey said, her voice weak but her tone absolute. "Where did you get the idea that Vincent would ever marry you? Because he was born out of wedlock, you thought that made you equals? Let me explain something to you. You are the daughter of a mistress—a homewrecker. Vincent may be illegitimate, but he was born before his father ever married. His mother never destroyed a family. He is blameless. You are the product of adultery. And for that reason alone, Valerie..." Chelsey's voice dropped to a whisper, each word delivered with devastating precision. "You... are... utterly... unworthy."