The phone was still on speaker, so my mother could hear everything.

But she didn't seem to be listening. She just kept smiling, bustling around the kitchen.

I quickly switched off the speaker and told Edward, "Could you please have your assistant pass along a message? When she wakes up, ask her to come home. My mother was discharged from the hospital today, and it's also my birthday. I'm hoping we can all sit down together."

"Sure thing, buddy. I'll definitely let her know."

He put a strange emphasis on the word definitely, almost giddy about it.

I didn't press him on why they'd been sleeping near each other. All I wanted was for Marcia to come home and spend some time with my mother. Just talk to her. Make her happy.

But after the food was ready, Marcia still hadn't come back.

My mother and I sat at the dining table and waited. One hour passed. Then another.

When the dishes went cold, my mother carried them back to the kitchen and steamed them hot again.

We waited deep into the night. The figure we kept hoping would appear in the doorway never came. Her phone was off. Our messages went unanswered.

"Mom, let's just eat."

"We don't need to wait anymore."

This time, she didn't argue.

"Alright. Let's eat."

She still wore that gentle smile, piling food onto my plate without stopping. I didn't know why, but a heavy sense of dread settled in my chest. My left eyelid wouldn't stop twitching.

Later that night, my mother pushed open my bedroom door. She was coughing as she tucked the blanket back around me. "This child. Kicking off his covers in his sleep. How am I supposed to stop worrying about you?"

I wasn't asleep. I hadn't slept at all.

She stood there watching me for a full hour before finally going back to her room.

The next morning, my mother—who had always been an early riser—didn't get up to make breakfast.

My heart lurched, pounding hard, as if I already knew I'd lost the most important thing in the world.

I walked to her room. She was still lying there.

Something felt wrong. I reached out and touched her hand.

The ice-cold skin stabbed into my palm like a blade. My legs buckled beneath me.

"Mom. Wake up."

Her eyes were shut tight, as though they would never open again. Panic tore through me. I pulled her upright, ready to rush her to the hospital, but then I saw the letter she'd left for me.

My dear boy, if you're reading this, your mother is already gone.

Everything between you and Marcia—I knew all of it.

My son, if living like this is too painful, let each other go. Go find your father.

I hope you can forgive me. I've already contacted your dad to come take you home.

Tears blurred my vision. The ink on the letter bled where they fell.

Then I heard noise outside the door.

"Everard, it's already ten o'clock and you haven't made breakfast?"

"Marcia, are you hungry? I can go in and cook something for you."

"See, you always know how to take care of me. Unlike some people who don't have a thoughtful bone in their body."

I set down the letter. I wiped the tears from my face. Then I walked out of the room, my expression carved from stone.

The first thing I saw was Marcia and Edward, their lips inches apart, about to kiss.

"If you two want to swap spit, take it outside. Don't defile my home."

I didn't want my mother's spirit to witness this. I wouldn't let it taint her passage to the next life.

"What the hell is wrong with you this early in the morning?"

Marcia spun around, seething, and grabbed the nearest object she could find to hurl at me.

I sidestepped it.

"Edward had something in his eye. I was just blowing it out for him." She crossed her arms. "Meanwhile, you're completely useless. All you do is throw jealous fits without lifting a finger. Edward and I both have low blood sugar. If we don't eat soon, we'll—"

"You want to eat? You have hands and feet. Use them."

My voice was cold. Colder than it had ever been.

If Marcia had possessed even a shred of decency, she would have come home yesterday to share that meal with us.

My mother was dead.

There was no reason left to tell her.

I walked in and gently wiped my mother's face, making sure she looked dignified for her final journey.

But when I stepped back out, I saw something in the soup tureen on the dining table. A turtle. A medium-sized turtle.

It was the birthday gift my mother had given me when I was a child. I'd raised it ever since.

I lost it. I charged over like a man possessed and got in Edward's face.

"What the hell did you put in that soup?"

Edward just smiled, all wide-eyed innocence. "Oh! It's a soft-shell turtle!"

"Marcia said she wanted soup, and I saw one in the tank on the balcony, so I just grabbed it and stewed it..."

Rage flooded my veins and drowned out every rational thought I had.

My fist connected with Edward's face. Then I kicked the dining table over.

Marcia screamed. Without a second thought, she hurled the bowl of hot soup at my back.

The scalding broth seared through my shirt and into my skin. My brow knotted tight, but I didn't make a sound.

"You psycho! You're an absolute lunatic!" she shrieked. "You just lash out and hit people whenever you feel like it!"

"Are you blind, Marcia? Does that look like a damn soft-shell turtle to you?" I roared. "That was my pet. My companion. The only friend I had through fifteen years of loneliness."

Marcia froze. It clearly hadn't occurred to her that Edward had actually stewed my turtle.

"Is he really that stupid? He can't tell the difference between a turtle and a soft-shell?"

Her tone softened. "Alright, alright. It's just a turtle. Go buy another one."

A bitter laugh clawed its way up my throat. Just a turtle. It wasn't just a turtle. It was the last living thing my mother had given me. The last piece of her I had left.

She'd already ripped my heart out by betraying me. And now she stood there defending the man who'd killed my pet.

"Get out," I said. "Both of you. Get out of my house."

"I'll have a lawyer draw up the divorce papers."

Marcia hadn't planned on leaving, but the hatred burning in my eyes must have convinced her I'd kill Edward if they stayed. She grabbed him and hurried out.

At the door, she turned back. "My father's birthday is the day after tomorrow. You will be at the Harding estate on time. Dress properly. Don't embarrass me."

She paused. "And as for the divorce, that's not happening."

After they left, I grabbed a can of air freshener and sprayed every corner of the apartment, desperate to erase any trace of them.

David Harding had never thought much of me. At every birthday banquet, he went out of his way to make that clear. No greeting. A seat shoved in the farthest corner. Barbed remarks disguised as small talk.

It didn't matter that I'd poured everything I had into Harding Corp. I never earned so much as a nod of approval from that man.

To him, I was a nobody. A commoner who had no business setting foot in the Harding household. He'd even declared that any children Marcia and I had would carry the Harding name, not mine.

Two days later, I brought my mother's ashes home from the crematorium.

I'd just changed into mourning clothes, preparing to keep vigil, when a group of men barged in and seized me. They didn't give me a chance to struggle. They pinned my arms and dragged me out the door.

I didn't realize where they were taking me until we arrived.

The Harding estate. The birthday banquet.

And I was wearing mourning white from head to toe.

Anyone with half a brain would think I'd done it on purpose. Showing up to a birthday celebration dressed for a funeral was as good as cursing the old man to die.

Sure enough, every head in the room turned. I became the center of attention for all the wrong reasons.

Marcia and David Harding spotted me at the same time. Their faces darkened like storm clouds rolling in.

Marcia stormed over and slapped me across the face. "Are you determined to humiliate this family? Is that it?"

Harding relatives hurled their glasses at me, shouting for me to get out.

David Harding's voice cut through the noise. "I'm not even dead yet and you're already trying to jinx me?"

He slammed his palm on the table. "Someone break his legs."

"And rip that cursed rag off him."

Marcia didn't spare me another glance. She turned her back and let the security guards close in, their fists and boots finding me again and again.

Just then, Edward walked over with an elegantly dressed older woman in tow, stepping in to stop the beating.

"That's enough. He's your son-in-law, after all."

The moment the words left his mouth, everyone burst out laughing.

Marcia's expression softened slightly at the sight of Edward.

"Dad, this is Edward Delgado. He's technically my assistant, but he's actually the young heir of the Delgado family."

A blush crept across Marcia's cheeks as she spoke. A young heir who willingly served as her assistant — David understood immediately.

He smiled warmly and greeted Edward and his mother, then not-so-subtly nudged Marcia toward Edward's side.

"Marcia, a man like Edward is the kind who truly deserves you. One of these days, I'll have you divorce that deadbeat Everard."

Marcia swatted at his arm, her cheeks flushing deeper. "Dad, stop talking nonsense!"

Wanda Delgado was a shrewd woman, and she knew how to put on a performance.

"Mr. Harding, you shouldn't say things like that. Your daughter's husband is standing right there!"

"This must be him!"

She pointed at me, then walked over with a face full of motherly concern.

"Oh, sweetheart, get up off the ground!"

"You must have had your reasons for doing what you did, right?"

Wanda reached out and suddenly seized my hand. Before I could react, she let out a piercing shriek.

"Ahh! You pervert!"

She shoved me hard to the ground. "He groped me! He actually groped me!"

David's face contorted with rage. "Marcia! You see that? He's nothing but garbage through and through!"

"This time, nobody stops me. I'm not just breaking his legs — I'm crushing his hands too."

Voices rose in agreement from every direction. I scrambled to my feet, desperate to explain, but no one listened.

Marcia stared at me with undisguised disgust. "Everard, you make me sick."

David barked his orders without hesitation. "What are you all standing around for? Break him. Now."

The words had barely left his mouth before I was surrounded.

But right then, dozens of luxury vehicles came tearing down the road and barreled straight onto the scene.

The door of a stretched Rolls-Royce swung open, and a man stepped out. Middle-aged, immaculately dressed, radiating authority and ice-cold power.

"You want to destroy my son?" Edwin Stephens swept his gaze across the crowd. "None of you are worthy."