Nathan let go of Carrie and strode toward me, raising his hand to deliver a stinging slap across my face.

"You witch!" he barked. "Have some shame. You hinted at sleeping with me to secure your internship, and when I refused, you held a grudge. Now you're harassing my wife in public?"

I clutched my burning, swollen cheek, staring at him in disbelief.

At that moment, he acted like a stranger. Just hours ago, he'd played innocent, soothing me with his usual patience and telling me not to overthink.

Now, he stood here, twisting the truth without flinching and hitting me.

He'd always had two faces. Looking back, the signs were there. He'd light up for the latest gaming console I bought him, but scoff at my research breakthroughs, calling them scraps.

His care extended only to my bank account. Maybe he'd never loved me or bothered to know the real me.

...

A cold clarity washed over me, drowning my anger.

I lowered my hand, meeting his gaze with a calm that surprised even myself. "Nathan Phelps, repeat what you just said. Who am I? And who is she?"

A flicker of panic crossed his eyes, quickly replaced by defiance. "You're delusional! Am I not clear enough? She is my lawful wife. You're just a desperate intern who couldn't climb the ladder."

He sneered, scanning me head to toe. "Look at yourself! Pushing forty? Why would I marry someone like you? Have some self-respect!"

The crowd buzzed again.

"She can't find a man, so she's jealous of their happiness."

"Called it. She's got delusions. Creepy."

"Poor couple, stuck with this leech."

I stayed silent, watching their performance. Nathan was dead set on protecting Carrie, even if it meant dragging me through the mud.

But he was delusional if he thought he could rewrite reality with words.

I reached into my bag, pulling out my household registry and marriage certificate. "These prove who I am."

Nathan and Carrie froze, their faces stiffening. Carrie tugged at his sleeve, her eyes wide with panic.

Nathan lunged forward, snatching the documents from my hands and hurling them out the hotel's revolving door without a glance.

"Are you done?" he roared, his veins bulging. "Last time, you faked an ID to mess with me. Now you're forging official documents? Stop this harassment, or I'll call the police for fraud!"

The crowd's disdain turned to outright hostility. They echoed, "Call the police."

I had to admire Nathan's quick thinking, turning my evidence into fakes. At that moment, I wished our marriage certificate were fake.

Carrie, visibly relieved, nestled back into his arms, her voice dripping with malice disguised as kindness. "Your abusive husband must've driven you to a breakdown. I can recommend a great therapist or a divorce lawyer."

She emphasized the word "divorce", clearly eager to take my place as Mrs. Phelps.

Nathan kissed her forehead, then glared at me. "Get out, or I'm calling the police!"

To the receptionist, he barked, "Get security to throw this crazy woman out! Who knows what she'll do next? She might hurt other guests."

The crowd chimed in, "Kick her out, or we'll complain!"

The receptionist, flustered, radioed for security. Two burly guards grabbed my arms, dragging me toward the exit.

...

I struggled, my elbows bruising from their grip.

In the chaos, Carrie slipped closer and tripped me. Already off-balance, I crashed to the floor, my ankle swelling instantly and my knee scraping open, blood seeping through.

"Oops!" Carrie gasped, feigning innocence. "Are you okay? I was trying to help you, not make you fall."

I endured the pain, trying to stand but failed. Nathan looked on, utterly disappointing me.

I had no more hope for him. My hands shook as I fumbled for my phone to call 911. Before I could dial, he rushed forward and snatched it.

"What tricks are you trying again?" he sneered. "We all saw you fall on purpose to frame my wife and the hotel."

"I have a bleeding disorder!" I shouted, pain searing through me. "Call an ambulance!"

He didn't budge, tossing my phone across the lobby. The receptionist hesitated, wary of trouble.

Alone and helpless, I dragged myself toward my phone, using my uninjured leg for support. Then a sharp heel slammed onto my hand.

Carrie loomed over me. "Sign a statement admitting this was your fault, and I'll call an ambulance. Otherwise..."

She pressed harder, the pain shooting through my hand, mingling with the agony in my knee and ankle. My vision blurred from pain and rage.

Just as I thought I'd faint, sharp, purposeful high-heel clicks echoed from the entrance. Tracy stormed in, flanked by executives and security.

"Alva, I checked," she began. "That wretch has been cheating. He's used this hotel more times than you have in years, and he gave your VIP card to his mistress. I'm tearing him apart today."

Her voice cut off as she saw me crumpled on the floor, blood staining my skirt. The receptionist, who'd been so smug, went pale and stammered, "M-Ms. Frye?"