When they first started the business together, Savina had stayed up night after night to help Myron; the sleeplessness left her with a chronic illness and a fragile body.

The pendant around her neck was something he had begged for at a church, where he kneeled three times and asked for forgiveness just to pray for her safety. He had said it would keep her safe.

But now, the person Myron wanted to protect was Helene, and Savina didn’t want the pendant anymore.

Generously, she unclasped the safety charm from her own neck and handed it to Helene.

Myron’s face tightened. He knew Savina disliked Helene, and that pendant had been on her for seven years; she’d never once taken it off. He had expected her to refuse. He had not expected her to agree so readily.

That lack of control unsettled him. He frowned and asked sharply, “You always said that pendant was the most precious thing you had. Why are you giving it away so easily this time?”

Savina only lifted her head and met his gaze calmly. She returned his question with one of her own. “Wasn’t it you who told me to give it to her? Am I making you unhappy by doing it?”

Her teasing tone stole the words from Myron’s mouth. He had no reply.

After she handed the pendant over, Savina turned and left.

All day long, she kept herself busy purposefully without pause.

Myron convinced himself that her generosity was a show; he believed she would come find him within half a day. But evening arrived, and she had not stepped near him once. Instead, she had servants summon him to dinner.

Savina had prepared three dishes and a soup—a stranger’s gentle economy of household skill. She was already seated at the table when Helene arrived.

“Eat,” Savina said coldly.

On the table were the kinds of dishes Dike liked.

Savina was leaving at month’s end; now was the perfect time to practice.

Myron, ignorant of that motive, only supposed she’d cooked to please him. The thought put his unsettled heart at ease.

Helene sat down, too. Myron kept filling her plate, peeling lobster for her personally.

Meanwhile, Savina’s arm tensed—once, Myron had often done it for her, but now, he no longer did.

After a few plates, the spiciness of the food made Myron furrow his brow. “You know my stomach’s sensitive. I don’t like spicy food. Why did you make so many spicy dishes tonight?”

Savina glanced at him. Dike liked spicy food; these meals were meant for Myron.

Myron was eating them only because Savina refused to waste them. The words nearly left her mouth, but Helene beat her to it.

“Myron, don’t blame her. After all, both of you aren’t childhood friends. How would she know all your likes and dislikes? Don’t worry; I’ll make some other dishes for you.” With that, Helene tugged him toward the kitchen.

She chopped, and Myron hovered, worried she might cut her finger, so he handled the knife. She steered from behind while he stir-fried, afraid hot oil might splash on her.

Savina watched, slightly dazed. Once, she’d imagined being by Myron’s side like that—cooking together—but he had always said he had no time.

She realized now it wasn’t that he had no time; it was that the person had changed.

Savina rose to leave, unwilling to stay, but when she turned, the dishes were already brought out. Myron’s voice snapped, strict and loud.

“Stop. The guest has just finished cooking. What do you mean by getting up and making a face? Sit down!”

Savina clenched her fists, ready to refuse. Helene leaned close and whispered a threat into her ear, hush and harsh.

“If you don’t behave, I’ll have people hurt your son.”

Savina’s eyes went frighteningly red in an instant. For her child, she sat back down.

Across from Myron and Helene, Savina watched the two of them—his affectionate attention, the way he fed her again and again—and felt a sharp ache in her chest.

Myron kept spooning food into Helene’s plate; Helene deliberately said, “Savina, you’re not eating. Do you not like my cooking? Myron told me you aren’t picky. Could it be that… you simply don’t like me?”

Myron’s gaze hardened. “Savina, Helene made all these dishes herself. Don’t be ungrateful.”

Looking over the table of food, Savina gave a bitter little laugh. She was allergic to most of these dishes. Apparently, even Myron had forgotten.

When she still didn’t move, he slammed his fork and spoon down on the table.

She lifted her eyes to his. “I can eat,” she said, quietly. “But in exchange, let me see my son.”

At first, he wanted to refuse; Helene had told him the child was in treatment and could not see outsiders.

But when he looked into Savina’s eyes, he could not bring himself to say no. Finally, he answered, “Fine. I agree.”

Savina picked at the food with her fork and forced it down. Not long after, a rash covered her body in angry red bumps.

If Myron cared for her even a little, he would have noticed she was unwell. But his attention never wavered from Helene.

Suddenly, the difference between being loved and not being loved was so stark.

That night, Savina’s allergic reaction worsened. She went to find antihistamines. When she reached the stairs, Helene was standing there, arms full of allergy medicine.

She sneered as Savina approached. “You. I really don’t like you. Myron is mine, yet you had his child.”

“You or that child? You both deserve to die.” With that, Helene poured the pills into the sink and flushed them down.

Savina nearly reached out to teach her a lesson, but thinking of her son in her arms, she forced herself to turn and leave.

But Helene was not done yet; she blocked Savina and threw a stack of photographs at her—photos of Alonzo being abused.

In the pictures, the boy’s limbs were bound. Supposed “treatments” showed doctors repeatedly stabbing his body with needles and scalpels!

Blood seeped, and Savina’s vision blurred red.

At that moment, something inside her snapped. She grabbed Helene’s throat with both hands and hissed, “Bitch! If you lay a finger on my son, I’m gonna fucking kill you!”

But before she could strike hard, Myron lunged forward and shoved her away, then slapped her with brutal force. “Savina, you’re hurting Helene again!”

The blow stunned Savina; her head rang. It was the first time in all those years that he had hit her.

He paid no attention to the torn skin on her arms; he was wholly focused on Helene. He scooped the woman into his arms and murmured, “Helene, I’m sorry you had to experience this. I’ll take you away with me.”

Passing by Savina, he shoved her aside. She toppled to the floor; her shoulder crashed into a table, and she could not lift her arm.

But Myron did not spare a single word of concern; he simply turned and left.

When she moved her injured arm, she felt a stab of pain that cut to the bone.

The servants, unable to stand it, stepped forward. “Ma’am, you’re badly hurt. Would you like to go to the hospital?”

She managed a bitter smile. “No, thank you. I don’t need to.”

She forced herself upright and crawled back to her room. The first thing she did was call Dike.

“Dike,” she said, voice tight, “I know you have people in the country. Help me shorten the cooling-off period. I want to leave in seven days.”

Dike immediately made a few calls, and within minutes, everything was arranged.

Seven days later, Savina was finally free.

Her marriage with Myron had officially come to an end.

That night, pain consumed her—sharp, raw, and unrelenting. She didn’t go to the hospital, nor did she take any medicine.

She wanted to remember this pain and carve it into her bones. It was the price of loving the wrong man.

She drifted in and out of uneasy sleep, only to be jolted awake the next morning by Myron’s angry voice.

He had come to confront her.

“Savina! You’re the one who reported Helene to the hospital, aren’t you? She’s been suspended because of it. Are you proud of yourself now?”

Her head throbbed, her body hot with fever. Dazed, she forced herself to speak. “It wasn’t me.”

He let out a cold, mocking laugh. “Can’t even admit what you did? Seriously, I’m getting sick of you.”

Before she could defend herself further, Helene walked in—delicate and pitiful as always.

“Myron, let it go,” she said softly. “She probably just thinks I stole you from her. It’s my fault, really.”

Her act of meekness only deepened his pity for her—and his hatred for Savina.

“If you’ve done something wrong, you’ll face the consequences, Savina,” he said coldly. “No exceptions.”

She just stared at him in disbelief.

She had never once admitted to the accusations, but he had already made up his mind.

They spent seven years together, and yet, not once had he truly believed her.

Helene nestled into his arms, casting Savina a triumphant smile.

Then, she said sweetly, “Myron, actually, there’s one way I might be able to return to the hospital. Our lab’s been working on an anti-addiction compound using cannabis, but we haven’t found a suitable test subject. If Savina’s willing, she’d be perfect.”

In an instant, Savina’s face went pale.

Before she could speak, Myron answered on her behalf.

“Sure. Send her there.”

Savina snapped, her voice breaking. “Myron, are you insane?! That’s cannabis! It’s dangerous! You’d really risk my life for that woman?”

Helene raised a brow and smiled faintly. “Savina, that’s a harsh way to put it. Cannabis may be a toxin, but it also has medical value. You’d be doing something for the greater good. What a noble deed.”

Savina grabbed a pillow and hurled it at their faces. “If it’s such a noble deed, then you should go!”

Helene burst into tears, trembling like a victim of unspeakable cruelty.

Myron’s gaze hardened; he called for the guards.

“Take her to the lab. She’s not to return until the experiment is complete.”

Then, with chilling finality, he added, “This is what you owe Helene.”

As he turned and walked away, Savina felt something inside her shatter.

Myron… How cruel could one man be?

Once locked inside the laboratory, she fought back. She refused to be their test subject.

But every attempt to escape ended the same way—dragged back, shackled, her wrists and ankles bound in chains like an animal.

Each time she disobeyed, they shocked her body.

The people in white coats weren’t scientists. They were monsters!

On the first day, they injected cannabis directly into her veins, waiting to watch her body break—to see her beg.

On the second, they flooded her system with new “antibiotics,” testing her tolerance with no concern for her life.

By the third day, her mind was slipping away. But she saw Myron enter.

She cried out, desperate for help.

But he only said, expressionless, “If she can’t survive something this small, then it’s her fate.”

Those words extinguished the last bit of life in her heart.

And then, she stopped begging.

By the fifth day—the day she was supposed to be released—Savina looked unscathed on the outside.

But inside, she knew her body was nearly destroyed.

As she was leaving, she overheard two doctors talking.

“Mr. Lestrange’s child can’t hold on much longer. Should we send him to the hospital?”

“Absolutely not,” the other said. “If we do, everything we’ve done here will be exposed. It’s just one life. If he dies, he dies.”

Savina’s blood ran cold.

Her fists clenched so tightly her nails dug into her palms.

Alonzo…

She searched frantically until finally, mercifully, she found him.

He was barely breathing, his small arms bruised from countless injections.

Fighting back tears, she scooped him up and ran.

She drove as fast as she could toward the hospital, her hands trembling on the wheel. But the road ahead was blocked.

“Please,” she begged the staff, “let us through! My son’s dying!”

One of them shook his head apologetically. “I’m sorry, ma’am. This entire 13.14-kilometer stretch has been closed. Mr. Lestrange rented it out for Miss Helene, his beloved, for her birthday celebration.”

Suddenly, her heart stopped.

Her son’s breathing was growing weaker by the second.

“Mommy,” he whispered, voice fragile as air, “am I dying? Can you hold me again?”

Savina broke down completely. “Baby, please, just hold on a little longer, okay? Mommy’s going to get you out of here. Please, please don’t leave me…”

She clutched him tightly, but his body was growing colder.

He looked up at the sky, where fireworks burst in radiant color.

“Mommy… the fireworks are so pretty. But I won’t get to see them again.”

His lips trembled. “Mommy, I’m so cold. Hold me tighter…”

She screamed and sobbed, her voice hoarse. “Baby, I called the ambulance, please—don’t sleep. Don’t leave Mommy, hm? You’re all I have… Please… don’t go!”

But this time, there was no answer.

Her child… was gone.

At that same moment, as fireworks lit up the sky—the grand display of Myron’s love for Helene—their son took his last breath.

Savina lifted her gaze toward the brilliant night sky, her tears burning with hatred.

Her son was dead.

And she would never forgive Myron or Helene!

Savina’s son was dead, and she herself fell unconscious soon after.

When she finally woke up, the first thing she did was to cancel her son’s civil registration.

At the office, the staff member asked gently, “And the child’s father?”

“He doesn’t have one,” she replied coldly.

A man like Myron didn’t deserve to be called a father.

The staff member hesitated for a moment, then said nothing more. With a quiet snip, he cut the child’s ID card in half and handed the pieces back to her.

After completing the process, Savina went straight to have her son’s ashes cremated. Then, she returned to the hospital, cradling the small urn in her arms.

The moment she stepped through the door, Myron’s furious voice lashed at her like a whip.

“Savina! Weren’t you supposed to be sick? What are you doing running around outside?”

A bitter laugh escaped her lips.

Their child was dead. She’d been handling his funeral arrangements, and yet in his eyes, she was just “running around.”

She was too tired to argue. Without saying a word, she held the urn tighter and walked past him.

Something in her empty gaze made Myron’s chest tighten with discomfort.

“What are you doing carrying that cursed urn around? Throw it out! Now!”

As he spoke, he reached out to grab it from her arms.

But in that instant, she seemed to change completely. Her eyes burned red as she snapped, “If you dare touch this urn, I swear, Myron, I’ll fight you to the death!”

Myron froze. The look in her eyes made his heart skip a beat. After a long pause, he finally lowered his arm.

‘Forget it,’ he thought. ‘She must still be angry that I sent her to the lab the other day. She’s just making a fuss. She’ll calm down in a few days.’

With that, he straightened up and said evenly, “You actually did well in the lab this time. Helene has been reinstated at the hospital, and they’ve even promoted her to department head. It’s all thanks to your contribution.”

“I’m hosting a celebration dinner for her tomorrow night at home,” he continued. “You’re the lady of the house. Remember to come back and make the arrangements.”

From beginning to end, Savina didn’t utter a single word.

Noticing that, Myron frowned slightly. “Alright, I get it. You’re upset. Once in a while, that’s fine—it’s cute. But if you keep showing me that face, it’ll stop being charming and start being annoying.”

“After Helene’s promotion dinner, we’ll go pick up our son together, alright?” he promised.

Little did he know, Savina’s heart bled at his words.

Their son could never be “picked up” again.

Alonzo was gone—dead at the very moment his father chose to protect Helene instead of him.

Savina bit down her grief, forcing out a steady voice. “Alright. I’ll make sure everything is ready.”

Hearing her agree, Myron let out a small sigh of relief. ‘She’s still the same as before,’ he thought.

Moments after he left, Savina’s phone buzzed. Her bank account had just received a transfer—two million dollars.

She immediately called the funeral home.

“Hello, I’d like to book the grandest funeral in the entire country,” she said calmly. “Tomorrow at ten in the morning. Arrange a hundred funeral cars to circle the Lestranges villa a hundred times.”

“I want the entire Maryland to know—the Lestranges aren't hosting a celebration tomorrow. They’re hosting a funeral.”

“Oh, and one more thing,” she added, her tone turning icy. “Prepare the most spectacular fireworks you can. I want the words ‘A life for a life’ blazing across the sky.”

When she hung up, a cold smile curved her lips.

Her son was dead.

How could Myron and Helene possibly deserve peaceful days ahead?

After making all the arrangements, Savina went home with the urn in her arms.

That afternoon, she anonymously purchased the entire laboratory and retrieved all its surveillance footage.

The videos showed everything—the abuse she and her son had suffered. All the evidence, every bit of it.

She placed her son’s death certificate, the flash drive containing the footage, and all of Helene’s crimes into a safe.

Then, Savina wrote one final message on it.

[Myron, from this life onward, we shall never meet again.]

At midnight, the car she had booked arrived.

She picked up her son’s urn, grabbed her luggage, and walked out of the Lestranges’ villa for the last time.

From that night on, she swore—she would never set foot in that place again!