"The killer is likely someone from high society. If you stay close to Russ Harris, you'll have a better chance of finding them."

That single sentence shattered every wall I'd built.

Russ and I had been together.

He'd pursued me publicly, showered me with grand gestures—all so I could rightfully become his wife.

His father had broken his leg for it. Literally.

But Russ had held on through sheer stubbornness.

And he'd kept me.

After we got together, I split my time between tracking the common threads linking those socialites' deaths and cramming everything I could about elite society.

All so I could be worthy of him.

But he'd changed.

"Why are you so rude? What's with the painter staring at someone else's boyfriend?"

The girl's voice yanked me from my thoughts. I quickly lowered my gaze.

Russ murmured something soothing to her, then turned to me with ice in his eyes:

"Keep staring, and I'll gouge them out."

Back when I used to sketch for money on the side, my looks attracted trouble. Lowlifes would corner me—inviting me for late-night drinks, or just sitting too close while I worked, eyes crawling over me.

When Russ found out, he'd delivered a single cold warning:

"Look at her again, and I'll gouge out your eyes and feed them to the dogs."

They'd known he wasn't bluffing. They'd scattered like rats.

I let out a bitter laugh.

Funny how the same words had boomeranged back—and now they were aimed at me.

His gaze held that same warning.

As if the moment I said anything that threatened his relationship with this girl, he'd claw my eyes out himself.

"My apologies, sir, miss. I was just studying your composition for the portrait." I kept my voice even. "I'll start now."

Something flickered in Russ's eyes. Surprise.

He was probably wondering why I wasn't making a scene.

After all, I'd confronted him about the photos with the young model in his car. The late-night hotel visits with the internet celebrity. The housekeeper in the bathroom...

Every time, I'd demanded an explanation.

So why was I so calm now?

"Could you two hold hands? Move a little closer... more intimate..."

Once they adjusted, I began to draw.

I worked fast, capturing their likeness on paper with efficient strokes.

The moment I handed over the framed portrait, my phone buzzed. A message in our group chat.

[Russ, your wife didn't throw a fit this time. We lost that bet big time.]

[You were right—ignore her enough and she learns to behave.]

[Bro, you sent that to the wrong chat. She's in this group.]

Both messages vanished—recalled within seconds.

Russ's friends must have panicked. The chat exploded with random messages, desperately trying to bury the recalled texts beneath a flood of spam.

I looked up.

The two of them were walking away side by side. The girl clutched the framed portrait, bouncing with each step. Russ looked... happy. Genuinely happy. His arm swept around her, pulling her close until their silhouettes merged into one. She playfully punched his chest, then broke free and ran.

He chased after her.

I gripped my phone until my knuckles ached. Tilted my head back. Stared at the sky. Blinked rapidly until the tears dissolved into nothing.

Then I lowered my head and started organizing my supplies.

That's when my phone rang.

Sapphire Harris.

"Come back to the estate. Now."

The switch whistled through the air and cracked across my back. It had been soaking in salt water—a method that prevented infection but amplified every nerve ending into screaming agony.

Sapphire's face was carved from stone as she brought down the second lash.

"Can't even keep one man satisfied. Useless woman."

Crack.

"You've driven my son into the arms of other women. His father and I should never have let you through our doors."

Timothy Harris stood with his arms crossed, watching with cold detachment.

The bodyguards pinned my shoulders down.

"This is the family discipline we agreed upon when you married in. Do you accept it?"

I clenched my teeth so hard my tongue bled at the root.

Russ walked in from outside just then. He glanced over at the commotion, then looked away with complete indifference.

"Keep it down while you're disciplining her. I need to rest."

Sapphire let out a cold laugh but withdrew her hand. "Not worried about your wife anymore?"

"Last time I used the whip, you threw yourself in front of her like your life depended on it."

"How things change."

The Harris family had rules. When a man strayed, the family didn't punish him—they punished his wife.

Minor offenses meant copying family precepts. Serious ones meant the lash.

When Russ's affair with that young model came to light, my mother-in-law had whipped me once before.

That time, Russ heard the commotion and rushed home.

Just before her whip came down, he'd thrown himself between us.

"Mom, it's my fault. I won't mess around anymore. Don't hit my wife."

"Hit me instead."

He'd dropped to his knees and taken the lashes meant for me.

That was the first time Sapphire ever looked at me with any respect.

"I know my son better than anyone. He seems devoted, but he's fickle at heart."

"The fact that you've managed him this well—that's no small feat."

From then on, I finally had a place in this family.

But now—

I closed my eyes and swallowed the bitterness rising in my throat.

"Please continue, Mother."

"I'll keep quiet."

The remaining eighteen lashes shredded what was left of my dignity—and the so-called true love I'd foolishly believed in.

A dull ache spread through my lower abdomen. Before the final blow could land, I crumpled to the floor.

Russ emerged from his room and looked down at me, his gaze ice-cold. "The moment I come out, you collapse?"

"Save the act. Chloe likes pink, and there haven't been any good pink diamonds lately—so I took this one a while back."

He held up a ring. A pink diamond.

The same one he'd used to propose to me.

His friends had told me he'd flown to South Africa to select the stone himself, then apprenticed under a master jeweler just to cut and polish it with his own hands.

He'd told me he would only ever make a ring for the love of his life.

I looked away after a single second. "It was always yours. Do what you want with it."

He walked off without a backward glance.

I let my eyes fall shut. The last lash came down. The pain in my abdomen sharpened. Then Graham Whitaker's horrified voice cut through the haze.

"Sir! Ma'am! The young madam is bleeding!"

Sapphire's shock was instant. She scrambled to call the family doctor.

I stayed conscious through all of it—watching the doctor rush in and out—until he approached with a needle to preserve the pregnancy.

I blocked his hand.

Sapphire's brow furrowed with displeasure. "What are you doing? I didn't know you were pregnant. If you refuse the injection now, are you blaming me?"

I shook my head. "It's the baby or me. You can only have one."

"I'll carry this child for the Harris family. But I won't stay here any longer."

It took Sapphire only a heartbeat to understand.

Something unreadable flickered in her eyes.

"You don't love Russ anymore?"

Even the deepest love wears thin eventually.

I didn't answer directly.

"I will give birth to this child and sever all ties with it completely. The baby will belong to the Harris family alone. All I want is a divorce."

Sapphire agreed.

She asked what else I wanted.

I had only two conditions.

"Don't suppress the news about Russ wanting a divorce or his affair. And don't tell him I'm pregnant."

The demand came that morning.

By afternoon, Sapphire had already pulled strings to push through my divorce.

I slipped in the wireless earpiece the Captain had given me.

Then I made myself impossible to miss.

I hit the upscale boutiques, loading up on jewelry and designer pieces—all charged to Russ's card.

Russ was out with Chloe when his phone started buzzing. Transaction alerts, one after another.

He glanced at the screen. His buddies caught the notifications too, and knowing smirks spread around the table.

"Come on, Russ—women love playing hard to get. First they say they don't want your money, then when you stop paying attention, suddenly they're swiping your card to get it back."

"Exactly. Old clothes, new clothes—unworn is always best."

Russ laughed, pulling Chloe onto his lap. "Cut the crap, all of you. Chloe's the only one I want. Keep running your mouths and making her upset, and we're going to have a problem."

My phone lit up with WeChat messages from his friends.

A few were photos—Russ and Chloe, wrapped around each other.

But one message caught my attention.

"Honestly, you deserve better. A guy like Russ has no heart. Where are you right now? Let me come keep you company."

I pressed my lips together. After a long moment, I typed back a single word.

[Okay.]

That night, Russ called.

His voice was slurred, but his words cut sharp.

"You really have no shame, do you? I told you—I'm with Chloe now. Why can't you just disappear?"

"And now you're working the angles? Going after my boys just to get to me?"

Chloe's voice came through next, syrupy with false hurt.

"Excuse me, but have some self-respect. I'm his girlfriend now. Learn your place and stop clinging to him."

"Besides, he's already bringing me to meet his parents. Stop lying to yourself."

Russ's voice, still thick with liquor: "That's right. I'm going to marry Chloe."

There was rustling on the line—muffled sounds I didn't want to interpret.

Then Russ again, voice dropping low, tender in a way I recognized.

"My family has strict rules. Harsh ones. But don't worry, baby—I'll never let them touch you."

"If they don't approve, I'll take you away. Anywhere. I won't let anyone make you suffer."

I ended the call.

My chest ached like something had driven needles straight through it.

All those times—gasping under the weight of their family's "rules," begging him for help—

His response was always the same weary sigh.

"I got my leg broken standing up for you. And you can't handle this much?"

"Marriage is about sacrifice. You're being unfair to me."

And every time, I swallowed it down.

Molded myself into the perfect wealthy wife.

Looking back now, it was laughable.

Three days after losing the baby, I moved back to my old rental—the one from before the marriage.

Almost immediately, I sensed it.

Someone was following me.

When I went shopping, they followed.

When I ate, they watched.

Through my earpiece, my handler confirmed it.

"You've got a tail. Left rear, baseball cap. Movements are suspicious."

"Can't confirm identity yet."

"Stay alert."

I gave a small nod.

My phone buzzed with a new message.

"You haven't been home lately. Let's meet and talk about Chloe."

From Russ.

I agreed and headed to the location he'd specified.

But when I arrived, the person waiting wasn't Russ.

It was Chloe.

"So you're the shameless tramp trying to get back with my boyfriend." Chloe's voice dripped venom. "How pathetic can you be? Clinging to someone else's man like you can't survive without one?"

I frowned. "You've got the wrong person."

Chloe let out a cold laugh. "I saw the messages Russ sent you. There's no mistake."

She stepped closer, her heels clicking against the floor. "But I'm not here to argue. Russ wanted me to give you a message..."

She leaned in. Before I could hear another word, a sharp sting pierced my neck.

My vision blurred. My limbs went slack.

Just before darkness took me, I caught fragments of her voice:

"Done. She's out, just like you wanted."

A pause. Then, syrupy and satisfied:

"You promised me. Make sure she never bothers my Russ again."

Hands caught my body. Someone slipped a jacket over my shoulders and propped me upright, half-dragging me forward.

Behind me, Chloe's voice shifted—high, trembling, tearful:

"Russ, I only came to talk to your ex for you, to clear things up. But she attacked me! She scratched my face!"

A theatrical sob. "It hurts so much... Will I be scarred? Please don't leave me..."