It was the thirtieth anniversary of my alma mater, and I had been invited back to give a speech.

But as I stepped on stage, my husband's illegitimate son rushed toward me, brandishing a knife. His accusations rang through the hall: I was a homewrecker, the woman who had driven his mother to her death.

He went even further, kidnapping my daughter and threatening her safety unless I publicly read a letter of confession.

I was beaten to within an inch of my life, my body battered and bruised. I demanded my husband come forward and confront the truth. Instead, he turned on me.

"I was forced to be with you in the first place!" my husband spat, venom dripping from every word. "You're the real mistress!"

I walked up to the podium, my hands trembling slightly as I gripped the microphone. The screen behind me flickered to life just as I was about to speak. But before I could utter a single word, a wave of noise swept through the audience like a storm.

I glanced out at the students, their eyes filled with disdain, judgment burning in their gazes.

One of the school leaders in the front row stood up abruptly, pointing toward the screen behind me. "Who did this?" he demanded, his voice sharp.

Unease settled in the pit of my stomach as I slowly turned to look. Where my professional résumé should have been displayed in clear text, there was instead a bold red message, each word an accusation screaming across the screen:

"I am the mistress who drove my lover's wife to her death. I deserve to die!"

Before anyone could remove the damning words, a male student leaped up from the crowd, his face twisted in fury as he pointed at me.

"It's her! This slut destroyed my family and forced my mother, the rightful wife, to her death!" he shouted, his voice shaking with emotion. "How can someone like her call herself a philanthropist?"

I recognized him instantly. He was the school's top student—the very same boy I had been sponsoring for years, helping him through financial hardships.

"Have you mistaken me for someone else?" I asked, frowning. "I've been married for many years, and my daughter is about your age. There's no way I'm involved in what you're claiming."

The boy sneered, his voice icy. "I would recognize your face anywhere, even if you turned to ashes."

"You think just because you married my father, you can erase what you did? Let me tell you something," he hissed. "A mistress will always be a mistress. You're filthy—your whole existence is dirty. A marriage certificate doesn't change that."

I took a deep breath, my expression hardening. "Do you have any evidence? Slandering someone without proof can have serious legal consequences." I reminded him firmly, hoping to rein in the madness swirling around me.

The murmurs from the crowd began to grow, a wave of whispers spreading through the auditorium like wildfire.

"That can't be true, right? Miss Cole is the vice-chairwoman of a famous company! She could have any man she wants," one student muttered in disbelief.

"I've heard she's been married to the chairman for years, and they've always been deeply in love. Why would she be a mistress to some poor guy?" another chimed in, their voice laced with skepticism.

"Exactly… And that boy, Henry Basset, is just a poor student on scholarship here. Could he be making all this up to stir trouble?" someone else suggested.

A few voices called out, demanding he leave the stage.

But the accusations only seemed to fuel Henry's rage. His face twisted in anger as he stormed forward, shoving me aside. He then used my laptop to project a series of photos onto the large screen.

"Here!" he shouted, jabbing at the images with trembling fingers. "These are my parents' wedding photos, and others of them together.

"They were childhood sweethearts," he continued, his voice thick with emotion. "They got married right after they graduated and had me. They were the envy of everyone…"

Then, with a furious gesture, he pointed directly at me.

"But now, because of you—because of you, everything is ruined!"

I stared at the screen, my breath catching in my throat.

The man in the photos was unmistakable. It was my husband, Charles Basset.

But the woman standing beside him, the bride—she wasn't me. She was a stranger. A woman I had never seen before, but her face bore a striking resemblance to Henry.

My heart raced as I looked closer. The dates on the photos… most of them were taken after Charles and I had already been together.

The revelation hit me like a punch to the gut. Was Henry really Charles's illegitimate son?

Had I been deceived for years by a man who was living a double life, playing me for a fool all this time?

The bile rose in my throat, nausea creeping over me as the weight of the truth pressed down hard.

And still, Henry's accusations continued, his words cutting through the air like knives.

"You seduced my father while my mother was pregnant! You used her life and mine as leverage, threatening him that if he didn't leave her and marry you, both she and I would die!

"My father had no choice but to give in.

"And after he left, my mother was left alone to raise me. She was miserable—haunted by what happened. A few months ago, she couldn't take the pain anymore…" His voice broke, but he pressed on, each word dripping with bitterness.

"She jumped to her death.

"And you—you are the murderer!"

In an instant, every eye in the room turned toward me.

"So it wasn't just a misunderstanding… She really is a homewrecker?" someone muttered, disbelief turning to disgust.

"She drove someone's wife to her death! What a cruel woman!"

"Some people are just born to be whores, I guess!"

The murmurs grew louder, and the school leaders finally snapped out of their shock.

One of them called urgently for security. "Who let him onto the stage on such an important day? Get him off now!"

This school celebration wasn't just a simple alumni event. It was tied to major donations, including several new laboratory buildings on campus. There couldn't be any mistakes today.

But Henry's fury only grew as he spat, "This wicked woman killed someone! And you, as educators, are going to cover for her?" he shouted, his voice cracking with emotion. "If anyone comes near me, I'll kill her!"

Security rushed toward him, and Henry, panicking, pulled a fruit knife from his pocket and held it to my throat.

"Don't do anything rash!" The guards froze mid-step, and the school leaders paled, visibly shaken by the escalating danger.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to stay calm despite the fear gnawing at my insides. Slowly, I reached for my phone.

"I've never met your mother," I said carefully. "I didn't even know she existed."

"If you truly believe I'm the one who destroyed your family, then let's summon your father here to clarify things. He can tell us the truth himself," I added.

I wanted answers too. I needed to know what was really going on.

But before I could even dial the number, Henry knocked the phone from my hand. His eyes blazed with anger.

"My father's been under your threat for years! I won't let you hurt him again!" he seethed.

"I want you to confess, right now, in front of the entire school," he demanded. "You're going to read every word of that confession and admit to your crimes!

"And then, you'll hand over all your wealth—to make amends for what you did to my mother."

He shoved a piece of paper into my hand—the so-called 'confession.'

I glanced down at the page, my eyes scanning the vile accusations. It was filled with obscenities, a degrading admission that I was a shameless seductress, unworthy of respect or dignity.

Anger surged through me, darkening my expression. Without hesitation, I threw the paper to the ground, my voice unwavering.

"Absolutely not!"

Henry's fury boiled over, and in a swift motion, he dragged the blade across my skin, cutting me just enough to feel the sharp sting.

"Aren't you afraid I'll kill you?" he hissed through clenched teeth.

I forced myself to stay composed, fighting back the tremors that threatened to overtake me. "If you do," I said, my voice wavering but resolute, "your future will be ruined. After today, you'll have nothing left. You'd better think it through."

His eyes flickered with hesitation, and for a moment, I thought I had reached him.

Relief was just within grasp when suddenly, a cold, twisted smile crept across his face.

"You're right," he said slowly. "I can't hurt you—not in front of so many people…"

His words hung in the air, but then his tone shifted, darkening. "But I can hurt someone else."

With chilling calm, he pulled out his phone and tapped the screen. A video appeared, and the moment I saw what it showed, my heart clenched painfully in my chest.

It was my daughter—bound and gagged, tears streaming down her face, held down by two students.

"No!" I gasped, my breath catching in my throat.

"If you won't confess, then I'll make her confess in your place," Henry sneered, triumph lighting his face.

"That little bastard born of a homewrecker… her blood is dirty too." His voice dripped with venom. "Why not carve the word 'slut' into her face with this very knife? Let everyone know exactly what kind of people you both are."

"Stop! No! Please, don't hurt her!" Panic consumed me, my heart racing. I couldn't lose her—my sweet, innocent daughter.

Desperation surged, and I choked on the words that would seal my fate. "I'll do it! I'll confess! I'll admit everything," I cried out, my voice breaking.

Henry's twisted grin widened as he kicked the back of my knees, forcing me down to the ground.

"Then say it," he demanded, cold and unyielding.

With trembling hands, I picked up the confession letter from the floor.

"I am a disgrace," I began, my voice small, almost too faint to hear. "A shameless woman who seduced a married man…"

But Henry wasn't satisfied. "That doesn't sound like true repentance," he said mockingly. "How about this—after each line, slap yourself. That should show us all how sorry you are."

Humiliation washed over me in waves, but the image of my terrified daughter was burned into my mind. I couldn't let her suffer.

The next moment, following Henry's demand, I lifted my trembling hand and slapped myself across the face, hard.

"Put more strength into it. If your face isn't ruined, I'll have to ruin your daughter's," Henry's voice dripped with malice, clearly enjoying my suffering.

I gritted my teeth and struck harder.

"I'm a shameless whore, desperate for men…" I choked out the humiliating words. "I destroyed someone else's family without remorse. I pushed someone else's wife to her death, and I deserve to die in the worst way…"

The only sounds filling the hall were the sharp slaps of my palm against my face and my broken voice, reciting lines of degradation and disgrace. The hateful words continued for what felt like an eternity, each sentence more degrading than the last, until I finally reached the end.

"I willingly give up all my assets as an apology to Mrs. Basset."

When the final words left my mouth, my face was numb. I could no longer feel the skin beneath my bloodstained fingers, but the blood dripping onto my hands was a reminder of just how badly I was injured.

Henry's grin widened. "Looks like you really care about your daughter, don't you?"

He paused, then added with a cruel smile, "But just to make sure she doesn't turn out like you—a whore—I should help you by carving up her pretty face."

"You can't go back on your word!" I screamed, panic overtaking me.

Henry only looked more smug. He pulled out his phone and dialed a number. "Do it," he ordered.

On the screen, I watched in horror as one of the boys holding down my daughter ripped the tape from her mouth and pulled out a box cutter. The blade hovered dangerously close to her delicate cheek.

"No, please… no!" My daughter's face drained of color, her voice trembling as she sobbed, trying desperately to pull away, but the boys held her down firmly.

"Don't touch her! I'm begging you! This is all my fault!" I cried out, my heart shattering as blood began to drip from a small cut on her cheek.

Every fiber of my being ached to reach through the screen and save her.

I turned to Henry, dropping to my knees in front of him, tears streaming down my face as I begged, "I admit everything. I'm the one who ruined your family. I'll give you whatever you want, just please, don't hurt her!"

But Henry was unmoved, his eyes fixed on the screen. "Now you beg for mercy? It's too late! You killed my mother, so today, you'll feel what it's like to lose the person you love most."

With those chilling words, the blade dug deeper, slicing a long line across my daughter's face. Blood flowed freely, smearing across her skin, and her screams filled the air.

But it didn't stop there.

The boys continued their cruel work, searching for more places to carve, each cut drawing another scream from my daughter. Each scream stabbed through me like a knife.

My heart shattered countless times as I watched, helpless, while they continued to carve my daughter's face. By the time they finally stopped, her face was unrecognizable—nothing but a mess of blood and torn flesh.

Henry, still laughing with sadistic glee, reveled in my suffering.

I couldn't take it anymore. In a desperate surge of fury, I lunged for him, grabbing at the box cutter in his hand. If I could just take it away, maybe I could stop him from doing anything worse.

But Henry was quicker. He felt me tug at the handle and immediately retaliated, kicking me hard.

"You whore! How dare you fight back!" he shouted as I stumbled to the ground, blood spurting from my mouth.

Not satisfied, he kicked me again, this time in my abdomen, over and over, until the pain became unbearable. My organs felt like they were being crushed, and I could no longer muster the strength to resist. Everything inside me was breaking.

Just then, the piercing sound of police sirens filled the air.

Someone yelled, "The police are here!"

Suddenly, a crowd rushed to the stage. Everything became a blur, but in the chaos, I saw Henry being wrestled to the ground and handcuffed.

A pair of hands lifted me gently from the floor, and a voice spoke close to my ear, filled with concern. "Wendy, are you okay?"

It was my husband, Charles.

But I didn't answer him. Instead, I stumbled forward, desperate, grabbing hold of a nearby police officer. I clung to his uniform, gasping out that my daughter had been kidnapped, pleading with him to find her before it was too late.

The officer listened intently and he promised me they would immediately begin searching for her. Only then did I allow myself to exhale, feeling a small measure of relief.

Charles, standing beside me, tried to comfort me, "Don't worry, the police will make sure our daughter is safe."

I turned to look at him. Without a second thought, I summoned all the strength I had left and slapped him across the face with everything I had.