Six years ago, Betty Cooper thought marrying billionaire Nathaniel Blackwell would be her fairytale ending.

Instead, it became her prison.

He blames her for ruining his life and for the scandal that cost him the love of his life.

She blames herself for still loving a man who only looks at her with hate.

“How long will you punish me?” I whisper through clenched teeth.

“Six years, Nathaniel… isn’t that enough?”

His eyes burn through me as he spits back, “You cost me the most important thing in my life when you drugged me that night, Betty. And I’m going to make sure you lose something just as important before I’m done with you.”

But when the truth finally comes out, and Nathaniel realizes he’s been wrong all along, it might already be too late.

Because this time, Betty’s not the one begging for love… He is.

BETTY.

I stand frozen as the casket is being lowered into the ground, the dull thud of earth hitting wood echoing through the cold air.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to feel right now. Because it’s all there, twisting and burning inside me: grief, regret, heartbreak, and mostly anger.

He couldn’t even spare a few minutes to be here. To help me bury my mother.

A gentle squeeze pulls me back to the present, and I glance down only to see her—my heart, my only reason to live, my little Grace.

Her small fingers wrap around mine, her green eyes so much like mine staring up, full of worry I wish she’d never have to carry.

“Mommy, are you okay? Is Daddy coming?” she asks, her tiny voice soft and innocent.

My throat tightens, and for a moment I can’t breathe, so I take a shaky step back from the grave, my vision blurring.

“No, baby,” I mutter, forcing a small smile. “Not today.”

I then lean down and press a kiss to her forehead, her little arms wrapping around my waist, grounding me.

Around us, the few people who knew my mother step forward one by one, tossing handfuls of soil into the grave until the casket disappears beneath it.

The sound of dirt hitting wood echoes in my chest, and each thud is a reminder of everything I’ve lost.

I hold Grace close, her head against my chest, and I pretend to be strong, because if I let go now, she’ll see me fall apart.

I hear a familiar voice coming from behind me, and when I turn, it’s my best friend Lucy, the only connection I have to my old life.

She wraps her arms around my shoulders, her warmth almost breaking me. “Babe, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?” she asks.

I sigh, forcing a faint smile. “Well… you can rescue me from going back to that house.”

Lucy shakes her head, her lips twisting into a sad smile before she glances down at Grace. “He didn’t come? What’s his reason this time?”

A small, humorless chuckle slips out. “Same as always,” I whisper, making sure Grace doesn’t hear. “Because he hates me.”

Lucy frowns, an angry scoff escaping her. “Come stay with me tonight. You don’t have to go back there today. I can drive you back tomorrow.”

For a moment, I consider it, and I almost say yes. But then I shake my head, holding onto Grace a little tighter. “No need. I’ll be fine. Promise.”

She studies my face, uncertain, before tilting her head. “I still blame myself, you know. I feel like it’s my fault you ended up in that hellhole.”

“Never,” I answer quickly, brushing Grace’s curls away from her face. “Look at her. How else would I have ended up with an angel for a daughter?”

Grace smiles up at me, and I can’t help but smile back. But when I glance up at Lucy, she is giving me that look I hate—the one filled with pity.

“I’m okay,” I tell her quietly. “I promise. I’ll call you once I’m back at the manor.”

She nods reluctantly, giving my hand one last squeeze before leaving the cemetery.

One by one, the rest of the guests offer their condolences and drift away until it’s just Grace and me by the grave.

I stare at the fresh mound of earth for a long time, my chest tightening. “Why did you have to relapse, Mom?” The question slips out before I can stop it.

And before I ask a follow-up, I hear a throat clear behind me. “Mrs Blackwell, it’s time to go back.”

I turn and find the driver patiently waiting, standing at a respectful distance. I sigh, nod, and look down at Grace. “Okay, let’s go.”

We walk toward the car, and the driver opens the door, and I slide inside with Grace beside me.

“Don’t worry, Mommy,” she says softly, settling on her seat, her green eyes bright even through the sadness. “I’ll make you hot chocolate when we get home.”

I lean over and kiss her head. “Thanks, my darling.”

The car hums quietly, and we leave the cemetery behind.

Outside, the world blurs, and the city fades into a long stretch of open road, the sky giving way to guarded estates, each one hidden behind tall iron gates.

I close my eyes and remember the first time I drove up this road six years ago. I remember thinking it was the beginning of my happy ending. That love and soft life had finally found me. I scoff just thinking about it.

My eyes open, and I lean back against the seat, telling myself I can’t think about that now, especially not after saying goodbye to the only blood-related relative I had.

But with every mile closer to the estate, the ache in my chest grows sharper, deeper, and heavier.

Grace leans against me, half-asleep, her soft breath warming my arm as my eyes drift to the window just as the car slows.

The towering black gates of the Blackwell estate come into view, two enormous stone lions guarding the entrance.

The Blackwell family isn’t just wealthy. They are old money. They have the kind of wealth that doesn’t just buy power, but builds empires.

They own nearly half of this city. Businesses, banks, hospitals, schools, apartments. If you live here, chances are, you owe something to a Blackwell.

Being around them is considered a privilege. Marrying into them? That’s something people would sell their souls for.

The gates open on their own, silent and smooth, as if welcoming me back to captivity, and we roll through the long driveway lined with perfectly trimmed hedges and ancient oak trees.

The manor comes into view, vast and pale, with towering columns and gleaming windows that stretch toward the sky.

Grace stirs and sits up as the car stops in front of the house, and before the driver can open her door, she pushes it herself, hops out, her small shoes tapping against the steps as she runs ahead.

I step out after her, taking my sweet time, dread curling low in my stomach at what awaits me inside.

The massive oak doors swing open before I reach them, and Anders, the butler, stands tall at the threshold, his posture perfect, his face unreadable.

“Welcome back, ma’am,” he greets with a slight bow.

The moment I step into the grand foyer, I feel it—the tension. It’s palpable.

Two maids stand frozen near the staircase, their faces pale and uneasy, their eyes darting toward the upper landing.

I follow their gaze up the staircase, and my eyes land on her. Eleanor Blackwell. My mother-in-law.

She is dressed perfectly as always, her pearls gleaming beneath the chandelier, her expression carved from ice.

“Finally,” she spits, her tone sharp enough to cut glass, her gaze sweeping over me like I’m something stuck in her shoe.

“The suspect we’ve been waiting for.”

BETTY

“Suspect?” I blurt under my breath, my voice barely audible above the sound of my heartbeat.

Eleanor shoots me a look sharp enough to draw blood, then motions to one of the maids. “Take Grace to the other room,” she barks.

The maid hesitates for a split second before obeying.

“Mommy?” Grace’s small voice trembles, and my chest tightens.

“It’s okay, love,” I whisper, forcing a smile I don’t feel, motioning for her to follow, as her little hand slips from mine.

Once she’s out of sight, I turn back to Eleanor, confusion gnawing at my stomach. “What is going on, Eleanor?”

She descends the last five steps of the grand staircase with a grace that only money and malice can teach, her heels clicking against the floor like a warning.

“You dare ask me that?” she sneers. “You think I wouldn’t find out? Where is it?”

“Where is what?” My voice quivers, crossing my hands over my chest.

“The brooch,” she snaps.

I blink, utterly lost. “What brooch?”

Her steps quicken, and she reaches me, the scent of her expensive perfume filling the space between us as her hand shoots out, seizing my wrist.

The pain is immediate and searing.

“The one you stole,” she hisses, her grip tightening.

“I haven’t stolen anything from you! I’m not a thief.” The words tumble out of me in a panic, but they sound small and fragile, like they already know they won’t be believed.

Eleanor’s eyes gleam, triumphant and cruel. “Don’t lie to me. You sold it, didn’t you? To pay for your mother’s latest relapse? This is how you repay us after six years of our generosity? By stealing from us?”

Her nails dig deeper into my skin, and I wince, fighting to free myself, but she only tightens her hold.

“Please…you’re hurting me. I didn’t take anything.”

“I don’t believe you,” she spits. “We’ll see what your room says about that.” She turns her glare to the maid hovering by the wall. “What are you waiting for? Go turn that room upside down!”

But before anyone moves, the heavy front door swings open and the sound of his footsteps steals the air from the room.

Nathaniel stands framed by the doorway, black suit, crisp tie, briefcase in hand.

His presence fills the space like a shadow stretching across the floor, and Eleanor releases me just enough for me to straighten, my wrist throbbing under the sleeve of my coat.

“What’s going on here?” His deep voice ripples through the silence, cool and commanding.

“She stole from me,” Eleanor answers quickly, too quickly. “My mother’s brooch—the one I told you about, remember?.”

Nathaniel’s jaw tightens, his gaze shifting to me, looking handsome and perfect as always.

“How could you do this?” he asks, each word measured and lethal. “How could you steal from us?”

My eyes squint at him, and my mouth goes dry. “You think I did this?”

He closes the distance between us, his hand wrapping around my other arm, not violently, but firmly enough that I can feel the judgment in his touch. “Why wouldn’t I? You are the only person in this house desperate enough to do it.”

The words slice deep, and right through the fragile parts, I bleed in places no one can see.

Tears threaten to blur my vision as I look up at him, but I blink quickly, pushing them back. “I didn’t do this, Nathaniel. I was at my mother’s funeral the whole day. You know that.”

For a small moment, I see a flicker of something human in his eyes, but it vanishes as quickly as it came.

He yanks my hand aside and steps back, smoothing his tie as though I’ve dirtied him just by standing near. “You always have excuses, Betty, and also, are you insinuating that my mother is lying?”

The humiliation burns hotter than the tears threatening to fall, and my lips part to respond, but then a steady, commanding voice echoes down from the staircase. “What is with all the shouting?”

We all turn, and Harriette Blackwell is standing at the top of the stairs, wrapped in pearls and diamonds, her silver hair pulled into a perfect twist.

Her posture is straight, her expression calm, but her presence commands immediate silence.

Eleanor’s tone softens instantly. “Mother, I was only…”

Harriette lifts a hand, her way of silencing her. “I asked what’s going on.” Her eyes, sharp and clear, shift to me.

“It’s Betty,” Eleanor starts again, her voice dripping venom. “She stole from me.”

Harriette’s gaze returns to her daughter-in-law, her lips thinning. “And you know this for certain?”

Eleanor hesitates, and before she can double down on her accusation, Harriette’s steps echo through the hall as she descends. “Is this true, Nathaniel? Has your wife stolen from your mother?”

Nathaniel clears his throat, and his hand pauses mid-adjustment on his cufflinks, fingers tightening just once before he forces them to move again.

His shoulders draw back, an instinctive attempt at gathering himself, but the tension in his jaw betrays him. He never looks small, never looks unsure… except in front of her.

“I… just walked in, Grandmother,” he finally answers, his words careful, measured, like he’s choosing the safest path through a minefield. “I found them arguing, and…”

She cuts him off with a simple shake of her head. “So you just walked in and decided to side against your wife without proof?” she asks, disappointment laced in her voice. “Is that what I taught you, Nathaniel? To throw accusations at people without being certain?”

A faint flush creeps up Nathaniel’s neck, and I know this look. It’s the look of a man being scolded by the only person he fears.

“I’m sorry, Grandmother,” he mutters before he turns, his eyes meeting mine briefly, cold and unreadable. “I’ll go say hello to Grace.” He kisses Harriette’s cheek, then looks back at me. “We’ll talk later.”

His words sound like a threat, not a promise, and he walks away, leaving the scent of expensive cologne and resentment in his wake.

Harriette turns to Eleanor, her expression hardening. “And you,” she says, “I have no words for you.”

Eleanor’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. For once, she’s speechless.

Harriette’s gaze then softens as she looks at me. “Come, my dear,” she says, stretching out her hand. “Walk with me to the rose garden and tell me about the funeral.”

Warmth blooms in my chest where moments ago there was only pain, and I take her hand, the trembling in mine easing under her gentle touch.

We walk away, and I can feel Eleanor’s glare burning holes in my back, but I don’t care. Her plan to humiliate me, and remind me I don’t belong here, has failed.

The rose garden stretches ahead once we step out, perfectly manicured, rows of blush and ivory petals swaying gently under the afternoon breeze.

Harriette slows her steps, her hand still holding mine, her thumb tracing small circles over my skin.

“How many times must I tell you, my dear? You need to stand up for yourself,” she says softly, her tone more weary than scolding.

I manage a faint smile. “I’m fine. I’m just glad you stepped in when you did.”

She sighs, rubbing my arm gently, her eyes searching mine. “You know I won’t always be around to protect you, Betty.”

I look at her, the only person who has been kind to me in this house, and the words spill out before I can stop them. “Then let me leave with Grace, Harriette. I won’t ask for anything else…please.”

Her steps falter, and I see a shift in her expression, the soft affection hardening into something cold and practiced.

“I’ve told you before,” her voice becomes firm, “that is not an option for you, Betty. The Blackwell name cannot be associated with such failures. I’ve made that clear.”

She turns, her pearl earrings glinting as she resumes her pace down the gravel path, leading me deeper into the garden.

I follow silently, the ache in my chest heavier than before.

I love this woman. I truly do. She has never been cruel to me, not once. She took me in as family when no one else wanted me, and treated me with kindness I’ll never forget.

And most importantly, she adores Grace, spoils her even. But Harriette Blackwell lives by one unshakable truth: perception is everything.

To her, the Blackwell legacy is a fortress built on appearances, and I am just another stone meant to keep it standing. Divorce, scandal, imperfection…those things are for people who can afford to be human.

So when she tells me it’s not an option, what she really means is: I will live in this cage forever.

BETTY

After spending hours in Harriette’s rose garden, letting the quiet settle into the cracks of my chest, I finally force myself to head inside.

Harriette left earlier, and her soft warning still echoes in my ears, so I stayed behind, pretending the roses could hold me together a little longer.

I walk back into the manor slowly, and I find the hallways empty, the lights around the house dim, meaning everyone must have retired by now.

I go up the stairs, taking my time, each step heavier than the last, and make my way to Grace’s room, my hand hesitating for a breath before I push the door open.

I freeze when I find Nathaniel sitting on the edge of her bed, sleeves rolled up, a storybook open in his hands.

His head is tilted toward her, and I watch as he softly tucks a curl behind her ear and places a gentle kiss on her forehead before whispering, “I love you, baby girl.”

Grace smiles in her sleep, and something in my heart cracks open, making me let go of the doorknob, but it creaks loudly enough to announce my presence.

His head jerks up, and the warmth disappears from his face instantly, replaced by the cold, distant expression he reserves only for me.

“What are you doing here?” he asks, rising to his full height, placing the book neatly on her bedside table like nothing just happened.

“I wanted to kiss her goodnight,” I respond softly.

He doesn’t even give me a second look. He walks to me and reaches for my wrist, fingers firm, pulling me out into the hallway before shutting the door behind us.

“She’s asleep,” he barks, voice sharp. “Also, how dare you take her with you today without my permission?”

I try to yank my hand away, but he is too strong for me. “I wanted her there with me,” I blurt, “Is that so wrong?”

His jaw flexes, and his eyes harden before releasing my hand.

“You don’t take her anywhere without telling me. I can’t have you dragging her to…”

“To where I grew up?” I interrupt, feeling just a little fed up with his attitude. “To my neighborhood?”

His lip curls just slightly, and I watch as his hands form fists at his sides. “Yes. To that dump.”

I swallow, forcing my voice to stay steady. “But she’s my daughter too, Nathaniel… just as much as she is yours.”

He laughs, the sound not coming out as joy but contempt. “I don’t care, Betty. Her last name is Blackwell and not Cooper. So like I said, don’t ever take her anywhere without telling me.”

He turns, already walking away, but something in me cracks open, and a low voice comes out before I can stop it. “Why didn’t you come to the cemetery today?” I sigh, blinking slowly,

“I needed you.”

He stops in his tracks, and he doesn’t move. Then he slowly turns, slipping his hands into his pockets, before tilting his head, and a cruel smile curves his lips.

“What made you think I would come?” he sneers, taking a step towards me.

My breath catches, and I am just about to answer when he takes another step.

“What makes you think I wanted to be there?” he pauses dramatically. “I don’t care about you,” he adds, taking two more steps, his voice rising with each word, “let alone your drug-addict mother.”

My vision blurs for a moment, and I blink my tears back, but one escapes anyway, sliding hot down my cheek.

“How long will you punish me?” I whisper through my clenched teeth. “Six years, Nathaniel… isn’t that enough? I sniffle between words. “ I have loved you with everything I have — even after the way you’ve treated me all those years.”

He lifts his hand, smirking like it’s all amusing to him and shakes his head once before arching his left brow. “With what?” he mocks. “Everything you have comes from me.”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat.

“And as for this so-called suffering…” he steps closer, towering over me. “Do you see any chains on you Betty?” his eyes move to my wrists. “ Leave if you want. Actually,” his smile turns dark and confident, “that would make it easier for me to take my daughter from you. Because she is not going anywhere.”

He turns again, leaving, but this time I reach out on instinct, grabbing his hand.

He freezes, looking as my fingers wrap around his, then at me, and I can see fury blazing in his eyes before he rips his hand out of mine.

“You cost me the most important thing in my life when you drugged me that night, Betty,” he spits, pointing his finger at me and taking a few steps back.

“I’m going to make sure you lose something just as important before I am done with you,” he threatens, and before my brain can digest his words, he is already striding down the hall to his chambers and slams his door shut once inside.

I stand there, my body trembling, and I feel my knees give out.

I sink to the cold, polished floor, my arms wrapping around my legs, and I pull them close to my chest.

The tears break free before I can stop them, rushing out in a quiet flood, but I force myself to cry silently.

God forbid anyone in this house hears me and adds “weak” to their list, so I cover my mouth to muffle the sounds and drag myself against the wall, letting it all out.

I cry for Mum. I cry for the ruins of my marriage. I cry for the six years I’ll never get back, and worst of all, I cry because I cannot believe he still thinks I drugged him all those years ago.

Once I’m done, I gather myself, wiping the tears off my face with the back of my hand, and step quietly into Grace’s room.

Her little lamp is now on, casting soft shadows on the walls, and she’s curled up under her elephant blanket, her eyes open and glassy.

“Why aren’t you sleeping, baby?” I whisper, walking closer and kneeling beside her bed.

“I heard yelling, Mom. Are you and Daddy fighting again?” she asks, her voice trembling, her small fingers gripping the edge of the blanket.

I blink fast, shaking my head. “No, love. We weren’t fighting. Daddy was just explaining something to me. Now close your eyes.”

She looks at me for a long moment, and I can tell she can see right through me.

Grace is only six, but sometimes it feels like she’s lived a thousand years. She sees too much and feels too deeply. That is why I always have to be careful around her.

I smooth her hair and tuck the blanket tighter around her shoulders. “You and I are going to do something fun tomorrow, okay?” I tell her, forcing a smile to distract her.

Her lips lift slightly, and the slightest hint of excitement returns to her tired little face. “Okay, Mama. But don’t forget to remind Daddy to sign my permission slip for the field trip,” she murmurs, yawning.

A sharp pang hits my chest, and I bite the insides of my cheeks. God, I’d forgotten all about that with everything else that’s been happening.

“I won’t forget, sweetheart.” I brush a strand of hair from her forehead and lean in to kiss her cheek.

I reach for the light to turn it off, but her voice comes again, sleepy, and full of something that breaks me.

“Mama,” she whispers, “don’t worry about Grandma. Daddy said when people we love die, they turn into angels and watch over us. I know Grandma is your angel now.”

A sound escapes me, something between a sob and a sigh, making me turn halfway, blinking fast as one tear slips down my cheek.

“Yes, she is my sweet girl. She is watching over both of us.” I clutch my chest with my hand. “Now go to sleep,” I whisper.

She yawns, her eyes fluttering shut, and her breathing slows. I stand there for a long moment, watching her little chest rise and fall, the tiny hand still clutching the blanket.

I turn off the light and step out, closing the door behind me softly, before leaning against it.

I stand there in the dark now hallway, feeling the ache in my chest slowly ease.

And it’s in these quiet moments, with Grace’s words echoing in my heart, that I know, despite everything, I could never regret meeting Nathaniel.