I stood in the center of the living room, pressing a hand to my stinging face as I looked around.

Every trace of the life I'd shared with my wife had been stripped away. The furniture, the layout—all of it was different.

Even the preserved flower arrangement on the wall cabinet—the symbol of our love—had been torn down and replaced with something draped in red cloth.

My mind went blank.

Kathleen... might really not be my wife.

Because my wife had made me a promise: only the day the preserved flowers wilted would be the day she stopped loving me.

But preserved flowers never wilt. And my wife would never stop loving me.

I turned away, hollow inside. Amid the cheering crowd, Cyril slid a ring onto Kathleen's finger and kissed her.

A bitter ache flooded my chest. Heat crawled up my spine.

Before I could make myself leave, I stole one last glance over my shoulder.

Kathleen was at the dining table, and the small gesture she made sent a violent tremor through my eyes.

I was certain—Kathleen was my wife.

I rushed over, seized the wedding band on her ring finger, and wrenched it off. The ring hit the floor with a sharp crack.

I clasped both her hands in mine and looked her dead in the eyes.

"Kathy, listen to me. You really are my wife."

"When I used to make this dish for you, I'd always slip in tiny pieces of minced ginger—so small nobody else would ever notice, let alone pick them out. Only my wife would know that detail. Everything about what you just did proves you're her."

Kathleen tried to pull her hands free. I held on for dear life.

She struggled once, twice—couldn't break loose.

Flushed with humiliation and fury, she raised her hand and slapped me across the face.

"Get out!"

I didn't get angry. I smiled.

There was nothing in this world more miraculous than the person you loved—the person you'd lost—coming back to life.

I grabbed Kathleen's arm and started for the door. Cyril charged over and yanked her back.

He scooped the ring off the floor and shoved it in my face.

"Francis, I already told you—Kathleen is not your dead wife. She's my fiancée."

"She wears my ring because she's mine. What gave you the right to knock it off her finger?"

"How much do you want?" I said.

Cyril jabbed a finger into my chest.

"This ring cost three hundred grand. Limited edition—only one in the entire country."

"Took me the better part of a year to secure it. You owe me at least a million."

I stood my ground, took Kathleen's hand, and walked toward the door.

"Money's not a problem. I just don't have that much on me right now. The moment I get back, I'll wire it to you."

"A million? I could pay you ten million and not blink."

"Now step aside. I'm taking my wife home."

Cyril lifted his foot and kicked me square in the chest.

"Francis, do you actually think I'm stupid?"

"Three years ago, when you were still running your business, you didn't even have ten million in cash. You think a stint in prison changed that?"

The kick sent me crashing into the wall. Above my head, the red-draped object on the cabinet swayed, threatening to fall.

Several hulking men with full-shoulder dragon tattoos rose from the couch, cracking their knuckles as they closed in around me.

I hauled myself up and spoke plainly.

"Cyril, I'm telling the truth. I'm the son of Sean Gilbert—the richest man in Havenport."

"Let me take Kathleen for a verification test first. The second it's done, I'll put ten million in your hands."

I wasn't lying to them.

Havenport's wealthiest man really was my father.

It was a secret known only to those in the highest circles of society.

My relationship with my father had been strained for as long as I could remember. Every plan he laid out for my life, I despised. When I couldn't take it anymore, I ran away from home as a teenager.

While I was in prison, he'd offered me a deal—my ten-year sentence reduced to three, in exchange for coming home and taking over the family business.

But after I got out, I never honored that promise. So he froze every bank account I had.

I grabbed Kathleen's arm and turned to leave, but Cyril's fist connected with my face before I could take a single step.

"Do you have any idea who Old Mr. Gilbert is in Seaview City?" he snarled. "When that man tells you to shut up, you don't even breathe loud. You think his son would be some pathetic loser like you?" He jabbed a finger at me. "A nobody cook trying to bluff me? Beat his ass!"

They lifted their boots and drove them into my skull, one kick after another.

Kathleen was caught in the crossfire. I threw myself over her, shielding her body with mine, taking every blow across my back.

"Francis!" Cyril roared. "My wife doesn't need your protection!"

He bent down and snatched up an iron rod, swinging it high overhead—straight at my head.

I hunched forward, bracing for the impact, but Kathleen shoved me aside.

The rod cracked against her shin. A bruise bloomed instantly, angry and swollen.

"Kathy!"

Something inside me snapped.

I balled my fists and threw them into Cyril's face—once, twice, again and again—hammering his nose until I felt cartilage shift. The thugs stumbled back, wariness flickering in their eyes.

I had Cyril pinned beneath me. Blood streamed from his nostrils as he thrashed, unable to break free, fury and panic twisting his expression.

"Honey!"

Kathleen's scream cut through the chaos. I turned on instinct.

A wooden bat filled my vision—

CRACK.

Agony exploded across the top of my skull. Hot blood slid down my forehead, my temples, pooling in my eyes. Stars burst white and jagged.

I staggered sideways and collapsed against the cabinet. Through the haze, I saw Kathleen cradling Cyril's face in her hands, her eyes soft with worry.

Grief and rage ripped through me in equal measure.

She hadn't been calling for me.

Something toppled from the top of the cabinet and landed at my feet with a sharp clap. A red cloth unfurled across the floor, revealing what it had been hiding.

A photograph.

Kathleen stood in a pool of blood, smiling. Beside her, Cyril pressed his lips to the back of her hand.

The date stamped in the lower right corner of the frame was the exact day my wife had supposedly been raped and killed.

The caption read: A Happy Moment.

My heart seized. Every drop of blood in my body turned to ice.

Cyril crouched down, his face split in a mocking grin, and patted my cheek—once, twice, slow and deliberate.

"Well, well. Looks like you've stumbled onto the truth."

Kathleen leaned her head against Cyril's shoulder and smiled at me—at the hollowed-out shell of me—like I was the funniest thing she'd ever seen.

"Francis, three years later and you're still this stupid."

My voice came out broken. "Kathy... you never lost your memory..."

Laughter erupted around me. They pointed at the devastation on my face and howled.

"Look at him—like a beaten dog!"

"He actually believed it! Didn't even know he'd been played!"

Kathleen tilted her head toward Cyril's ear, her breath warm against his skin.

"Honey, what if he finds out I faked my death? He did stab a man to death. What if he stabs me too?"

Cyril's arm slid around her waist, pulling her close.

"Then we make sure he goes back to prison for a few more years. Or better yet—" His lips curled. "He dies."

He pulled out his phone and dialed.

"Carina. The man who killed your father is at my place. If you want revenge, come get it."

I dragged myself up and threw my arms around Kathleen's legs.

"Kathy—what are you talking about? What is this?"

She lifted her foot. The stiletto of her heel dug into my cheek.

"Francis, you stabbed her father to death. We're just inviting her to settle the score."

My lips trembled. "Kathy, you were raped—everything I did was to avenge you!"

She doubled over laughing. Cyril watched me with the lazy amusement of a cat toying with something half-dead.

"But she was never raped, Francis. The only truth in any of it is that you lost your mind and killed a man."

A tremor started in my legs and climbed through my entire body.

"How could you frame me like this? I killed the breadwinner of an entire family!"

Cyril grabbed a fistful of my hair and yanked my head back. "Oh, it gets better. You also ruined a girl who'd been accepted to a top university. She had to drop out because of you."

A roar tore from my throat. "Cyril! I'm the one who sponsored you out of that mountain village! I'm the one who got you into a top law firm! And this is how you repay me?"

Cyril narrowed his eyes and reached out, patting my cheek with one hand.

"Don't talk to me about sponsorship. Everything I've achieved is because of my own talent."

"Besides, whatever you gave me, Francis? Kathy earned that for me."

"Kathy is my real benefactor. You? You're nothing but a tool that got used up."

My mouth stretched wide, a raw cry tearing from my throat. I reared my head back and slammed it toward his skull.

"You backstabbing pair of scum—I'll kill you both!"

"Kill us?" He didn't even flinch. "You think you have what it takes?"

One of the thugs caught my arms mid-lunge and wrenched them apart, pinning me spread-eagle. I couldn't move an inch.

Ding-dong.

The doorbell rang.

Cyril opened the door and led in a small, thin girl. She looked barely old enough to be out on her own.

He pointed a finger at me and leaned close to her ear.

"That's the man who killed your father."

The girl lifted her head. The hatred in her eyes was so thick it was almost liquid.

"Francis Gilbert—you killed my dad. I'm going to make you pay!"

She aimed the blade straight at my chest.

A wet, sickening sound—the knife sank half an inch into the flesh over my heart before it stopped.

Agony ripped through me. My face drained of color. "Carina Smith—I'm a victim too. The real enemy is Cyril."

"If you kill me, you'll go to prison. Don't throw your life away for this. He's lying to you!"

"Let me get to the bottom of everything first. However you want me to make it right after that, I will. Okay?"

Cyril reached over and gripped Carina's trembling arm. He pushed gently, and the blade slid another half inch deeper.

He stared at the twisted agony on my face, whispering into her ear with a grin.

"Don't be afraid, Carina. Uncle Cyril is a big-shot attorney, remember?"

"I'll tell the judge it wasn't intentional homicide—it was self-defense."

"Don't forget: you used to have a happy family. You'd already been accepted to the university of your dreams. You were supposed to have a bright future. Francis Gilbert destroyed all of it."

"Carina—" I blurted, desperate. "After it happened, I sold my house and transferred every cent to you. I never meant to hurt you!"

Carina's teeth ground together. She screamed, "You liar! You never gave me a dime!"

A tremor ran through my entire body. I looked at Cyril, who stood there smiling, saying nothing.

Back then, he'd been my defense attorney. He was the one who handled the compensation paperwork for me.

Carina's reaction made it hit me all at once—he'd pocketed every dollar from the sale of my house.

This house. This house was the one he'd bought.

He'd shuffled the money from one hand to the other and turned everything I had into his own.

"Ha ha Haha! "

Cyril stroked Carina's hair and threw his head back, laughing.

Carina let out a wrenching cry. Her right hand tightened around the knife, and she drove it forward with everything she had.

But a moment passed—and no fresh agony bloomed in my chest.

I opened my eyes. Cyril was crumpled on the floor, a blood-soaked knife buried in his thigh.

"Honey!"

Kathleen shrieked and threw herself over him, pressing both hands against the wound as blood pulsed through her fingers.

Cyril writhed on the ground, cursing through the pain.

Kathleen shot to her feet, seized a fistful of Carina's hair, and slapped her—once, twice, again and again.

"You ungrateful little wretch! Without my husband's charity, you'd have frozen to death this winter, you orphan! And this is how you repay him?"

Carina spat out a mouthful of blood.

"You two really thought you could fool me?"

"Charity? That money was bought with my father's life."

"I didn't come here to kill Francis. I came here to kill you, Cyril!"

She turned her head and looked at me. Something complicated moved behind her eyes.

"Francis... I'm sorry. My dad wronged you."