### Chapter 2

There was a time when Dustin's voice—low, magnetic, rough at the edges—could make my knees buckle just by saying my name.

Now there was no warmth in it at all. The two syllables left his mouth like a sentence being handed down, and the cheek he'd slapped throbbed all over again.

I kept my expression blank and forced my voice flat.

"Did you forget? My prenatal checkup is the day after tomorrow."

Of course he didn't remember. He'd never once gone with me since I'd gotten pregnant. I'd brought it up a few times, and every time he'd given me the same pained look: "Sorry, Cecily. I'm afraid Alice will find out and have another episode. She's only just started to stabilize."

He was quiet for a moment, studying my expressionless face. Then: "You know I only said that about getting rid of the baby to calm her down."

I didn't answer. Was I supposed to thank him?

I was done groveling. Weakness and tears only built monuments to the enemy's victory. Every smug smile Alice wore was cemented with my humiliation.

When I continued to ignore him, Dustin did something unprecedented—he volunteered. "I should be free in two days. I can go with you."

I nearly laughed out loud. The classic routine: crack the whip, then offer a sugar cube.

Once upon a time, I'd been a beggar at love's door, hoping he might spare me a scrap of affection between his visits to Alice. A crumb of sweetness from him could keep me glowing for three days.

Not anymore. I wanted nothing from him.

"No need—"

Before I could finish, his phone rang, the sound ricocheting off the concrete walls of the parking garage.

That ringtone. I knew it well—a custom tone he'd set just for Alice. Tacky and grating, but it suited her perfectly.

Dustin glanced at the screen. His entire face changed. The cold, tight line of his mouth softened into something tender. That granite jaw, perpetually carved in ice, thawed under the dim garage lights until it was almost gentle.

He turned his back to me. When he spoke, his voice was silk—careful, reverent, as if he'd become a different man entirely.

"Yeah, all taken care of. I'm on my way to you right now."

He hung up and slid the phone into his jacket.

"I need to get back to her. If I don't, her depression will flare up again." His tone turned clipped, urgent. No "Does your face still hurt?" No "Where are you headed—do you need a ride?"

He was simply in a rush to return to her side.

"Go. She needs you."

A cold laugh escaped me. I slammed my foot on the gas and tore out of that suffocating space.

In the rearview mirror, Dustin's silhouette ducked into another car. We drove off in opposite directions—our lives splitting further apart with every mile. And yet he assumed I'd always be standing right where he left me.

After all, I once loved him enough to give up everything.

By the time I arrived at what used to be "home" with the divorce papers in my bag, night had already fallen.

I'd poured my heart into this house when we got married. I'd designed it myself—handpicked every material, supervised every detail. Every vintage brick, every light fixture, every potted plant, chosen to make it exactly the way I wanted. I'd believed this would be the castle where Dustin and I spent the rest of our lives together.

Then Alice moved in as the lady of the house, and I lost even the right to walk through the front door.

I swallowed the bitterness churning inside me and punched in the door code.

Wrong. I tried again. Wrong. And again. Wrong.

I paused. Then, with something close to masochistic certainty, I keyed in Alice's birthday.

The door opened.

The cold hit me like being thrown into a frozen lake.

Dustin had once told me this code was our wedding anniversary—that he would never change it. Turns out promises could be discarded as easily as feathers on the wind.

I stepped inside, and the house was unrecognizable.

The warm vintage brown tones I loved had been replaced by garish pink. My carefully chosen sofa, my furniture—all gone.

In their place: a rhinestone-encrusted princess sofa, lace-trimmed curtains, an entire wall covered in pink feather decorations. Every inch dripped with a saccharine "little princess" aesthetic. Alice's taste, everywhere I looked.

I was a stranger in my own home.

"Oh? Miss Harding?"

Behind me, the elderly housekeeper hurried over, her eyes sweeping me up and down in surprise.

"What are you doing here? Mr. Delgado gave strict orders—you're absolutely not allowed inside. If the missus sees you, it could trigger another episode."

Miss Harding? The missus?

Those two titles from her mouth landed like slaps.

Mockery flooded my eyes. I turned and headed straight for the stairs.

"You can't go up there! Mr. Delgado is busy!" The housekeeper's voice pitched higher with panic as she reached out to grab me.

"Get out of my way."

I shoved past her and took the stairs two at a time.

The master bedroom door was ajar. I pushed it open and walked in.

My brain whited out.

Where my custom double bed used to stand, directly facing the doorway, was an enormous waterbed.

On it, two bodies tangled together.

Alice's head was thrown back, moaning shamelessly. The man on top of her, driving into her with that perfect, powerful torso—I would have recognized him if he'd been reduced to ash.

I stared at the muscles of his back, the ones my hands had traced a thousand times. I watched the way he buried himself in her, lost in her, intoxicated. Time froze.

It wasn't until Alice's eyes locked onto mine—her moans sharpening into a scream—that I snapped back to reality.

So this was what the housekeeper meant by "Mr. Delgado is busy."

So this was how thoroughly he played along with her. All the way to the bed.

My vision darkened. My legs nearly gave out. I fought with everything I had not to turn and run. Then Dustin looked over his shoulder and saw me. The flash of panic in his eyes dissolved instantly into raw fury.

"Get out!"

Alice thrashed in his arms like a woman possessed. "Dustin Delgado, have you no shame?! You brought your mistress into our home?! I'll kill you, you bastard!"

She slapped him hard across the face, then snatched the ashtray from the nightstand and hurled it at my head.

Crack. Pain exploded across my forehead. Something warm slid down my cheek, and my vision went red.

The agony turned my whole body numb, as though someone had split my heart open with an axe. But Dustin didn't so much as glance my way. He held Alice's hand, his voice low and coaxing:

"Don't be upset, sweetheart. I cut things off with her a long time ago."

"Your hand's all red. Does it hurt?"

A crimson handprint blazed across his cheek, and he wore it like a badge of honor.

I stood in the doorway, blood streaming down my face—the picture of a disgraced mistress, wretched and deserving of every bit of it.

A laugh broke out of me.

I lifted my hand, wiped the blood from my face, and pulled my gaze away from them. When I spoke, my voice was as steady as if I were discussing quarterly numbers.

"Mr. Delgado, I just need your signature. I landed the new project for the company. Once you sign, it's officially in effect."

I pulled a stack of documents from my bag—the divorce agreement and my resignation letter tucked neatly between the project papers—and flipped to the signature page.

I'd nearly killed myself for Delgado Group these past few years. The most grueling projects, the most impossible clients, the most cutthroat negotiations—I'd brought in hundreds of millions for him, at minimum. Dustin knew my value better than anyone. There was no way he'd let me resign.

And the marriage?

I'd once been intoxicated by his ferocious possessiveness. He'd get jealous if I so much as glanced at another man. He'd pull me into his arms and growl, "You're mine. Only mine." But when he stopped loving, he'd sooner shred what he no longer wanted than allow it to slip from his grasp on its own.

So I wasn't sure he'd agree to a divorce.

As I held the stack of papers out to him, my fingertips trembled—terrified he might actually flip through and read every page.

### Chapter 3

"Tell her to get out already!" Alice shrieked, her eyes bloodshot as she thrashed against him. She was naked, clinging to my equally bare husband, right in front of me.

The impact of that image defied words.

I dug my nails into my palms until the pain pushed back the wave of nausea. I had no doubt that one more second and I'd vomit all over them and that revolting pink waterbed.

Fortunately, Alice's frantic urging meant Dustin didn't so much as glance at the documents.

His pen slashed across every signature line, fast and careless, like he was swatting away a fly. Then he lifted his head and fixed me with a look that said get out. Now.

I didn't linger. I grabbed the papers, turned on my heel, and slammed the door behind me.

The bang echoed down the hallway like a declaration—three years of marriage, shattered beyond repair.

I made it to the top of the stairs before my legs gave out. I slid to the floor, curled against the wall, and crumpled into myself. A bitter laugh escaped, tangled with tears I couldn't stop and blood that hadn't yet dried.

A long time passed before I wiped the mess of blood and tears from my face and forced myself upright.

"Cecily."

I turned. Dustin had followed me out. He'd thrown on loungewear, but it did nothing to hide the angry red marks across his chest—hickeys and scratch lines, vivid as accusations.

I thought he might say something. Ask about the documents. Ask whether the gash on my face needed tending.

"Don't come in unannounced again. It upsets Alice."

That was all. A cold warning. A dismissal.

"Don't worry." My voice came out so calm it startled even me. "I won't be around to upset your mistress anymore. I'm grabbing a few things and leaving, Mr. Delgado."

The word mistress landed like a slap. His expression curdled.

But I was already walking toward the guest room.

Dustin had moved all my belongings in there long ago—locked everything away so the sight of my things wouldn't upset Alice.

His gifts filled half the room. Plush teddy bears. Limited-edition Chanel bags flown in from overseas. A museum of devotion from a man who no longer existed.

Back then, he'd chased me like a man possessed. He knew I loved Chanel, so he had people ship the latest collections from abroad. He knew I loved teddy bears, so he'd bring one home from every business trip. I'd kept every single piece, imagining the day I'd have a child and could tell her the story of how her mom and dad fell in love.

I shoved it all into a suitcase. Fast. Without a shred of sentimentality.

A man's silhouette appeared in the doorway. "You're taking all of that?"

My hands didn't stop. "No. I'm throwing it away."

He paused, as if he'd misheard. "Throwing it away? All of it? These are gifts I gave you. You always treasured them. You said you'd keep them forever."

I didn't look up. I kept stuffing things into the suitcase. "People get tired of old things. That's human nature. Doesn't matter if it's a person or a possession—once it's old, you don't need it anymore."

Something strange crossed his face, a flicker of displeasure he couldn't quite mask. He wasn't used to this version of me. The Cecily who used to gaze up at him adoringly, who cherished every smile, every gift—how could she possibly throw his presents away?

He opened his mouth, but before he could speak, the housekeeper appeared in the doorway.

"Sir, the missus isn't feeling well. You should go check on her right away."

Dustin's expression shifted instantly to alarm. He tossed out a parting line without looking back: "Fine, throw them out. I'll buy you new ones. Finish packing and leave."

He was gone before the words finished hanging in the air. Hurried footsteps pounded up the staircase.

I smiled bitterly. He didn't need to tell me twice. I didn't want to spend another second in this house.

I crammed the last of it into the suitcase, grabbed only a small bag of essentials, and stepped out of the guest room. The moment I did, hushed laughter drifted from around the staircase landing—two of the household staff, voices low but not low enough.

"The missus really hit the jackpot, didn't she? He spoils her rotten. Cooks all three meals himself, carries the plates right to her. Honestly, his cooking's better than any restaurant."

My feet stopped moving.

"Right?" another voice chimed in. "Compared to Miss Harding, don't you think she's the one who acts like the real Mrs. Delgado? If you ask me, it's only a matter of time before the Harding girl gets tossed out for good."

"Shh, keep it down…"

"Oh, relax. She can't hear us."

I stood there, perfectly still.

Dustin used to refuse to set foot in a kitchen. He'd said a man's hands were meant for making money, not holding a spatula.

He was impossibly picky about food—he'd take a few bites of restaurant meals and push the plate away. So I cooked every meal myself, rotating through recipes to keep him interested. Some nights I'd spend three or four hours in the kitchen just to perfect a single dish he loved.

Yet somehow, in the year I hadn't known about, he'd taught himself to cook. For Alice.

All that tenderness I thought belonged to me had been given to someone else long ago.

No. Maybe it had never been mine to begin with.

The gossip continued, but I walked past as if I'd heard nothing, heading straight for the front door.

A slender, pale hand blocked my path.

Alice.

She wore an obscenely short lace nightgown, the hem barely grazing the tops of her thighs. The smell clung to her—that unmistakable, nauseating musk of what had just happened upstairs—and it flooded my nostrils.

I was about to tell her to move when she produced something from behind her hand.

A pregnancy test.

Two unmistakable red lines filled my vision, and the vein at my temple began to throb.

"I'm pregnant." Alice's smile spread wide, dripping with triumph and venom, like a snake flicking its tongue to show off a fresh kill. "Dustin was thrilled when he found out."

Her lips kept moving. "You saw it all just now, didn't you? To celebrate our baby, he was absolutely insatiable with me. That waterbed? He bought it just for me. Said it makes things more… comfortable."

Her eyes locked onto mine, hungry for the breakdown. Waiting for the tears. Waiting for me to fall apart and flee the way I always had before.

But I was eerily calm. I refused to give her what she wanted.

My lack of reaction infuriated her.

Frustration radiated off her like heat from a furnace, so intense her smug smile began to crack at the edges. She leaned closer, voice dropping to something more vicious.

"Oh," she murmured, soft and poisonous, like an old friend sharing a secret. "I know what will break you."

She brought her lips to my ear and spoke slowly, savoring every word:

"For instance… that baby you lost six months ago. Did you really think it was an accident?"

Every muscle in my body locked.

My blood turned to ice water.

"What did you just say?"

### Chapter 4

Something snapped inside my head. I lunged forward and seized Alice's arm, gripping so hard my knuckles went white. "What do you mean it wasn't an accident? Explain yourself!"

In that instant, I understood. This woman wasn't insane. She hadn't lost her memory. Every single bit of it was deliberate.

"Please, Cecily, stop! Don't do this to me!"

Alice's voice transformed in a heartbeat. Terrified. Fragile. A trembling little doe cornered by a predator. Then she grabbed my wrist, angling her body as though I were the one shoving her, and threw herself headfirst into the wall.

Before I could even react, Dustin came charging out of nowhere and slammed into me. I hit the floor hard, the impact rattling through every organ in my body.

"Alice, are you okay?" His voice shook. His hands flew over her head, her face, her body, searching frantically for injuries.

"Oh God, she's lost her mind..." Alice curled into his arms, whimpering weakly. The posture, the expression, every micro-movement polished to perfection, as if she'd rehearsed it a thousand times.

"That vile woman attacked me," she sobbed, her voice choked with tears yet every syllable bitten off with surgical precision. "She grabbed my head and slammed it into the wall. She kept screaming that she's your wife. My head hurts so much..."

Tears streamed down her cheeks. So innocent. So pitiful.

Dustin turned to look at me. His gaze cut like a blade dragged across bare skin. I opened my mouth, but my throat sealed shut. Not a single word came out.

"I didn't," I finally managed, my voice cracking. "I didn't slam her. She did it to herself. She's lying!"

The fury in Dustin's eyes only deepened.

"So now you're calling her a liar? Calling my wife a liar?"

"Wife?" I couldn't stop myself from repeating the word. My expression must have been grotesque. "Dustin, who exactly is your wife?"

He shielded Alice behind him. Only her eyes were visible past his shoulder, fixed on me, glittering with undisguised triumph.

"Shut your mouth!" The rage in his dark pupils had become something uncontainable. "You've gone too far, Cecily. Alice is fragile enough as it is. How could you be this cruel to her?"

"She slammed herself into that wall!"

The words tore out of me in a ragged scream, my voice splitting apart.

Then I remembered what Alice had said moments ago. My head snapped up, and I couldn't stop myself from hurling the question at the bastard standing in front of me.

"My baby. The one I lost. Was that really an accident?!"

"Enough!" Dustin sucked in a breath and grabbed me by the collar, hauling me close. His voice dropped to a snarl only the two of us could hear.

"Whatever Alice told you, she's mentally unstable. You can't take the words of a deranged person seriously."

"That baby." His gaze cooled degree by degree until there was nothing left but ice. "You have no one to blame but yourself. You were pregnant and still went running around in the middle of the night. That's what caused the miscarriage. Who else is there to blame?"

I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Did he really not know why I'd gone out that night?

It was this woman, this fraud playing her little madness charade, who had insulted one of his biggest clients to his face, called the man a backwater hick, and sent him storming out on the spot.

To salvage a deal worth hundreds of millions a year, I'd dragged myself out into the pouring rain in the dead of night to beg forgiveness.

I knelt outside that hotel entrance for three solid hours. My knees were raw and bleeding by the time the man finally relented, saying he'd give Delgado Group one more chance, for my sake alone.

And in Dustin's mouth, that became me "running around." Whatever warmth was left inside me turned to ash.

"Lately, you've really disappointed me." He looked down at me the way someone looks at a disobedient pet, his eyes brimming with nothing but impatience. "Someone take her to the basement. She can stay there until she's reflected on what she did wrong."

A violent tremor ripped through my body. Did he not know I was afraid of the dark?

I clutched the hem of his jacket, begging. "No! Dustin, don't you remember? I'm afraid of the dark."

After we married, once he found out about my fear, Dustin always left a light on for me no matter how late I came home. He never let me go near dark, cramped places like the basement.

Now he was going to lock me in there. For her.

Dustin pried my fingers off one by one, staring down at me from his full height. His voice held no trace of warmth. "Of course I remember."

"But if I don't do this, how will you ever learn your lesson? How will you stop tormenting Alice?"

No matter how I struggled, I couldn't earn a single look of mercy from him.

All he saw was that insignificant red mark on Alice's forehead.

He couldn't see the blood on my face. The swollen handprint. He could only see Alice.

A wretched laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

I gasped for air like a fish dragged onto dry land, my body limp, boneless, as the bodyguards hauled me into the basement and tossed me inside.

The heavy door groaned shut. In the last sliver of light, I saw Alice nestled in Dustin's arms, peering over his shoulder at me, her lips curving into a smile as sweet as it was venomous.

I closed my eyes in despair.

Darkness swallowed me whole. I spiraled into endless panic, endless terror, until consciousness slipped away entirely and everything went black.