Seven years into our marriage, I finally got pregnant again.
Bursting with joy, I couldn’t wait to share the news with my husband. But before I could, a call shattered my happiness—my mother had been in a car accident.
By the time I rushed to the hospital, it was too late. I hadn’t even seen her for the last time
I was numb with grief when a familiar voice drifted from the ward next door.
“Tristan, be gentle. The baby is only a month old. You don’t want me to end up like Meredith, who suffered and miscarried, do you?”
“You quietly sabotaged her and made her lose three pregnancies… are you really not going to let her have a child?”
I stepped closer on instinct, and my world tilted. Hillary—who was supposed to be dead—was snuggling against my husband’s chest.
“Marrying her is already disgusting enough. I only want you to bear my child.”
Tristan’s eyes brimmed with tenderness, yet his words were colder than ice.
“But… I killed her mother this afternoon. Will she suspect me?” Hillary’s voice trembled.
“Don’t be afraid,” Tristan murmured, tightening his hold on her. “I’ll take care of everything.”
My body shook violently. I stumbled back, my mind reeling, then forced myself to turn away and frantically gather evidence to drag Hillary to court.
But before I could act, my brother suddenly clutched his chest, collapsing from a heart attack. I rushed him into the ambulance, only for a massive truck to crash into us with a deafening impact.
Agonizing pain tore through me as my consciousness blurred. Through the haze, I felt Tristan’s arms wrapping around my bloodied body.
“Hillary didn’t mean it,” he whispered in my ear, his voice urgent yet ruthless. “As long as you promise not to press charges, I’ll send a helicopter immediately to take you to the best hospital.”
He sounded desperate. I nodded through clenched teeth. After I watched my brother taken into the operating room, I fumbled my phone with trembling hands and messaged my father with three sentences: [I forgive you. One month from now I’ll bring my brother to find you… and we’ll never return.]
The phone rang almost immediately. “Meredith, you finally came to your senses. Don’t worry—I’ll compensate you properly from now on.” He sounded relieved.
I swallowed my anger and answered calmly. “Get me the best lawyer.”
After I left the hospital, Tristan arranged my mother’s funeral for me. He greeted mourners and looked appropriately solemn, but there was no true sorrow in his eyes. Staring at my mother’s warm smile in the portrait felt like a knife in my chest.
I had planned to make Hillary pay—to ease my mother’s soul. But Tristan ruined that plan completely.
“Mom, I’m sorry…” I whispered, nails digging into my palm until the pain steadied me. “Wait a little longer. I will make them pay.”
Footsteps approached behind me.
“Meredith, I arranged the most dignified funeral for your mother. She’ll rest in peace. Don’t be too upset.” Tristan’s tone was detached, as if he spoke of a stranger.
He knelt beside me to reach for the incense, but I slapped his hand away.
“Don’t touch my mother’s things with your filthy hands.”
His brow tightened. He swallowed and tried to control his temper. “You’re hurt—don’t get worked up.” His voice was laced with practiced tenderness, and it made me sick.
“What about Hillary? Aren’t you going to explain?” I demanded.
His face changed for a heartbeat; then he answered coolly, as if everything had been planned: “I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. Hillary is just a sister I need to take care of.”
I bit back a laugh. “A sister you take care of in bed?”
“Meredith!” His voice shot up. “When I was at my lowest, it was Hillary who stayed with me. She’s only doing what you couldn’t do—what you should’ve done. Why speak about her like that?”
Before I could answer, he slammed the door and left.
My legs went weak. Only a week ago he’d been the attentive husband I’d loved. Now, after I moved to sue Hillary, his disguise had come off.
“Meredith, my condolences~” Hillary’s syrupy voice snapped me out of my thoughts. She leaned lazily against the doorway like a woman enjoying an excellent performance.
“Tristan has been running around for you. If you say things that hurt him, aren’t you afraid he’ll give up on you?” she purred.
“I’m not like you—my life isn’t just revolving around some man,” I snapped.
She chuckled softly. “Pitiful, isn’t it? I killed your mother, yet Tristan still shields me without hesitation. Does that make you seethe, Sister?”
Her hand caressed her flat belly, pride dripping from her voice.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you—I’m pregnant. Just one try, and I conceived. You, after three miscarriages, couldn’t give him an heir. Tristan says only I’m qualified to give birth to his child. Shouldn’t you thank me for completing the task you could never accomplish?”
My hand flew before I realized it, striking her hard across the face.
“Indeed. I should thank you—for revealing his true colors.”
She toppled, clutching her abdomen, and shrieked. “Tristan! Help! She wants to kill our baby!”
Tristan came running. In front of everyone, he shoved me aside with one powerful motion. I stumbled back, instinctively pressing my hands to my belly, and fell hard against my mother’s memorial table. A hot candle wax seared my palm, but it was nothing compared to the blast of hurt in my chest.
He scooped Hillary into his arms as if to protect her, his eyes rimmed with a hard-edged disgust. “Don’t forget your brother is still in the hospital. If anything happens to Hillary or the child, I can stop his treatment with a single word.”
My mother was gone; I could not lose my brother either.
I swallowed my rage until it choked me and watched him leave with Hillary. Around me, whispers pierced through me like knives.
“What a pathetic legitimate wife…”
“I heard she drugged him to climb into his bed when Hillary’s plane crashed—how shameless!”
“Tristan went after Hillary so publicly back then—how could she insert herself?”
The room blurred, and I fainted.
When I woke up, I was lying in our bedroom with an ice-cold towel on my forehead.
Tristan sat in the shadows, expressionless. When he saw I was awake, he lifted the bowl of broth from the bedside table and spooned a spoonful toward my mouth.
“Drink,” he ordered. His movements were practiced, but his gaze held no warmth.
“Hillary and the baby are fine. This matter ends here. The funeral caused too much of a scene. I don’t want unnecessary attention and speculation to shift to Hillary.”
He leaned in, his voice low, laced with threat.
“My patience is limited. Cooperate, and your brother will receive the best treatment. Otherwise…”
His gaze cut through me, cold and merciless.
I stared at the man I once loved, and felt my heart die completely.
When Hillary’s plane supposedly crashed, I stayed by his side day and night and pulled him back from despair. When he finally stepped out of the darkness, the first thing he did was ask me to marry him.
He had always been perfect—warming the bed for me when I was cold, leaving a cup of hot milk on the nightstand; when I miscarried he shouldered the world and held me close, whispering, “It’s okay. You being here is enough.”
I believed we’d finally found happiness. I believed his tenderness. Now I know it was all a carefully staged performance.
“Tristan.” My voice was hoarse, trembling, yet steady.
I forced the lawyer to gather evidence within a month while racing between court and hospital.
My brother’s surgery had gone smoothly, but the ambulance accident left him in the ICU for days. I stayed until they moved him to a regular ward, but he still didn’t wake up. At his bedside, I gripped his hand with both of mine as if holding on to some small comfort.
Everything that had happened made me realize how tightly my mother and brother had sheltered me. . Now that Mom was gone. I had to be his pillar—I could not afford to break.
“Meredith…”
My brother’s voice, thin and hoarse, snapped me out of my thoughts. I swallowed the sting in my nose and asked quietly, “How do you feel? Any pain anywhere?”
He squeezed his eyes shut and forced a smile. “I’m fine. You’re the one who’s gotten so thin—if you don’t eat properly someone’s going to mistake you as my little sister when you go out.”
I knew he was trying to distract me, so I pretended to be annoyed and made a soft huff.
I went out to heat some water. When I came back, the electrocardiogram monitor was frantically beeping. I sprinted into the room and found Hillary standing there. My brother clutched his chest, his face ashen, his trembling finger pointing at her as he gasped for air.
“Hillary! What did you do to my brother?!” I ran to his side, pushed the call button with shaking fingers.
She shrugged, feigning innocence. “Sorry—I thought you’d already told him that your mother died. I just came to comfort him and didn’t expect such a reaction…”
“What does our family ever have against you? Why do you keep doing this to us?” I glared at her, furious and on the verge of striking her, but I couldn’t bring myself to leave my brother’s side.
“Meredith, you misunderstood. I’m doing this for you—if he finds out after he’s recovered, he might get triggered again. Better he’s here in the hospital where they can treat him right away, isn’t that safer?” Her coquettish tone was like a knife that pierced through me.
“Shut up!” I snapped.
Doctors and nurses rushed in, checked my brother, and spoke gravely. “The patient is in critical condition. We recommend a heart transplant within three days—otherwise it’s very dangerous.”
As they hurried him back to the ICU, my heart dropped into an even darker place. Hillary blinked, feigning concern. “Oh dear, did I say the wrong thing? Wouldn’t that mean your family… might have to hold two funerals in a row?”
I whirled around and reached to slap her, but before it could land, my hand was yanked and held tight from behind.
“Hillary isn’t a doctor—she doesn’t know how to talk to patients. All she ever does is act; If you can’t help with your hands, then use your head!” Tristan’s voice landed like ice.
“Tristan, I should’ve listened to you and not run around… I made Meredith angry again.” Hillary instantly put on a frightened act and hid behind Tristan.
As she glanced at me, I caught a flash of satisfied mockery in her eyes. I wrenched Tristan’s hand off and faced him.
“Do you remember the vows at our wedding?” I pressed.
His arm around Hillary stiffened imperceptibly.
“You promised to protect me and my family forever—to keep us safe. But you’re the one who hit me, and you let Hillary hurt my family. Tristan—are your promises worth so little?”
Panic flickered in his eyes, but Hillary cut in before he could answer. “Meredith, don’t blame Tristan. It’s all my fault… If you want someone to vent on, come at me.”
On hearing that, Tristan pulled her even closer. When he looked at me, his expression had smoothed back to calm. “Meredith, I know you’ve been through a lot and you need to vent. I understand—but don’t involve Hillary.”
His voice was firm, and it was no longer meant for me.
The man who once sheltered me now shielded another woman without hesitation. A sharp, hot pain stabbed my chest. Watching their exchanged looks of concern, I felt disgusted and betrayed.
“Don’t think one or two soft words will silence me,” I said through clenched teeth. “I’m not a saint—when I was stabbed, I won’t say it’s okay.”
“If either of you shows up in front of my brother again, I will fight her to death!”
“Ah… Tristan, my belly hurts so much… I’m so scared…” Hillary immediately curled into his arms and moaned. Tristan’s face went tense; he scooped her up and hurried away. From the moment they left, he never once looked back at me.
Tristan’s silhouette retreated with brutal finality, but I didn’t have time to indulge in grief. I forced my emotions down and messaged Dad, telling him to contact the heart donor as soon as possible.
He called back within minutes. “Meredith, don’t worry—I’ve reached them. I won’t let anything happen to your brother.”
There was a tremor of urgency in his voice, as if he waited for me to reassure him.
I answered coldly, “If my brother can’t be saved, then that’s the end between us.”
Silence on the other end turned frantic; he kept promising everything. But promises were the last thing I trust now.
I decided to go home to collect a few important things and leave for good. At the front door, I discovered the lock had been changed, so I had to knock.
“Tristan—” Hillary’s coquettish voice trailed off the instant she saw me. “Oh? It’s you.”
She acted surprised. “Why didn’t you just open the door yourself?”
Her eyes shone with unabashed provocation. Then, as if remembering something, she tapped her forehead dramatically. “Oh dear—how forgetful of me. Tristan changed the code this morning ‘for safety.’ Looks like you won’t be getting in anymore.”
I ignored her and walked straight to the master bedroom. I pushed the door open and was met with chaos. Our wedding photos—Tristan and I—were shattered on the floor, and even the custom gifts I once treasured lay ruined among the debris.
“Really sorry about the mess.” Hillary leaned against the doorframe. “I didn’t expect you back so soon. Haven’t had time to tidy up. Maybe…you could make do in the utility room for now?”
I walked across the shards of glass to the wardrobe, dug out my documents from the back, and turned to leave. As I passed her, my foot caught on something and I fell backward, collapsing hard onto the broken glass.
A sharp, stabbing pain seared across my back. I gasped.
“Hillary!” I bit out through clenched teeth.
Footsteps rushed over, and Tristan appeared. Hillary immediately flung herself into his arms, her face suddenly went pale. “Tristan, hurry—take Meredith to the hospital! She came back, and when saw me, she flew into a rage and smashed things; she must have fallen…”
Only then did Tristan look at me properly. But there was no trace of concern in his eyes—only a coldness edged with disgust.
“Meredith! Hillary is already carrying my child. She’ll be staying here from now on. No matter how you scream or put on a show, my mind won’t change!”
“In your eyes, am I that kind of person?” My voice trembled.
“Hillary is gentle and kind—she would never do something like this. Who else could it be but you?” He said it with absolute conviction, then softened his gaze on Hillary. “This room’s no good. Let’s go somewhere else.”
His attitude started changing a year ago. Whatever I’d been through, he no longer asked—he judged me without hesitation. The cracks had been there a long time; I’d just been blind to them until now.
I remembered how someone had vandalized Hillary’s grave. The Gibson family had stormed over and forced me to confess. Tristan never asked a single question—he protected me fiercely. The Gibson family insisted on punishing me; he spent three days and nights finding the true culprit.
I ran my fingers over his tired, bloodshot eyes and asked, “Why did you believe me back then?”
He cupped my face and smiled. “You’re the one I love most. If I don’t believe you, who will I believe?”
After that, he never visited Hillary’s grave again. I once thought I had finally stepped into his heart. I never imagined that all that unwavering protection had been an act from the start.
I found the first-aid kit and cleaned the wound on my back as best I could. Just as I was about to book a hotel, my phone pinged with a security alert: abnormal activity on the surveillance feed. Compelled, I opened the app.
The camera showed the nursery we’d once so carefully decorated. Tristan and Hillary were there—disheveled, and intimate.
Hillary slyly twined his restless fingers and murmured, “My father’s heart transplant can’t wait any longer…”
Tristan kissed the back of her hand with indulgent tenderness. “Don’t worry—I’ve taken care of it. Coincidentally, the heart that matches your father’s is from Meredith’s brother. I arranged the surgery this afternoon.”
My hand trembled; the phone almost slipped from my grasp.
“That’s great—oh, by the way, my brother is just doing an internship. Why don’t you make him your assistant?” Hillary’s voice was sweet and bright.
Without hesitation, Tristan agreed. “Sure.”
“But…” She lowered her lashes, feigning just the right touch of worry. “Meredith’s mood has been all over the place lately. What if she gets impulsive and divorces you?”
Tristan tightened his arms around her and answered with absolute certainty, “Don’t worry. She’s been with me for seven years—she can’t live without me. But if she dares make things hard for you again, you don’t have to endure it. Protecting yourself comes first.”
“Got it…” she purred.
I stopped listening after that. A heavy weight pressed against my chest—not just grief, but the bitter sense that seven years of my life had been wasted.
No matter how I tried to smother it, a sharp, relentless pain kept surfacing, just as fierce as when I first fell helplessly in love with him.
Tangled and numb, I rushed back to the hospital—and still I was too late. They were already wheeling my brother into surgery.
I sat on a bench in a daze, adrenaline giving way to exhaustion.
Silently, Tristan sat beside me and handed me a cup of warm milk. “Drink a little. You need to keep your strength.”
I took it without answering—not because my heart softened, but because I needed energy to wait for my brother to come through.
We sat in cold silence until the surgical light dimmed and a doctor stepped out. His face was grave. “We’ve stabilized him for now, but his condition is critical. He’s extremely weak… he may not wake up. The family should prepare for the worst.”
My heart sank to the floor.
Just then, a doctor who had been looking down sprinted forward. I caught the familiar features, and he looked shockingly like Hillary.
I lunged, grabbed him, and shouted, “Stop!”
Ignoring his struggle, I ripped the mask from his face. It was Hector—her brother.
“It’s you! You did this to my brother!” I lost control and shook him. “Give my brother back to me!”
He panic-breathed and opened his mouth without forming words. Tristan suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind. “Meredith, calm down. This isn’t anyone’s fault.”
Taking advantage of the moment, Hector slipped away.
Tristan still tried to soothe me. “Don’t worry. You have me. I’ll find the best doctors—”
I wrenched free and slapped him hard across the face. “Tristan, you’ve disappointed me so much.”
For a moment, anger flared in his eyes, then guilt, then a flicker of shame. “If you need to hit or yell, do it to me—but don’t take it out on Hillary. She’s innocent.”
Even now, his first instinct was to protect her. At that moment, I finally saw it clearly—these seven years had been nothing but an illusion.
When they brought my brother out, I followed. In the ward I clutched his cold hand and choked on the words, “Brother… I only have you… don’t leave me…”
No matter how I begged, his eyes stayed shut.
…
The next day, Tristan texted that he would arrange a transfer for my brother. I replied once. [You don’t need to concern yourself!] Then I blocked him.
The string of disasters left me hollow. I collapsed into the hotel bed and slept until I fell into a nightmare.
In the dream I stood on a cliff’s edge opposite Tristan. He had one arm around Hillary and the other clutching their child. Beside me lay my mother and my brother, broken and distant. Their faces were full of disappointment.
“I told you not to marry him!” my mother cried. “You wouldn’t listen. Now he’s ruined me and your brother—you don’t even have a place to cry!”
“Meredith,” my brother said coldly, “I spoiled you too much. That’s why you let wolves into our home. I… can’t rest in peace.”
I screamed and reached for them, but they drifted farther away.
When I woke up, my pillow was soaked with tears. The ache in my ribs—the constant, gnawing pain—forced me back into the harshness of reality. I had once believed we would be two for life; now all that remained was regret so vast it swallowed me whole.
I regretted loving him. I regretted handing him the power to shatter everything.
A dull pain thudded through my abdomen and I remembered with a new, sick clarity: I was carrying Tristan’s child. The small life that had once held all my hope had become nothing but an extension of this nightmare.
My brother’s condition finally stabilized, but he still lay in a deep, unbroken sleep. Our scheduled trip abroad was only a week away.
I had already been quietly gathering evidence against Hector. That routine surgery—the one that should never have been life-threatening—had turned my brother into a vegetable because someone increased the anesthesia. Whether it was malice or recklessness, Hector and Hillary would both pay!
Just as these thoughts churned in my mind, my phone lit up with a call from an unfamiliar number.
“Meredith.”
It was Tristan’s voice—cold, firm, leaving no room to refuse. “Tomorrow is Grandma’s eightieth birthday. Be there.”
He hung up before I could say a word. He assumed I would come—and he was right. Grandma was the only person in the Palmer family who had ever truly cared for me.
The next day, I walked into the Palmer household in a black dress. From the gate, I saw Hillary linked arm in arm with Tristan, both poised and practiced like a perfect couple welcoming guests. The moment she saw me, she hustled over and clasped my hand with exaggerated warmth.
“Sister, you finally made it! I was worried you’d refuse… After all, today we’re announcing some good news.”
I froze for a heartbeat, then glanced at Tristan. He avoided my gaze, muttering in a low voice,
“Grandma has always wanted a great-grandchild… Hillary and I just want to make her happy.”
I slipped my arm free of Hillary’s grasp and said flatly,
“Whatever you’re planning has nothing to do with me. I’ll see Grandma, then leave.”
Without waiting for their reaction, I walked into the banquet hall.
Grandma sat supported by Samantha, Tristan’s mother, smiling warmly as she accepted the guests’ blessings. I knelt beside her, lowering my voice. “I wish Grandma longevity as boundless as the East Sea, and health as everlasting as the Southern Mountain.”
Just as I was about to present my gift, Samantha snatched the box from my hands. She opened it, and with a shrill laugh, she jeered, “Mountain ginseng? We have warehouses full of them. Did you bring this to poison the old lady?”
“What nonsense!”
Grandma frowned and gently reclaimed the gift box, patting my hand with her thin fingers.
Everything Meredith picks comes from the heart. She’s just being thoughtful.”
Her eyes softened with love and guilt.
“Tristan has been confused lately and wronged you. Grandma will make him answer for it.”
I wanted to protest, but her happiness made me hold my tongue. I whispered instead, “Thank you, Grandma.”
She seemed ready to say more, but Hillary suddenly cut in. She pushed my hand away and pressed Grandma’s palm onto her own lower belly, her smile radiant.
“Grandma, guess what surprise Tristan and I prepared for you?”
eyes widened, then lit up with joy. “Hillary, are you… pregnant?”
Hillary blushed and nodded. “Almost three months now. We checked and it’s a boy.”
“How wonderful! Hillary, you’re our family’s blessing!” Samantha hugged her, beaming. Then she glanced at me with thin cruelty. “Unlike some people who haven’t even managed to keep a child after so many years.” She turned to Tristan, voice sharp, “You’d better take good care of her. If anything happens again, don’t bother coming back to this house.”
Tristan nodded solemnly. The three of them walked off together, laughing, as if I no longer existed.
“Meredith,” Grandma said softly, her eyes full of pity. “The Palmer family has wronged you—Tristan, he…”
I cut her off with a shake of my head and forced a smile. “I’ll handle my relationship with him. You just eat well and live to one hundred.”
I shook my head, forcing a smile.
“I’ll deal with him myself. You just need to eat well, rest well, and live to a hundred.”
My words made her chuckle, and she said no more.
After settling Grandma, I turned back toward the banquet. Hillary stood at the center of a glowing crowd, basking in the admiration, as if she were already the rightful Madam Palmer.
I clenched my fists, not with jealousy, but with cold hatred.
“Enjoy your happy days while you can,” I muttered to myself. “They won’t last.”
Just then, Tristan suddenly wrapped his arms around me from behind. “I’m so glad you finally came to your senses,” he whispered.
I stiffened, instinctively struggling to pull away, until his whisper brushed against my ear:
“I know you’ve suffered for me. Next week is our seventh anniversary. I’ll make it up to you.”
He kissed my forehead tenderly. I fought down the nausea rising in my throat and let him hold me—without pushing him away.
Our anniversary fell on the same day I’d planned to leave the country. I dressed carefully so Tristan wouldn’t suspect a thing.
The moment I stepped in, he came forward and a flash of admiration crossed his face. “Meredith, you look beautiful tonight.”
He bent as if to kiss me.
I batted his hand away playfully. “Not yet—dinner first.”
His Adam’s apple bobbed and his voice turned low. “Okay.”
Under the candlelight and the glow of roses, his profile looked impossibly handsome. He sliced my steak with slow, considerate movements, and for a second I drifted back to the easy, untroubled version of us. The feeling didn’t last—grief and cold clarity tugged me back.
Halfway through the meal, he suddenly dropped to one knee and presented a velvet box. “You’ve suffered for me, Meredith. After Hillary gives birth, I’ll hand the child to you to raise. You will always be Mrs. Palmer. No one can replace you.”
Inside the box, a diamond necklace glittered. I didn’t reach for it.
Suddenly, a sharp ringtone cut through the moment. He looked embarrassed and rose to answer. On the other end, Hillary’s faint and fragile voice sounded. “Tristan… I think I’m hypoglycemic. I’m dizzy…”
Tristan’s voice changed at once. “Where are you? I’m coming!”
She sniffled with practiced vulnerability. “I might need a transfusion… If something happens to me, save the baby first…”
“No—don’t say that! You and the baby will be fine.” His voice trembled. Then he glanced at me, like a man remembering a detail.
I spread my hands. “I didn’t touch her.”
He hurried over. “Meredith, you have the rare blood type—only you can save Hillary.”
Before I could reply, he’d already called the family doctor and ordered a blood draw.
Seven years of deception finally snapped into brutal clarity: he hadn’t chosen me for love. I was nothing more than his emergency blood bank—a backup for Hillary. The truth left me cold.
When the needle touched my skin, I placed a hand over his arm. Irritation flashed in his eyes. “Hillary can’t wait. I’ll give you anything you want.”
I took out a divorce agreement from my bag, and said calmly, “Sign this and I’ll give blood.”
Without hesitation, he took the paper, flipped to the last page and signed.
“Good. Draw more—fill the bags. That way Hillary can use it whenever she needs it.”
The needle pierced me again and again. Every bag filled was another stitch in the net they’d woven around me.
“Why didn’t you bother to read it?” I asked softly as the tube warmed in my hand.
He waved me off. “It’s only a transfer of assets. If it saves Hillary, I’ll give you whatever you want.”
His certainty made me laugh coldly. Fine. The faster this farce was done, the sooner I could dismantle it.
By the time dizziness washed over me and my vision blurred, the doctor finally couldn’t bear it anymore and said,
“Miss Meredith’s life will be in danger if she continues to give blood.”
Tristan’s brows drew together.
“Are you sure this is enough for Hillary?”
When the doctor confirmed, he gave a short nod and reluctantly agreed to stop.
As we were prepared to leave, he noticed my pale face and the hand pressed to my arm.
“What happened today was my fault,” he sighed. “Once Hillary’s stable, I’ll give you a better anniversary.”
Seeing that I didn’t answer, he tentatively called out again. “Meredith?”
“Mm.”
My reply was faint, barely audible.
The moment the door clicked shut, I rose without hesitation and walked away.
On the way to pick up my brother, Hillary’s message popped up.
[Did you see it? As long as I say a word, Tristan will abandon you without hesitation. So what if you’ve been Mrs. Palmer for seven years? He only listens to me now. Meredith, you’d better be smart and leave on your own. Otherwise, I don’t mind letting you watch with your own eyes as I take him from you—and leaving you with nothing.]
Attached was an intimate photo of her with Tristan.
I stared at the screen, lips curving into a cold smile.
With a simple tap, the pre-set auto screen recorder captured everything, turning her arrogance into ironclad evidence.
She didn’t realize—the more brazen she became, the deeper she dug her own grave.
I sneered and blocked her without hesitation.
The play was over. Time to close the net.
All the evidence would be packaged and sent straight to the lawyer, along with a single command. [Sue immediately. I want Hillary to rot in prison for the rest of her life.]
As for Tristan—he owed me far too much.
I would collect the debt of those unborn children, with interest.
Once on the plane, I powered off the SIM card with care.
The night outside the window stretched endlessly, and I whispered to myself, “The real show starts now.”
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