My wife, Isabella Hayes, knelt on the floor, her face pale, tears streaming down.
She was begging me to save Julian Thorne, the love of her life.
Her voice trembled, “Liam! Please! Save Julian! Just this once! I’ll wait on you hand and foot after this! I’ll even wash your socks!”
Five years. I had a terrible reputation in the Hayes family.
All because five years ago, Julian was severely injured while saving her and became a vegetable.
Now, the chip in his life support machine was about to fail.
The only replacement in existence was in my brother, Ryan Stone’s, hands.
I looked at her, my face expressionless, and dialed Ryan.
The call connected. I only said one sentence.
Hope flared in Isabella’s eyes.
Half an hour later, a sharp, prolonged beep echoed through the hospital.
Julian Thorne’s life support machine had stopped.
Isabella didn’t know that what I told my brother was: “Ryan, pull the plug.”
1
That long beep was the last straw for Isabella.
She lunged at me like a madwoman, her nails raking my face, leaving a bloody scratch.
“Liam! You bastard! You killed him!” Her voice was sharp and shrill, every word laced with hatred.
I didn’t flinch. The hospital hallway lights were stark white, illuminating my face and her twisted one.
Our five-year marriage was nothing more than a transaction.
I gave her money, she gave me the title of husband, convenient for maintaining her image as a tragically devoted woman.
“He should have been dead already,” I said calmly.
That sentence instantly ignited her fury.
Enraged, she started punching and kicking me.
Security guards rushed over and pulled her away.
She was still crying and screaming from a distance, cursing my whole family to die.
I turned and walked away, cold air filling my lungs. What was a little pain?
Compared to how she degraded me these past five years, this injury wasn’t even a scratch!
That night, Isabella’s retaliation arrived.
She posted a lengthy article online, titled: “A Heartbroken Woman’s Tearful Accusation.”
In the article, she portrayed herself as a saintly figure, and Julian Thorne as a hero who sacrificed for love.
And me? I was the devil who, out of jealousy, ruined everything for them.
The article went viral.
Overnight, I became public enemy number one.
My phone crashed from all the hateful messages.
Texts, SnapChat DMs—they were all filled with malicious curses.
“Ungrateful monster” and “backstabbing jerk” became my aliases.
My ID, home address, and company information were all doxxed online.
The texts were full of vicious curses; some threatened to burn down my house, others said they’d send me razor blades.
Some even said they’d dance on my mom’s grave—these people didn’t even know who my mom was, yet they dared to say such things!
What was even more disgusting was that colleagues I’d helped at the company were now stabbing me in the back.
I saw someone post in a SnapChat group: “If I’d known Liam was this kind of person, I never would’ve let him help me with my proposal.”
Others chimed in: “Ms. Hayes should divorce him ASAP and leave him with absolutely nothing!”
I knew this was just the appetizer.
What Isabella wanted was for me to completely disappear.
The next morning, I went to Hayes Corporation as usual.
The receptionist looked at me like a moving pile of crap.
In the elevator, colleagues avoided me, whispering.
“That’s him, he’s utterly despicable.”
“Heard Ms. Hayes is divorcing him. Serves him right.”
I walked into my office. Isabella’s assistant came over to inform me.
“Mr. Stone, Ms. Hayes requests your presence in the conference room in ten minutes for an emergency board meeting.”
I sat at my desk, calmly adjusting my tie.
In five years, I had transformed a near-bankrupt Hayes Corporation into a multi-billion dollar giant.
Those leeches in the Hayes family—Uncle Robert embezzling funds, Uncle Mark keeping mistresses—who didn’t I personally expose?
Now, it seemed, seeing my downfall, their chance to strike had come.
In the conference room, Isabella sat at the head of the table.
She wore a black pantsuit, with makeup designed to look haggard, but the triumph in her eyes couldn’t be hidden.
Beside her sat Uncle Robert, Uncle Mark, and several other veteran board members whose power I had stripped, all with smug satisfaction on their faces.
“Distinguished board members,” she began, her voice trembling, her acting skills impeccable, “Mr. Stone’s actions have severely damaged the company’s image. My benefactor, Julian Thorne, was killed by him.”
As soon as she finished speaking, an old executive I’d sidelined immediately jumped up.
“Exactly! He’s ruined Hayes Corporation’s reputation! He must be fired!”
“If clients knew we had someone like him, all our contracts would definitely fall through!” another chimed in.
Isabella looked pleased.
She turned to me, like a judge pronouncing a verdict.
“I propose that Liam Stone be immediately relieved of all his duties within the company. Let’s vote.”
It was a unanimous vote.
No one objected.
I didn’t utter a single word in my defense.
In their eyes, I was just a kept man.
Now, the owner of the meal ticket wanted it back. All I could do was leave.
Isabella looked at me, enunciating each word: “Liam, you’re fired. Now, immediately, get out.”
2
Two security guards gripped my arms, their hold tight, as if escorting a criminal.
That’s how I was thrown out of the company I had built with my own hands.
At the company entrance, a swarm of reporters descended like sharks sensing blood in the water.
Flashbulbs popped relentlessly, blinding me.
“Liam Stone! Did you really kill Julian Thorne out of jealousy?”
“What do you have to say about Ms. Hayes’s accusations?”
“Do you think he stole your wife?”
A fan, whose identity I didn’t know, violently smashed a bubble tea over my head.
The sticky liquid ran down my hair, leaving me utterly disheveled.
The security guards only made a token attempt to block them, then let me be surrounded by reporters.
I didn’t say a word.
I pushed through the crowd, walking forward one step at a time.
My back was straight. It was my last shred of dignity.
Back at the mansion, the butler was already waiting at the door.
He pointed to a few worn-out boxes on the lawn.
“Sir, the missus instructed that these are your belongings. Take them and leave.”
All my luggage—just those old boxes I’d used during college—were tossed on the lawn.
The automatic sprinklers were on, cold water drenching the boxes, and me.
I looked up and saw Isabella standing on the second-floor balcony.
She stood with her arms crossed, looking down at me, as if enjoying a good show.
“Liam, sign this.”
She threw a document down from upstairs.
The paper landed at my feet, immediately soaked by the water.
Divorce papers.
I was to leave with absolutely nothing.
The house, cars, and shares she had previously “given” me were all being reclaimed.
All my personal bank accounts and credit cards were also frozen.
She wanted to strip me of everything.
I bent down and picked up the drenched agreement.
The words on it had blurred, a massive mockery.
“Everything you’re doing, is it all for that vegetable?” I looked up and asked her.
Isabella’s face held a twisted smile.
“You’re not even fit to utter his name. Liam, you destroyed my light, so I’m going to destroy everything you have. I want you to rot in the gutters like a stray dog.”
The sky clouded over.
Raindrops started falling, quickly turning into a downpour.
I said nothing more, dragging my chipped suitcase out of the mansion gates.
The rainwater, mixed with the bubble tea from my hair, ran into my mouth—sweet and bitter.
I knew this wasn’t the end.
What Isabella wanted was my life.
3
Night fell, and the rain intensified.
I dragged my suitcase through the streets.
My phone had long died, I was soaked, cold, and hungry.
These past five years, all my energy had been focused on the company. I had no friends, let alone family.
I was a lost soul in this city.
As I passed a dimly lit alley, several figures emerged from the darkness and surrounded me.
The leader was a punk with neon-colored hair, holding a steel pipe, smirking with a street-smart arrogance. “You the ungrateful monster, Liam Stone?”
I glanced at them. They were just young thugs, their faces lit with cheap fanaticism.
I knew who they were: Julian Thorne’s fans, Isabella’s blades for a proxy murder.
“Get lost,” I said, my voice low, but it cut through the rain.
The punk seemed provoked.
“F***ing bastard, still got a smart mouth, huh? Get him, boys! Avenge Julian!”
Fists and feet landed on me.
I didn’t fight back, curling up to protect my head and heart.
I felt my bones rattle, my consciousness starting to blur.
A kick slammed into my right ribs.
I heard the crisp snap of bone.
Excruciating pain, and I coughed up a mouthful of blood.
They got tired and finally stopped.
“Barely put up a fight, did he?” The punk spat on me. “Remember, this is what you owe Julian.”
They left.
Only I remained in the alley, amidst the cold rain.
I lay in the muddy, blood-soaked ground, feeling my body temperature slowly fade.
So, this was what she meant by “rot in the gutters.”
But I didn’t want to die.
I used my last ounce of strength to pull a waterproof, sealed pouch from my soaked inner pocket.
Inside was a discreet, custom phone that was always fully charged.
I pressed the single button.
It was a signal emitter.
For five years, I had never used it.
This was my father’s last gift, my ultimate safety net.
Three minutes.
If my brother, Ryan Stone, didn’t show up within three minutes, it meant my high-stakes gamble had failed miserably.
Rain blurred my vision.
I felt myself fading.
Just as my consciousness was about to disappear, blinding headlights tore through the curtain of rain.
The car door opened, and a tall figure, holding a black umbrella, strode quickly toward me.
It was my brother, Ryan Stone.
He knelt, seeing my bloodied, injured body, and his eyes instantly turned red.
“Liam!”
“Ryan…” I opened my mouth, my voice weak.
“Don’t talk! I’ll get you to the hospital right away!” He moved to pick me up.
I looked at him, using all my remaining strength. “Ryan… the plan, activate. Let them… fly high for a little while longer.”
Ryan froze. He looked at my blood-smeared but clear-eyed face and understood what I meant.
He set aside the idea of taking me to a public hospital, simply helping me into the car.
The car was warm.
Before I lost consciousness, only one thought remained in my mind:
Isabella Hayes, Julian Thorne.
It’s time for me to direct the show.
4
I disappeared for a full seven days.
During these seven days, the online trial against me reached its peak.
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