Chapter 2

Ten minutes later, a photo lit up my phone screen.

It was a photo of Maya kissing George.

Attached was a text message.

[Thank you for giving my child his father back.]

I opened Maya's social media profile.

Her latest update was a video.

George was holding hands with a little boy while wrapping his arm around Maya's waist.

The child, the one George claimed had been aborted five years ago, was calling him daddy in a sweet, high-pitched voice.

My fingers turned rigid as I opened the tracking app on my phone.

Three years ago, when he begged to come home, he had installed it on his own device to prove his loyalty.

This was the first time I had ever opened it.

I checked the history.

Over the past three years, he had snuck out to see her one thousand one hundred and thirty-four times behind my back.

Every single night I felt guilty for flinching away from his touch, he had left our bed to find Maya the moment I fell asleep.

The earliest visit went back to three years ago.

That was the day I hit rock bottom.

On that day, Maya sent me her ultrasound on the anniversary of my miscarried child, driving me to stand on the edge of a skyscraper roof.

George dropped to his knees in front of me with bloodshot eyes, swearing on his life that he would never speak to her again.

Yet that very night, while I lay unconscious in a hospital room, he bought Maya and her son a forty-million-dollar mansion on the far side of town.

The next morning, he pulled a single red rose from the bundle of nine hundred and ninety-nine roses he had given Maya and placed it gently by my pillow.

Hickeys were still visible on his neck.

Back then, he swore he got bitten by mosquitoes while picking flowers for me.

I believed him. I was such a fool.

None of it mattered anymore.

I calmly tapped the like button on her post. I even left a comment.

[The kid is adorable.]

George's call came through a second later. His tone was harsh.

"What is the meaning of this?"

"It means I'm wishing you well. No need to thank me."

George let out a light laugh, instantly regaining his usual cool composure.

"If you're so jealous, why push me away in the first place?

"You want to regret it now? Too late!"

Over the next week, George made me the biggest laughingstock in our social circle.

He flew abroad with Maya to host a grand, public wedding ceremony.

After returning, he took her to high-society galas, events he had never allowed me to attend.

They wore matching custom designer outfits and couple's rings engraved with each other's names, behaving like starry-eyed newlyweds.

This time, I didn't lose my mind like I used to.

Instead, I took the signed divorce agreement straight to my father, Arthur Mercer.

"I will step aside for Maya.

"But you must promise me one thing. You will host a grand memorial for the tenth anniversary of my mother's death.

"You will publicly clear her name, state that she was your only legitimate wife, and move her remains into the family crypt."

Years ago, Maya's mother framed my mom as a homewrecker, leaving her to endure five years of relentless online harassment.

Before she died, my mom called me in tears, weeping over and over.

“Clara, please believe me. I was never the homewrecker, I'm the legitimate wife.”

This was the one thing my mother cared about most. Before I left, I had to clear her name.

My father, who doted heavily on Maya, agreed immediately.

On the day of the memorial, he kept his word and held a lavish event to set the record straight.

Despite being pregnant, I worked alongside the staff, ensuring every detail was executed perfectly.

As I walked past my father's study, Maya's soft weeping echoed through the cracked door.

"Dad, George, do you think Clara found out I killed her mother?

"We were arguing, and I accidentally pushed her down the stairs. I only did it to protect myself!"

Maya sobbed pitifully, repeatedly claiming how sorry she felt toward me.

My mind shattered. Blood surged up my throat, and I vomited a mouthful of crimson onto the floor.

No wonder my mother never ended her life during those five long years of online abuse.

No wonder she suddenly fell to her death right after Maya and her mother moved into the estate.

She didn't jump. She was murdered.

My last shred of sanity snapped completely.

I kicked the doors wide open.

I slammed my hand into Maya's hair, dragging her down and slapping her hard across the face.

"Clara! Have you lost your mind?!"

George's expression shifted into absolute fury. He roared and shoved me away with immense force.

My lower back smashed violently against the sharp edge of the solid wooden desk.

Warm blood instantly pooled down my legs.

The child I refused to give up, even if it meant my own death...

Was brutally murdered by his own father.