Chapter 4

When I came to, I was already in a hospital bed with an IV drip in my arm. I could hear Howard and Phoebe talking about my condition from behind the curtain. I couldn't see them, but I could tell it was them by their voices.

Howard sounded confused. "Wasn't she supposed to be resting in the psychiatric facility? How did she end up with muscle atrophy and all these needle marks?"

Phoebe let out a soft laugh, her voice sugary as always. "It's just a disease caused by idleness, Howie. Even your secretary said so. She was never actually ill. We faked her medication certificate, remember?

"My brother was her attending physician. I had a word with him before she was admitted. All she did every day was lie around and rest. It was no wonder she ended up like that.

"She's not like you, Howie; you've been working so hard you've practically lost weight."

Howard sounded like the pieces were finally clicking for him. "So that's what it was... Yvette was always picking on you. You didn't deserve any of that, Pheebs."

Then, he chuckled. "Pheebs, don't you think this room looks like your typical psychiatric facility ward?"

Right after he said that, I heard the unmistakable sound of kissing—wet and loud—followed by the rustle of clothes. It was unbearably loud.

I felt as if I was thrown back to those days when he came for his scheduled visits. Every time he came to see me, I was forced into what they called "psychological intervention therapy."

Now that I think about it, it must have been Phoebe who told the doctor what to do. Who would've guessed that the doctor who pumped sedatives into my veins and zapped me with electroconvulsive therapy... was her brother?

Each day at the psychiatric facility felt like torture. I used to both dread and long for Howard's visits. I kept hoping he'd finally take me home, but I also feared the treatments that would come once he arrived.

Every time I was dragged in for treatment, the bed next to mine was always hidden behind the same sterile white curtain. I used to wonder about the sounds I heard from behind it—the sickening wet noises, the strange gasps and moans. Now I knew exactly what they were.

I couldn't take it anymore. I forced myself up and yanked the curtain aside.

The two of them jumped and hurriedly pulled apart, clearly not expecting me to be awake. Phoebe clung to Howard's sleeve and started sobbing, "Howie… was Yvette always like this? She's scaring me…"

Howard hastily buttoned his shirt, his face dark with anger. "What the hell is your problem, Yvette? Apologize to Pheebs right now!"

This person, who was supposed to be the one I could trust, turned against me just because I got in the way of his childhood sweetheart. He forged my medical history and stripped me of my director position to make room for her.

Then, he personally locked me up in a hell disguised as a recovery center. He stood by while I was drugged and shocked like an animal and still had the nerve to do this with her beside my hospital bed.

Phoebe couldn't stand it anymore; she pouted and tugged on his arm. "Yvette used to be the undisputed queen of our company. There's no way she's going to apologize to me."

Howard's face congealed. His company's success was almost entirely due to me, and he hated anyone saying he'd only gotten back on his feet because of a woman. Phoebe's words had definitely struck a nerve.

Howard's eyes locked onto mine. He squeezed Phoebe's hand like he'd just made up his mind.

"Stop being difficult, Yvette. I'm giving you one last chance—get down on your knees and apologize to Phoebe right now!

"I can tell you're not in the right state of mind. If you refuse to apologize, I'll have you sent back to the psychiatric facility immediately!"

He bit out those last few words with venom like he was a beast gnawing on a bone. All this time, he'd been draining me of everything I had—my work, my pride, my sanity. And now that I was no longer useful, he was ready to toss me aside.

I slowly reached for the IV needle and pulled it out. As I looked at his shirt—half-buttoned and crooked—I felt like some kind of circus monkey being forced to perform.

I avoided his gaze and uttered, "Howard, let's get a divorce."