Chapter 3

"Sir! That's not true!" Lily dropped to her knees, crying. "I was with Miss Davina the whole time she brewed it! There was no poison! She dropped it herself!"

"Shut up!" Bastian barked.

His eyes darted between me and Moriah, finally landing on the spilled soup.

"Bastian, if even a maid dares to talk back to me, what authority do I have in this house?" Moriah cried harder.

She suddenly lunged for the coffee table and grabbed a fruit knife. "If you don't believe me, I might as well just die!" She pressed the blade to her wrist.

"Moriah!" Bastian panicked, snatching the knife away.

He pulled her into his arms, shaken. "She's just a maid, do whatever you want with her. Why wouldn't I believe you? I'll throw her out right now."

No. I knew Lily's family was dirt poor; she needed this job.

"Let Lily go," I forced the words out, my voice hoarse.

It was the first time I had ever begged him for anything.

Bastian turned to look at me. Seeing my bloodied face and pleading eyes, a flash of reluctance crossed his expression. But Moriah was sobbing in his arms like she couldn't breathe.

Bastian closed his eyes. When he opened them, only coldness remained.

"I'll assign you another maid, Davina."

"No, I don't want anyone else!" In that apartment, Lily was the only one who comforted me. She was like a sister to me.

But the more I pleaded, the colder Bastian looked.

"Drag this loudmouth out. Banish her from New York, and make sure I never see her face again," he ordered.

"Sir! Please, no!" Lily was dragged out, screaming in despair.

I struggled to stand, but Moriah spoke up again.

"You just kicked out a maid. Are we really just going to let Davina get away with trying to poison me?" She looked up at him, playing the victim perfectly.

Bastian frowned. "What do you want to do?"

Moriah's eyes darted to my chest. "I like... that necklace she's wearing. Give it to me as an apology, and I'll forgive her."

Without a second of hesitation, Bastian reached for my neck.

It was a vintage silver locket. The only thing my adoptive mother left me. I had told him how much it meant to me.

"No—!" I widened my eyes in panic, grabbing the necklace to protect it.

But Bastian ripped it off mercilessly. The silver chain cut my skin, leaving a bloody line. He turned and handed the necklace I treasured with my life straight to Moriah.

"Take it," he said dismissively.

Moriah clutched it triumphantly, shooting me a mocking look.

Ice pierced straight through my heart. It felt like it was being sliced open. Staring at the necklace, a thick, metallic taste rose in my throat.

I coughed violently.

The overwhelming grief and anger hit me all at once. I coughed up a mouthful of blood, my vision went black, and I passed out.

When I woke up, I was back in the bed at my apartment. The guard standing nearby relayed Bastian's message with zero emotion: "The Don says you are to stay put and recover quietly."

I stared at the ceiling, dead inside. No tears, no anger. Just an empty shell.

The wounds on my face slowly scabbed over thanks to the doctors, but the wound in my chest was rotting. I recovered quietly. And I waited. Waited for the day the pill would take me away.

Days later, the door was pushed open again.

Without a word, two guards grabbed me—though I was mostly healed—and shoved me into a car, taking me back to the estate. I asked what was going on; no one answered.

The manor hall was packed with men. The tension was suffocating. I finally found out why.

Rumors had exploded all over the internet and the tabloids that Moriah was a homewrecker. There were even leaks exposing her as a fake heiress. Bastian was furious, interrogating everyone in the family to find the rat.

Moriah leaned against him, crying perfectly. "I don't know who is vicious enough to try and ruin me... We had a wedding! I am your real wife!"

"Of course you are," Bastian coaxed her softly. "You are my only wife. Don't worry, I'll find who did this and make them pay."

He looked up and locked eyes with me just as I walked in. He paused mid-motion wiping her tears.

I lowered my eyes and stood in the corner. I knew what he was thinking. Over the years, I had been injured in front of him countless times. I had been in agonizing pain, but I never dropped a single tear. Because he once said he hated weeping women; tears didn't move him, and he would only wipe the tears of the woman he loved.

So, no matter how much it hurt, I swallowed it down.

The only exception was a year ago, when I took a fatal bullet for him. The entry angle was brutal, and I cried uncontrollably from the pain. That night, Bastian didn't get annoyed. Instead, he reached out, gently wiping my tears with his thumb. "Does it really hurt that much?" his voice was raspy.

I froze, and so did he. He probably remembered his own rule. But he didn't pull back. He wiped another tear away, his movements stiff but holding a tenderness I had never felt before.

After that, things seemed to shift between us. He started treating me better, remembering my favorite foods, visiting me when I was sick. Alarm bells rang in my head. I wanted to tell him I didn't take the bullet out of love—I did it because if he died, I'd never get my freedom.

Thankfully, everything was back to normal now.

I stood there until my legs went numb. Finally, someone handed Bastian a tablet.

"Boss, we found it. The IP address spreading the rumors traces back to... Miss Davina's apartment."