Don Raniero's Downfall

I spent a year restoring my late mother-in-law's painting, even using a drop of my blood in the ink for symbolic meaning. I brought it home, excited to surprise my husband, Vincent Hawthorn.

Before I could show it to him, his adopted sister, Camellia Waltz, tore the painting to shreds and dragged me into a locked room like I was a suspect. I was tied up for interrogation.

When Vincent heard the news and came over, Camelia was full of tears, accusing, "Over here, Vince! It was this maid who tore apart Mom's painting!"

With my mouth gagged and a hood over my head, I had no way to speak or defend myself. All I could do was struggle in vain.

Amid the wreckage on the floor, I watched as Vincent pulled Camellia into his arms and gently kissed the tears on her face.

"Oh, don't cry, Cami. It breaks me to see you like this. As much as the painting's important, you're more important to me."

Seeing the frown on his face, Camellia added, "But Ashley spent so many hours and effort on restoring that painting. She must be so sad."

At her words, Vincent picked up a steel whip and flogged me with it. "I love my wife more than anything in this world, so how dare you try to upset her?"

The whip thrashed against my skin, tearing it into an open wound. He didn't hold back at all, striking with such brutal force that I could hear his teeth grinding.

"My wife put her heart and soul into that painting, and you went and tore it to shreds just like that? You love destruction, don't you? Well, I'll show you what destruction is."

Blood drenched my clothes, and I couldn't stop shaking from the pain. Little did Vincent know that the woman he spoke so highly and dearly about was about to be tortured to death in his own hands.

No amount of whips was enough to quench his fury. He yanked my hand over and slapped it a few times. "So, these are the hands that destroyed my wife's hard work… Time to say goodbye to them."

A chill crept through my chest.

For 20 years, Vincent had cherished these hands of mine, holding them with such care. Now, it was like he didn't even recognize them.

I remembered when I was still restoring his mother's painting, and the skin on my fingertips peeled from overwork. He gently massaged them in hand cream, murmuring, "It breaks my heart to see your hands hurt."

When my knuckles ached from long hours of painting, he would take my hands in his, rubbing them over and over, just so he could warm the pain away with his body heat.

He once held my hand and walked me from childhood to adulthood, from school halls to the wedding aisle. Now, all of it felt like a cruel joke.

Camellia stepped forward, casting a venomous glance my way. "We can turn these hands into an art specimen and sell them on the black market. They'll easily go up to five million dollars."

Vincent held her close, laughing without a hint of restraint. "Perfect. I'll use that money to buy you all the jewelry you want."

His assistant, Lucas Porter, chimed in with a smile. "You sure dote on Cami a lot, Mr. Hawthorn. If Mrs. Hawthorn found out, she'd be jealous."

Hearing that, Vincent hurled the steel whip across the window's tempered glass, shattering it within a second. "If words get to Ash, you'll end up just like that window."

He withdrew his gaze and added, "Cami has been with me for so many years without a proper title or status. It's the least I can do for her."

Was Camellia, his so-called sister, actually his mistress? So, they had been secretly involved all along, and I had been completely in the dark.

Through the narrow slit in the hood, I saw Vincent gently kiss her with all the tenderness in his being. Meanwhile, I was tied to a filthy execution rack like a prisoner, discarded and humiliated.

"Do it."

No sooner had he given his cold order than a few of his men stepped forward. They roughly unbound me and dragged me down from the execution rack like I was nothing.

As we passed by Vincent, I reached out and grabbed the hem of his trouser leg, revealing the old scar on my palm. It was from college, where I shielded him from a splash of chemical solvent in the lab.

He had held me in his arms, crying the entire night. He said that scar was the mark of our love and that he would spend the rest of his life making it up to me.

Vincent stared at it for a moment. Then, without a word, he picked up a searing-hot branding iron and pressed it down on that same scar.

"This is a scar Ash got because of me. How dare you, a filthy maid, replicate the symbol of our love? Were you trying to get into our bed? Gosh—you did all that just to replace her? You're disgusting!"

The smell of burnt flesh, mixed with the overwhelming searing pain, almost knocked me out.

Camellia led the applause, her voice dripping with envy. "Ashley really does love you, doesn't she? Looks like I've got plenty to learn!"

Vincent pulled her into his arms and kissed her hard. "You're gonna learn, alright."

A bitter smile slipped from my lips. After all these years, he had spoiled me like no one else could.