Chapter 3: The First Step Of Rebirth

The heels of Marcus’s Italian leather shoes clicked sharply against the polished hardwood floor as he strode into the sunlit living room, loosening his silk tie with an posture of absolute entitlement. He didn’t even bother glancing in Scarlett’s direction as he casually tossed his expensive leather briefcase onto the velvet sofa, treating the immaculate space as nothing more than his personal domain where his word was law and his comfort was paramount.

"Honestly, Scarlett, you get lazier by the day," Marcus scoffed, running a manicured hand through his impeccably styled hair before slumping carelessly into the plush armchair opposite her. He stretched his legs out over the Persian rug without a second thought. "My mother is coming over later this afternoon to discuss the details for the upcoming annual charity gala, and I expect the entire house to be completely spotless by the time she steps through the door. By the way, did you transfer the funds for my new custom sports car yet? The account statement I checked online yesterday was looking a bit tight, and I need that financial transaction cleared before noon today."

In her past life, this was the exact moment Scarlett would have panicked and apologized profusely. She would have immediately jumped out of her chair, scurrying off to the kitchen to brew his favorite espresso while anxiously explaining how she was trying her best to manage their rising household expenses. She would have bent over backward to appease his fragile, demanding ego, completely unaware that he was quietly funneling their joint life savings into private offshore accounts controlled by Chloe Vance.

Today, Scarlett didn't even blink. She remained perfectly still in her armchair, her posture ramrod straight and elegant, holding a cup of freshly brewed black tea that rested delicately between her fingertips. She took a slow, unhurried sip, letting the hot liquid warm her throat before raising her cool, unreadable gaze to meet his. The agonizing, blood-soaked memories of the evacuation gate were still burning fresh in her mind, but the raw, helpless grief was completely gone, replaced by an impenetrable wall of solid ice.

Marcus frowned, finally noticing her absolute, unnatural silence. He turned his head sharply, expecting to see her customary submissive expression of guilt, panic, and anxiety. Instead, he met a pair of eyes so icy, so profoundly detached, that a sudden, unnameable chill crawled straight up his spine, making his breath hitch sharply in his throat.

"Did you hear me, Scarlett?" Marcus snapped, irritation flaring instantly in his voice as he straightened up in the chair, his brow furrowing with growing annoyance. "I asked you a direct question about the funds."

"No," Scarlett replied softly, her voice carrying an eerie, quiet resonance that sliced through the room and made Marcus blink in complete, stunned surprise.

"What did you just say?"

"I said no, Marcus," Scarlett repeated clearly, setting her teacup down onto the glass coffee table with a crisp, deliberate clink that sounded like a war drum in the silent room. She stood up slowly, smoothing down the fabric of her tailored dress with calculated, terrifying grace.

The aura radiating from her body was no longer that of a timid, easily manipulated housewife who walked on eggshells; it was the suffocating, predatory pressure of a seasoned apex survivor who had walked through the deepest depths of hell and returned with blood on her hands.

"I am not transferring any money for your car," Scarlett continued, looking down at him with dark, unblinking eyes. "In fact, you're not getting a single cent of my money ever again."

Marcus stood up abruptly from the armchair, his face flushing dark red with offended arrogance and wounded pride. "Are you out of your mind? Your money? Everything you have belongs to this household, and this household is maintained by me! Who do you think you're talking to? You're absolute nothing without me, Scarlett! Without my family's noble name and my corporate position, you'd be a nobody begging for scraps on the street!"

He took an aggressive, threatening step forward, raising his right hand high as if to intimidate her into immediate submission—a petty, domineering gesture of domestic control he had used countless times over the years to force her into compliance whenever she dared to question his authority.

He never expected what came next.

Crack!

The sharp, echoing sound of skin striking skin reverberated violently through the silent living room. The sheer, terrifying force of the blow spun Marcus’s head violently to the side, sending a spray of saliva into the air before he stumbled backward helplessly, crashing heavily against the hard edge of the solid mahogany coffee table. The brutal impact knocked the breath right out of his lungs, sending a sharp shockwave of pain straight through his ribs.

Marcus clutched his burning, swollen cheek, his eyes wide with utter shock, sheer disbelief, and rising panic. He stared up at Scarlett from his knees as if she had suddenly transformed into a lethal stranger, his chest heaving as his breath caught violently in his throat.

"You... you hit me?" Marcus stammered, his voice cracking with intense humiliation, panic, and raw rage. "You actually hit me?!"

"Consider that a tiny down payment on everything you owe me," Scarlett said, taking a slow, deliberate step forward. Her voice dripped with lethal, razor-sharp contempt as she looked down at his trembling frame like a filthy bug beneath her boot. "And let's get one crucial thing straight, Marcus. The submissive, obedient fool you married? She died. What’s standing in front of you right now is your worst nightmare."

She paused, letting the heavy, suffocating silence fill every inch of the room as Marcus struggled to regain his posture. Every single second felt stretched thin, weighted with the terrifying realization that his absolute control over her had shattered beyond any repair.

Before Marcus could recover enough of his shattered wits to retaliate or scramble back to his feet, the front door swung wide open in the foyer, and a sharp, shrill voice pierced the heavy tension lingering in the air.

"Marcus, darling! Are you ready to go? Oh—what on earth is going on in here?"

Chloe Vance stepped into the doorway, wearing a delicate pastel dress and looking as innocent, fragile, and helpless as a startled fawn. Yet beneath that soft, pathetic exterior, a flicker of cold, calculated greed danced deep within her eyes as she scanned the messy living room.

Scarlett turned her head slowly toward the doorway, a terrifyingly beautiful, venomous smile blooming on her lips.

Ah, the white lotus had arrived right on schedule.