Chapter 2

Inside the Swebb Family House…

The atmosphere was warm and dimly lit, filled with the comforting scent of freshly brewed hibiscus tea and soft jazz humming from the speakers. But the air between the family members was tense, even as calm words were exchanged.

“Why do you want to go?” Smith’s mother asked softly, her voice echoing slightly in the high-ceilinged living room, where gold-framed photos of family portraits adorned the walls.

Smith stood near the fireplace, arms folded tightly, concern written across his brow.

“You don’t have to go after your best friend,” he said, glancing down at Chrissy, who was curled up on the couch, draped in a pale lavender robe. Her long hair fell loosely around her face, slightly damp from the bath she just took. “You know she wouldn’t have done the same if you were the one in her shoes. She would’ve left you alone without a second thought.”

Chrissy’s eyes shimmered with guilt. Fat, glistening tears clung to her lashes before rolling down her cheeks.

“But it doesn’t look good,” she whispered, barely audible. “What would society say about me?”

Smith looked at his mother and gave her a small, subtle nod.

She walked over calmly and sat beside Chrissy. Placing a gentle hand on her trembling shoulder, she gave a reassuring squeeze.

“You shouldn’t be worrying about what society or anyone else would say,” she said, voice firm but maternal.

“All that matters is that this family accepts you wholeheartedly for who you are. The others don’t matter.”

Chrissy looked up, sniffling, as Smith’s mother gently wiped her cheek with the edge of her sleeve.

“And don’t forget…” she added, looking down meaningfully at Chrissy’s rounded stomach, “you are now responsible for two people — not just yourself anymore.”

The gravity of those words settled heavily in the room.

“Now take a deep breath,” she said, brushing Chrissy’s hair away from her face. “And stay calm… for my grandchild.”

Chrissy slowly nodded.

Without another word, Smith stepped forward, sweeping her up in his arms in a graceful bridal lift. Her sheepish smile stretched lazily across her lips, betraying her satisfaction. She knew exactly what she had done — she had ruined May’s chances in this house. And she didn't regret it.

As he carried her up the stairs, their shadows merged on the wall, slowly disappearing into the bedroom upstairs.

May POV

Meanwhile, on the other side of town…

The moonlight cast a pale glow over me as I sat slumped on the cold pavement, my face streaked with tears and smeared mascara. My clothes were dusty and wrinkled, my scarf dangling loosely around my neck. Strands of my once-elegant hairstyle had fallen out, sticking to my cheeks, still wet with despair.

I stared blankly at the streets ahead, blinking slowly, as if trying to wake up from a dream that just wouldn’t end.

But this was real.

I had been thrown out of my matrimonial home.

My husband had chosen her—my best friend—the same woman who once helped me pick wedding dresses. And now she was pregnant with his child.

The sobs came in waves, each one worse than the last. I cried until my throat burned raw and my body went numb. Until I couldn’t cry anymore.

Then, with nothing but shame and heartbreak weighing me down, I picked myself up—weak, slow, trembling.

I walked.

Ten kilometers.

Every step was agony. The sound of passing cars mocked my misery. My sandals were thin-soled and offered no protection. My toes cried out with every stride. My hair was undone, my lips cracked, my shoulders slumped. But I walked.

When I finally reached my parents’ apartment, my fingers were trembling as I knocked on the tall iron gate.

I could feel eyes on me—neighbors peering from half-drawn curtains and open windows, their whispers floating on the breeze.

“Is that May? What happened to her?”

“She looks like a mad woman.”

“She used to look so fine, now see…”

A porch light came on, and then I saw her—my mother—stepping out in her floral wrapper and worn house slippers. She squinted at me at first.

Then she gasped. “May? Is that you?”

Her tone changed instantly—sharp as broken glass. “Your mother-in-law told me you are a disgraceful woman. So they sent you packing.”

She folded her arms across her chest, her face pinched with judgment and disappointment.

“What did you do?” she snapped.

Tears filled my eyes all over again, but this time, they weren’t just from sadness. They were from humiliation. From betrayal. From the pain of standing outside, broken, begging for comfort and getting daggers instead.

“Mom…” I choked out. “Chrissy is pregnant with my husband’s child.”

Her expression didn’t soften. It hardened.

She curled her lip in disgust. “This is a big disgrace to you,” she spat. “Another woman came forward to take your spot.”

Her voice grew louder, crueler.

“I regret giving birth to you.”

I fell to my knees. “Mom!” I cried. “Chrissy is my husband’s new wife! Are you not hearing me or not?!”

She stared at me in silence for a long moment, then turned her back.

“Your father and I can’t accept you back into this house,” she said coldly. “You know what the society would say. And you know we are reputable people in this community.”

Her voice was final.

“Get your place back… then we can talk. Else, don’t call or visit me.”

The gate slammed shut in my face.

And with that, the last thread of love I was holding onto… snapped.

I staggered backward and collapsed onto the dirt road just outside the gate. My chest heaved with painful sobs, each one tearing me apart from the inside. I looked up at the sky, but it was empty. No stars. No comfort. Just darkness.

I wiped my face with shaking hands, dirt mixing with the salt of my tears.

I whispered to myself, voice cracking, “OMG… how much I hate you, Chrissy.”

Then I screamed it—to the heavens, to the earth, to the ghosts in the shadows: “I HATE YOU!”

I stood—slowly, shakily—shivering with rage, humiliation, and something new. Something unfamiliar.

Revenge.

A fire I had never known before lit up in my veins. I started walking again—no destination, no plan—just fury to guide me.

That’s when I heard it.

“Hey gorgeous!”

The voice sliced through the silence like a blade.

I turned slowly.

Three men leaned against a run-down van nearby, wearing cheap, brightly colored jumpsuits stained with oil and sweat. The sharp, pungent stench of alcohol hit my nose even before they fully approached.

“Oh my God, you are so fine,” one of them said, swaggering forward with a sick grin. “Let’s have a test.”

Another whistled crudely. “Which mode of payment do you prefer? Hmm?”

The third one cackled. “How much is your hourly charge, baby girl?”

My heart began to pound. I froze. My breath quickened. My legs—already weak and sore—refused to move.

“There she is,” one of them said, pointing straight at me. “The gorgeous lady of the hour—May.”

My stomach dropped.

How do they know my name?

Another one slurred, “The madam was spot on. She said you were a pretty face with a fire body… and that we’d find you here. Hehehe.”

Madam?

Who was this madam?

The man in the middle leaned in closer. His grin widened, more menacing than before.

“Guys, I think we should have our time with her before we discard her like she instructed.”

Discard.

That word echoed through my skull like a gunshot.

Discard?

As in… kill?

My body froze again. My thoughts spiraled into chaos.

Who is this madam? Who would want me dead?

Chrissy?

I backed away slowly, my heart thudding violently in my chest, ready to leap from my ribs.

But they kept coming.

Closer. Closer.