004

Jasmine's Pov. 

Enoch’s fist slammed against the table with a deafening crack. “How dare you accuse her? I told you to reflect on yourself. Apologize. Now, or face the consequences!”

Something inside me snapped and the disbelief bled into ice. 

“Consequences? You should be the one afraid of the consequences of your actions!” 

Melody scoffed. “Afriad? Have you forgotten that he's now the leading tech master in the tech industry?”

“Yes,” I said flatly, my voice sharp as glass. “You left him stranded at the altar and came back crawling the second you heard he's rich. I was the one who stood by him, when you disappeared and you dare lecture me about consequences?!”

They looked surprised for a moment, then burst into a fit of laughter. “You stood by him? Don't make me laugh! You're nothing but a servant house wife who has never made a cent! You only have a roof over your miserable head because of Enoch. Face it, Jasmine, you need to wake up.” Melody sneered. 

I looked past her towards Enoch. “I'll sign the divorce papers, but it would be on my terms!”

Without another word, I pivoted sharply and walked out, my steps steady despite the storm inside. Enough of allowing them to trample on me. Enough of being their doormat. 

Derek was waiting in the car. His eyes widened at my expression. “You were eager to come here a minute ago, but now you look… dangerous and scary, just like the sister I used to know before she got married. What happened?”

“Nothing,” I said, my voice cold. “Take me to San Francisco's top realtor. Now.”

“Is 1025 Pacific Heights Boulevard on the market?” I asked the realtor the moment I stepped into his glass-walled office. 

He blinked, clearly surprised at my directness before he keyed in something on his computer. “The Smith residential and family house? It not—”

“Well, I want it to be,” I cut him off. “Make it available.”

“Oh-okay, but it will be… quite expensive. The owners have refused several offers already.”

“I'm not here to negotiate,” I cut in again, sliding my black card across the gleaming desk. “I'm here to buy. Full price. Cash. Draw up the paperwork and have it ready in an hour.”

The realtor's eyes widened, his professional mask slipping for half a second before he snatched up the card. “Of course, Mrs Smith—”

“Not for long,” I interrupted smoothly, my voice like shards of glass. “And don't you dare call them to warn them, or consider yourself out of job as long as San Francisco is concerned. I want this sealed before they can blink.”

He wanted to retort at my threat, but the name on my golden card shut him up, eyes widening in fear.

He swallowed and nodded. “I understand.”

Within the hour, the Smith's family home—a two story mansion of glass and cream stone with sweeping views of the bay—was mine. No hesitation. No mercy. Every signature was a nail to the coffin of the life they'd stolen from me. 

Five days later, I sauntered into the Smith's residence like a queen returning to her stolen throne, dressed in elegant custom made dress and in heels that clicked like a slow, deliberate countdown to their ruin. 

“You stupid girl,” Samantha's shrill voice carried through the room, but unlike before, it was like a buzz to my ear. “Took you long enough! Where the hell have you been? That's besides the point. Now that you're here, I want you to go straight to the kitchen to make us breakfast,” she ordered. 

I paused to look at her with an air of condescension, like an ant. “What are those at your side?”

Surprise flickered on her already wrinkling face. I had never talked back to her before. “My hands?”

“Yes, your hands. Go fix yourself something to eat. Or you can starve to death.” 

Samantha’s face became frozen with even more shock. But this was only the beginning. 

“And how dare you talk to my mother in that manner?!” Came Enoch's cold voice as he walked down the stairs hand in hand with Melody, a glass of juice in her hand. “We're not yet divorced. You're still the Smith's family daughter-in-law. So, if my mother wants you to cook, then you cook!”

I smirked, savoring the shift in power. How the prey has wandered straight into the predator's trap. 

“Your sweetheart is back, isn't she?” I asked, my voice a blade wrapped in velvet. “She has hands, just like your mother. Let her cook for you.”

If no one else misses my meals, I knew Samantha would. Back then, I used to plan every dish because she's diabetic and I've heard stories of how Melody never cooked. 

Enoch eyes raked my body and a flicker of something he didn't want to admit crossed his eyes. “Look, I'll let this slide because you've finally come back to your senses...” He walked melody to take a seat with rare gentleness. “...to apologize to Melody.” 

I turned my head slowly, meeting his gaze with the calm of a storm moments before it breaks. “Back to my senses?” My lips turned into a cold smirk. “Yes, I did come back to my senses.”

His brows knitted into a frown. “And what's that supposed to mean?”

Instead of answering, I pulled out a white envelope from my bag and slapped it against his chest with a satisfying ‘thwack.’ “It means I'm done with this farce of a marriage. Sign it.”

Enoch stared at the papers, shock flickering in his eyes. He thought I had come to beg. 

Samantha stepped forward, lips curling with delight. “Finally. Sign it, Enoch and let the leech go!”

On the seat, Melody's smirk spread like poison. “Yes baby. Mother is right. And look, our baby just kicked. Think she agrees with us too.”

“Fine, I'll sign it. But I promise you. You'll crawl back on your knees, Jasmine.”

A mocking laugh slipped from my throat. “No, Enoch. You'll regret it. Everything you are today, everything you own, exists because of me!”

“Say. That. Again,” he threatened with clenched teeth.