This time, Olivia actually lowered herself to explain. "Look, I should've handled things differently, but it was urgent. We could go back for the marriage registration another time, right? Tristan, we can still do it… Next Monday, you'll pick me up, and we'll get it done at the city hall."

Even in her apology, her voice carried that same heiress arrogance.

Once, I would've given in and pulled her into my arms. Burying my face in her neck, I would've murmured, "Don't ever do it again."

But now, my eyes were cold, and my tone carried a mocking edge as I said, "No need. The great Ms. Cruz doesn't crawl back to her ex, does she?"

It was the first time I had ever addressed her in such a distant tone. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she drew in a sharp breath and gripped the edge of the table as if to steady herself.

Her voice was trembling as she asked, "Tristan, are you going to break up with me over something so trivial?"

Trivial? What trivial stuff was she referring to? Was Mom's death a trivial thing too?

Rage surged through my chest, and the veins in my arms throbbed with fury. When I spoke, my voice came out low and sharp. "And what about you, Olivia? To this day, you've never asked about my mom."

She froze slightly and avoided my eyes. "Your mom is strong and healthy. Maybe even two Brads might not compare to her. But fine, if this is what it's about, I'll send her some supplements."

She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her tone sounding almost condescending as if she were bestowing a kind favor.

Her friends chimed in, "Be grateful that Olivia's being generous, Tristan. Those supplements cost a fortune. Your country-bumpkin mom could never dream of affording them."

I felt my throat tighten, and for a moment, I couldn't speak. It was almost laughable that even now, Olivia still thought Mom was after her money and status.

I remembered bringing Olivia home to meet Mom and how she had shown up empty-handed. At the time, I told myself she was just unbothered, but later, I learned she looked down on me and distrusted Mom.

I later heard her friends mocking Mom behind my back. "She's full of lies. If she did have heart problems, she wouldn't have lived this long."

"Tristan's probably just pushing his mom to fake a heart illness so that he can guilt you into marrying him. Don't fall for it, Olivia."

And Olivia believed them.

When Mom was alive, she had given those supplements to the same bunch of friends. And now that Mom was gone, it was laughable that she was eagerly handing them over.

"No need," I said flatly.

Suddenly, Brad screamed. Olivia instinctively rushed to his side, looking all worried and concerned. "What's wrong?"

He pointed, wide-eyed, at my mother's portrait and urn and asked in a trembling voice, "Why is there an urn here? Could your mom be—"

"No way!" Olivia snapped as an ominous feeling crept up in her chest.

People would often believe whatever let them sleep at night. If she had ever stopped to think about why Mom often struggled to breathe around her and why heart medication was scattered all over our house, she would've known Mom had a failing heart.

One of her so-called friends just sneered, "I bet Tristan held the funeral for his mom just to win Olivia back. Pathetic."

"That's such a disgusting move! Watch out for karma, Tristan!"

They stared at me like I was filth, and even Olivia's expression hardened. "I never thought you'd stoop this low. If your mom sees…"

"She won't," I said, closing my eyes as my temples throbbed.

Noticing the solemn look on my face, she immediately softened. "Tristan…"

But I was done and wanted nothing more to do with them. All I wanted was to take Mom's urn out of here, so I picked it up and declared, "Since none of you will leave, I will."

"Still putting on a show, huh?" Olivia sneered.

At her signal, her friends closed in, while Brad snatched the urn from me. Then, he leaned close and muttered, "You don't have to go this far, Tristan. You could've saved those flowers outside for your mom, who spent her whole life pretending to be sick. Maybe they'll come in handy when she dies one day."

I hysterically fought back and tried to swing my fist at him, only to be held back by his friends. "I'll kill you!"

"Oops!" Brad dropped the urn, which hit the floor with a dull crack and spilled white ashes across the floor. Then, he pressed his hands together in mock apology, though his words seemed to imply that I was putting on an act.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to knock over your milk powder. But it won't go to waste. I'll give it to Butter so that it can serve its actual purpose."

Butter was his favorite pet Doberman.

Blood froze in my veins, and a scream tore from my throat. "What are you doing!"

Off to the side, Olivia coldly chimed in, "Sounds fine to me. Even if we have money, we cannot waste food carelessly."

I turned to her and almost begged, "Please, Olivia, I'm begging you…"

But she smirked and seemed unfazed. "Keep acting, Tristan. Let's see how far you'll take it."

Something inside me snapped after hearing that. I could almost taste blood in my mouth as I yelled, "You'll regret this, Olivia!"

"Look, he's even doing the bitter act. Pretty convincing, huh?" Someone nearby snorted, which immediately shattered her hesitation.

I watched, frozen, as Brad poured warm water into the ash and stirred. Butter dipped its head and tentatively tasted the mixture.

"No!" My heart tightened as if seized by a pair of massive, invisible hands—so much so that I could barely breathe.

Breaking free from the hands holding me, I slammed my fist into Brad's face and screamed like a madman, "That's my mom's ashes! You monster! I'll kill you!"

Tears streamed down my face as I slammed him to the ground and pummeled him with everything I had until hands dragged me off. Even then, my eyes burned red with hatred as they fixed on the couple.

"You've lost your damn mind, Tristan! How dare you hurt Brad over some milk powder?"

Shocked, Olivia checked Tristan's body for injuries and never bothered to ask if I was hurt.

My eyes were bloodshot, and my voice sounded hoarse as I hissed, "I regret ever loving you, Olivia. If I had known it'd cost my mom, I'd rather have never met you."

Halfway through dabbing at the blood on Brad's lips, she froze before turning around to mock. "If you won't stop with this act, I don't mind marrying someone else."

I cried until my tears turned into broken laughter, and my eyes fixed on Olivia with pure bitterness.

"I hate you, Olivia," I growled in a raw, drained voice. "I hate you so much."

Her patience snapped. "Enough! You can stop pretending now…"

Before she could finish, one of her friends—Daniel Campbell—stepped forward with a document. He hesitantly said, "Olivia, I found a death certificate. Tristan's mom… I think she's really dead."