The world outside the estate gates felt different, crisp and clean, like a slate wiped bare. In the car, I pulled out my phone, scrolling through the news. My eyes widened. A headline screamed: "Cristy Taylor' s Career in Shambles: Actress Faces Public Humiliation After Compromising Information Leaked." The article detailed her past misdeeds, her manipulations, the sordid details of her life that I had ensured would be public knowledge. It even mentioned a disfiguring accident from an "unknown assailant." My lips curved into a thin, grim smile. I might not have killed her, but I' d done something far worse in her world. I' d destroyed her future. My revenge was never about taking a life; it was about destroying what was most precious to them. For Kane, it would be his reputation. For Cristy, her looks and her career.

The comment section was a chaotic mix.

"Well, that' s what happens when you mess with a Harvey. Anastasia doesn' t play nice."

"The rich are ruthless. But honestly, good for her. Don' t mess with a woman' s family."

"She should just divorce him and go find some hot young thing to keep her company. She' s too powerful for Kane anyway."

I let out a soft, bitter laugh. No, I wasn' t looking for a "hot young thing." And I certainly wasn' t looking for love. I had enough money. Love had only brought me pain.

My phone rang. It was Liam.

"Mrs. Powell, the divorce proceedings are officially underway. It will be finalized in one month."

"Good," I said, my voice calm.

There was a slight hesitation from Liam. "Mrs. Powell, I… I haven' t been able to confirm the biological father of your son yet. The lead went cold." He sounded genuinely apologetic.

"It' s fine, Liam," I said, my voice soft. "No need to pursue it further. In some ways, it' s better not to know. No messy entanglements. No one else to complicate my son' s life."

The call ended. I put my phone down, watching the world outside my window. But the news about Cristy quickly disappeared. The articles were pulled, the comments deleted, the hashtags scrubbed. Kane. He was protecting her again, even after all this. He' d gone completely silent for the past two weeks, no calls, no messages. He' d delegated all his company work, disappearing from the public eye alongside Cristy.

That night, after coaxing my son to sleep, I returned to my room. Just as I was about to turn out the light, a tall, dark silhouette stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. Kane.

"Why are you here, Kane?" I asked, my voice devoid of surprise. "Shouldn' t you be with your injured lover?"

He turned, his imposing figure casting a long shadow across the room. He moved towards me, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You went too far, Anastasia. What you did to Cristy… that was cruel."

My lips curled into a sneer. "Cruel? You come here to accuse me? After what you did? After what she did to my son?"

He flinched at the mention of our child, but his anger flared again. "You call that an act of mercy? Destroying a woman' s life just because she made a mistake?"

"Mistake?" I scoffed. "She manipulated a paternity test, Kane! She physically harmed our child! My son! My only child! And you stand there, defending her?"

His hand shot out, grabbing my wrist again, pulling me close. "You betrayed me, Anastasia! You carried another man' s child!" His voice was a low growl, filled with accusation.

A hot rage surged through me, eclipsing all pain. My free hand flew up, connecting with his cheek with a resounding slap. The sound echoed in the room.

My eyes burned, tears stinging, but I refused to let them fall. "I am innocent, Kane! I never betrayed you! You are the one who broke our vows, who shattered our family!"

He seemed taken aback by my force, by the raw emotion in my voice. His harsh grip softened, and he leaned in, his lips seeking mine. A twisted attempt at reconciliation, I knew. A way to smooth things over, to regain control. But his touch, his breath, filled me with utter disgust. His infidelity, the way he' d abandoned me, the coldness in his eyes-there was no coming back from that.

I bit down, hard, on his shoulder. He cried out, a sharp gasp of pain, but I held on, tasting blood. He struggled, trying to pull away, but I was beyond reason. This was not just anger; it was a desperate claw for dignity.

Just then, a small, tentative voice broke through my haze. "Kane?"

Cristy.

She stood at the doorway, her face still bandaged in places, her eyes wide and tearful as she looked at us, locked in our brutal embrace. She looked frail, vulnerable, the perfect damsel in distress.

Kane immediately pushed me away, his face a mask of panic. He rushed to Cristy, his arm around her, whispering apologies. "Cristy, darling, what are you doing here? You should be resting." He looked at me, then back at her, his eyes full of a sickening tenderness. "She' s leaving. We' ll talk later, Anastasia." He led Cristy away, his back to me, the two of them a picture of an intimate couple, leaving me standing there, feeling like the intruder.

I felt like an outsider in my own home, a third wheel in my own marriage. My phone buzzed. It was a message from Cristy. A photo of her clinging to Kane, his hand on her waist, and a text below: "He chose me, Anastasia. He' ll always choose me. You can' t win against this."

I stared at Cristy' s text, then at the photo of her clinging to Kane. A strange calm washed over me. It wasn' t the numbness of shock, but the tranquility of absolute certainty. There was no more fight left in me for him. When you' re truly disappointed, when you' ve scraped the bottom of the barrel of heartbreak, their petty provocations lose their sting. It merely confirmed what I already knew.

My thumb moved across the screen. "Keep him then," I typed, my fingers steady. "If he' s so easily swayed, he' s not worth fighting for. And if he comes to me in the middle of the night again, I' ll consider him diseased."

I clicked send, then watched the message deliver. Then, with a decisive flick, I turned off my phone, the screen going black. I walked back to my master bedroom, the one I used to share with Kane, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep. For the first time in weeks, I didn' t dream of betrayal or loss.

The next few days passed in a blur of quiet routine. My son' s gentle coos filled the house, a balm to my raw nerves. I focused on him, on myself, on building a new life. Five days later, I marked a swift, decisive line through the date on my calendar. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was the day. The final day before the divorce was official.

I woke up with a sense of impending freedom, a lightness I hadn' t felt in years. I stretched, then rose to check on my son. But as I approached the nursery, the nanny, a young woman named Clara, stepped in front of me, blocking the way.

"Mrs. Powell… I… I don' t think you should go in there right now." Her voice was a nervous squeak, her eyes darting away from mine.

My blood ran cold. "Clara, what is it?" My voice was sharp, immediate. I saw the fear in her eyes, the way she wrung her hands. Something was wrong.

"Open the door, Clara," I commanded, my voice laced with steel. "Now."

She hesitated, trembling. "I… I can' t, Mrs. Powell. Mr. Powell… he said…"

"Open it!" I roared, the sound echoing through the quiet hallway.

Liam, who had appeared silently behind me, moved swiftly. With a quiet click, the locked door swung open. The nursery was empty. The crib, the changing table, the soft blankets – all pristine, untouched. My son was gone.

A cold, gripping terror seized me. I spun on Clara, grabbing her collar, my grip tight. "Where is he?! Where is my son, Clara?!"

Her eyes welled with tears. "Mrs. Powell, I swear, I had no choice! Mr. Powell, he came… he took the baby. He promised he wouldn' t hurt him. He said if I didn' t let him, he' d ruin my life!" Her voice was a frightened sob.

I released her, my hands dropping to my sides. "You' re fired, Clara. Don' t bother coming back tomorrow." My voice was flat, emotionless.

Then, I turned to Liam. "No one, and I mean no one, gets through these gates again. Not Kane. Not anyone associated with him." My eyes burned with a new, fierce resolve. "And now, we' re going to get my son back."

I gathered my personal security team and drove immediately to the lavish villa Kane had bought for Cristy. I didn' t bother announcing my arrival. My men smashed through the gates, and we stormed the house.

The scene that greeted me was a sickening tableau of domestic bliss. Cristy sat on the sofa, a smug smile on her face, holding my son. Kane was next to her, laughing, his arm draped casually around her shoulders. They looked like a family. A perfect, twisted family.

My blood boiled. "Give me my son," I demanded, my voice cutting through their saccharine laughter.

Kane looked up, his eyes widening in surprise. "Anastasia? What are you doing here?" He saw my security detail, their faces grim, and his jaw tightened.

Cristy, still clinging to my baby, smirked. "Oh, Kane, darling, she' s so dramatic. Always making a scene. Don' t worry, I' ll take good care of our child." She emphasized "our," her eyes mocking me.

"Your child?" I scoffed, taking a step closer. "That' s my son. Give him to me now."

Kane, however, held up a hand. "Anastasia, calm down. Cristy and I have decided. Since he isn' t genetically mine, and you' re so… volatile, we' ll adopt him. He' ll take Cristy' s last name. We' ll be his godparents."

My mind reeled. His words struck me like a physical blow, each syllable a hammer against my skull. They would adopt my son? And I, his biological mother, would be reduced to a godparent? Because I had, supposedly, chosen to hurt Cristy, who was now 'unable to have children' after what I had done? My blood ran cold at the audacity, the sheer, unbridled cruelty of it.

"And we can always have a child of our own, Kane," Cristy added, her voice sugary sweet, her eyes still locked on mine in a malicious challenge. "A real family. A family you truly want."

I stumbled backward, the air knocked out of my lungs. His words, "a real family," echoed in my ears, making me feel like a ghost, an unwanted memory.

Cristy, sensing my shock, walked towards me, holding my son like a trophy. "He' s so sweet," she purred, her eyes gleaming with triumph. "And soon, he' ll call me Mama."

Disgust, hot and acrid, rose in my throat. "Give me my son, Cristy," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but laced with a threat that made even my security team stiffen.

She hesitated, her eyes flickering to my men, then back to my face. The sheer force of my rage, the unspoken promise of what I would do, finally broke her resolve. She reluctantly released my son into the waiting arms of my personal guard.

The moment my son was safe, my hand shot out. I grabbed a handful of Cristy' s hair, yanking her head back. Another searing slap echoed through the room. "Touch my son again, you vile creature, and I swear I will end your life."

She shrieked, trying to claw at me, but my grip was firm. I raised my hand again, ready to strike, when Kane lunged. He shoved me hard, sending me sprawling backward. I stumbled, barely catching myself before I fell.

He stood in front of Cristy, shielding her, his body a barrier between us. "That' s enough, Anastasia! You' ve done enough damage! You' re out of control!"

"Out of control?" I snarled, my voice shaking with fury. "You pushed me, Kane! You pushed me for her!"

"If you don' t like it, Anastasia, fine," he said, his voice cold and final. "I' ll just visit him alone. You don' t have to be present."

"No," I cut him off, straightening my clothes, my gaze fixed on him. "You won' t visit him alone. You won' t visit him at all. Ever again."

I turned, leaving him standing there with Cristy, a silent fury propelling me forward. My security team followed, my son safe in one of their arms. I got into my car, the roar of the engine a defiant scream. I looked at my son, sleeping peacefully in the backseat, his tiny face etched with innocence. A fierce protectiveness surged through me, mixed with a chilling determination.

I pulled out my phone, dialing Liam' s number. "Liam, is the divorce finalized tomorrow?"

"Yes, Mrs. Powell. First thing in the morning."

"Good," I said, my voice firm. "Prepare a press conference. I' m announcing it. And everything else."

I had never felt so utterly humiliated, so completely stripped bare. Every fiber of my being screamed in protest. I was Anastasia Harvey, heiress, business owner, a woman whose name commanded respect. Yet, in that villa, I had been Kane' s discarded wife, my dignity trampled for a conniving mistress.

Memories of a different life flickered through my mind. A life where I was cherished, protected. My father, with his booming laugh, always telling me I was his little queen. My mother, gentle and elegant, teaching me grace. My brother, mischievous and loyal, always having my back. They were all gone now, leaving me alone to face this public humiliation.

And Kane. The way he had pushed me, for her. The way he' d shielded Cristy, his eyes filled with a tenderness he' d once reserved for me. The image burned in my mind, a fresh wave of nausea rising in my throat.

Sleep wouldn' t come that night. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw him. Not the Kane of now, but the Kane of then. The young, ambitious man I' d fallen for, against all advice. My family, all my friends, had warned me. He was a social climber, they said, not good enough for a Harvey. But I had seen something in him, a spark, a drive, a raw ambition that matched my own. I had fought for him, even against my own family. I' d helped him navigate the cutthroat world of tech, using my connections, my knowledge, my family' s influence. I' d even faced down angry investors, putting myself in precarious situations, once nearly losing my life in a hostile takeover attempt that almost cost him everything. He' d had nothing then, no real power, no safety net. And I had never, not once, regretted it.

He' d changed. Eight years, power, and money had changed him. And now, he had found someone new to fill the void, someone who catered to his ego, someone who didn' t dare challenge him.

My phone rang, jarring me from my melancholic thoughts. Kane. My stomach churned. I hesitated, then answered, my voice sharp with exhaustion.

"What do you want, Kane?"

There was a long silence on the other end, then his voice, low and hesitant. "Anastasia… I… I know I messed up today."

I almost laughed. Messed up? He had betrayed me, humiliated me, pushed me, and now he was admitting he "messed up" ? It was vintage Kane. He never truly apologized. I didn' t want to hear it. "I' m hanging up, Kane."

"Wait!" he blurted out, his voice more urgent now. "I' m going to marry Cristy."

My mind went blank. The phone almost slipped from my trembling fingers. My son' s face flashed before my eyes, then Cristy' s triumphant smirk. Marry her? He was going to marry her?

A cold, raw fury gripped me. "Get out, Kane," I snarled, my voice shaking with a rage that bordered on madness. "Get out of my life! You disgust me!" I slammed the phone down, my fingers flying to his contact, blocking and deleting his number. But my hands still trembled, the echo of his words ringing in my ears.

I remembered our wedding day, the solemn vows, the promise of forever. "I, Kane, take you, Anastasia, to be my lawfully wedded wife, to have and to hold, from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death do us part." Lies. All lies.

I didn' t sleep at all.

The next morning, the news exploded. Cristy Taylor, the aspiring actress, had publicly announced her engagement. The groom was rumored to be a powerful tech CEO. Kane, of course.

The media, always hungry for scandal, flocked to Kane' s company press conference. I watched from afar, a grim satisfaction settling in my chest. He had allowed this, chosen this public spectacle.

Reporters swarmed him, their questions like daggers. "Mr. Powell, are the rumors true? Are you divorcing your wife, Anastasia Harvey, to marry Cristy Taylor?"

He stood stiffly at the podium, his face carefully composed. "I assure you, there is no truth to these rumors of divorce. The photos circulating are fabricated." He lied through his teeth, his eyes unwavering. Then, a dramatic pause. "However, I can confirm that Cristy Taylor is indeed an artist under my management, and we are planning a wedding. To someone who loves her."

The reporters shouted, a chaotic chorus of questions. "Who is it, Mr. Powell? Who are you marrying?"

He smiled blandly. "That is a private matter."

One brave reporter, sensing the hypocrisy, shouted, "Are you saying you' re in a polygamous marriage, Mr. Powell? You' re marrying Cristy Taylor while still married to Anastasia Harvey?"

Kane' s face darkened, his jaw clenching. "My assistant will handle your accreditation," he growled, a clear threat in his voice. He turned to leave, his patience clearly at an end.

But before he could escape, a reporter' s phone buzzed with an alert. "Mr. Powell! Anastasia Harvey just announced her divorce! On live television!"

Kane froze, his face draining of color. He spun around, his eyes wide with a desperate disbelief. "What are you saying?"

The reporter, a smug look on her face, showed him her phone. The screen displayed a news feed. There I was, calm and elegant, looking directly into the camera. My voice, clear and resonant, filled the air.

"I, Anastasia Harvey, formally announce the dissolution of my marriage to Kane Powell. The divorce decree has been finalized. Here is the official document, and here, my independent household registration." I held up the papers, my eyes sparkling with a freedom he would never understand. "And to all the eligible bachelors out there, know that I am now officially single and very much available for pursuit."