That night, I thought Ryland would not come back.

But in the dead of midnight, he returned, carrying a heavy stench of alcohol.

I sat on the living room sofa and tended to the gash on my arm with a cotton swab and iodine.

He stumbled in, and when his gaze fell on the shocking blood mark on my arm, his whole body froze.

He reached out, as if to touch my wound, but his fingertips trembled and pulled back just an inch from my skin.

"Why... why did it have to be Theo..." He gripped my shoulders with a force that nearly crushed my bones.

In his eyes, I saw a vulnerability I had never witnessed before, tears blurring his vision uncontrollably.

The next second, his tall frame collapsed forward, and he buried his head in the crook of my neck, his voice choked beyond recognition. "Elena, I'm sorry... I did not mean it... I did not want to hurt you..."

He held me tight, as if clutching a priceless treasure.

I did not move, nor did I respond.

Soon enough, overcome by his heavy intoxication, he slumped onto the sofa and passed out.

I looked at his sleeping profile and, moments later, slipped his car keys from the inside pocket of his suit jacket.

That Bentley had struck me as off from the day of the crash.

But Ryland insisted I was too sensitive and refused to let me dig further.

I took the keys without a second thought.

That very night, I drove the car to a private repair shop I had arranged in advance, one utterly trustworthy.

The mechanic was a friend of my college senior, whom I roused from sleep, yet he raised no objection.

I handed him the keys, my voice steady. "Spare no expense, inspect the brake system, check every inch inside and out."

At four in the morning, the sky still dark.

I received a call from the mechanic, his voice gravely serious on the line. "Mrs. Payne, this car's brake fluid line shows signs of deliberate sabotage with a high-strength corrosive agent. This tampering was extremely subtle, hidden on the inner side of the line joint, invisible in a standard inspection. But under high-speed driving or sudden braking in the rain, the line would burst from the instant pressure, causing the brakes... to fail completely."

A thunderous roar echoed in my mind.

In a flash, every deliberately buried detail, every doubt I had overlooked, linked into a crystal-clear chain.

Two years ago, on that night of pouring rain, I drove Ryland's car to bring Theo home from the old estate, and on the road, to dodge a truck that veered out suddenly, I slammed on the brakes...

But the pedal sank like stepping into cotton, utterly unresponsive.

Everyone called it an accident, my mishandling in the storm, my fault that killed Theo.

It was no accident at all!

That Bentley was Ryland's usual ride.

Only that day, my own car broke down for some unknown reason and went to the shop.

Ryland happened to switch to a Rolls-Royce that day, so I borrowed the Bentley.

When I drove to the estate, the rain had not started yet, so I noticed nothing wrong with the brakes.

During that period, the only one who could access his private car frequently without raising suspicion, aside from the driver, was his most trusted and intimate personal secretary, Jolie.

I finally understood why, over these two years, her glances at me always carried that faint trace of pity and mockery.

She mocked me for not even knowing how my own son truly died.

I drew a deep breath and swallowed the metallic tang rising in my throat, then dialed a number. "Investigate Jolie Hayes for me, all her bank transactions and communication records from two years ago, I want her to pay in blood."

The next morning, I stormed into Ryland's office with the brake inspection report printed overnight and a dossier on suspicious fund flows.

He sat behind his massive desk, his face still etched with the exhaustion of a hangover, and when he saw me enter, a flicker of guilt over my arm wound crossed his eyes instinctively.

That guilt now seemed utterly mocking.

I gave him no chance to speak and strode forward to slam the two documents down on his desk with force.

"Ryland, look closely."

Ryland's face flashed with displeasure, but when he saw the title of the document, shock overtook his features.

He snatched the brake inspection report and scanned it rapidly, his complexion draining to pallor inch by inch.

"Absurd!" He slammed the report down on the desk, "Elena, to divorce me, have you sunk so low as to fabricate evidence against Jolie? Have you gone mad!"

His voice brimmed with rage, yet I clearly saw his fingers tremble as he clutched the report.

He was afraid.

He refused to believe it.

On one side stood ironclad proof, on the other, his so-called debt to a dead friend's grace.

At that moment, a gentle knock sounded at the office door. "Ryland, these need your signature..."

Jolie entered in a professional skirt suit, arms full of files.

When she spotted the scattered papers on the desk and my icy stare, her words cut off abruptly.

She caught sight of those glaring words on the inspection report, her face turned ashen at once, her body swaying as if about to collapse. "Brake... fluid line... sabotage?"

She murmured to herself, tears tumbling like beads from a snapped string, "What... what is this? Ryland, I had no idea... How could I harm you... Theo... I always treated Theo like my own child..."

As expected, the scales in Ryland's heart tipped completely.

He lunged forward in one stride and shielded the trembling Jolie behind him. "Enough! Elena! Jolie's husband died saving me, that is a debt I owe their family! I will not allow you to slander her like this!"

His chest heaved violently, pain and helplessness nearly spilling from his eyes. "Do you know this hurts me too!"

Hurt?

I watched him cradle the killer of our son so protectively, and my heart felt like it was being sawed by a dull blade over and over.

So, his so-called debt outweighed the life of our own flesh and blood.

The "hurt" he spoke of was just an excuse for his own stupidity and cowardice.

Jolie hid in Ryland's arms and lifted her tear-streaked face, casting me a glance so subtle no one else would notice.

That look held none of her usual fragility or pretense, only raw triumph from the victor.

In that instant, a sweet metallic surge rose in my throat, nearly making me retch blood.

"Ryland," I heard my own voice, cold as if dragged from the depths of hell, "you will regret this."

He seemed startled by the dead emptiness in my eyes, but the woman's sobs in his arms steeled his resolve once more.

"Security!" He barked into the intercom with icy command, "Escort Mrs. Payne out."

Two burly security guards entered swiftly and seized my arms, one on each side.

"Ryland, let me go!" I thrashed against their hold, my nails digging deep into my palms.

Yet he refused to glance my way again and issued his final warning in a frozen tone. "Elena, I warn you, if you harass Jolie once more, I will personally commit you to an asylum."

The guards hauled me away and escorted me out of the Payne Group building.

Standing beneath the skyscraper, I finally grasped the truth completely.

Pinning hopes on Ryland led nowhere but death.

This path to vengeance for Theo, from this day forward, I would walk alone.

I pulled out my phone and dialed the police.

Yet I still underestimated Ryland's resolve to shield Jolie.

He had already called in favors at every precinct, and they refused to take the case.

As I stood in despair outside the station, a breaking financial news segment on a nearby street screen jolted my pupils wide.

In the footage, Jolie wore a simple white dress and subtle makeup while fielding questions from dozens of reporters.

Her eyes swelled red, her voice choked, as she played the innocent victim to perfection. "I do not know why Elena turned on me like this... Ryland's son was family to me too... I know she grieved Theo deeply, but she cannot let her mental fog turn into this mad hatred unleashed on me..."

In just a few sentences, she branded me the deranged widow gone feral from child loss.

Then another headline surged to the top. "Jolie's Son Bullied at School, Suspected Fallout from Mrs. Payne's Breakdown"

The report claimed Jolie's boy Max faced whispers and exclusion at his elite academy, classmates calling his mother the killer of their peer.

A candid video filled the screen, showing Jolie clutching Max and weeping to Ryland. "Ryland, I can take anything, but Max is innocent! Elena's illness... It has already hurt the child..."

In the video, Ryland enveloped Jolie and the boy, his face etched with guilt and heartache.

I watched and shook from head to toe.