When Jonathan saw the smile playing on my lips, he gritted his teeth and snarled, "Is it that hard for you to just stay by my side? And is it that hard for you to tolerate Charlotte? No matter how wild she and I get, you'll still always be my wife."

I turned my head away. "I had to go through all of this torture just so you could keep me in this position of being your wife. If you think it's such a good deal, you might as well give the title to her."

My words made Jonathan's expression twist. He suddenly grabbed my chin and forced me to look up at him. "What did you just say? Say it again. Do you really think that I'll let you go if you keep talking like this?"

I stared straight into his eyes and enunciated, "I said, I don't care about being Mrs. Fowler."

Before he could respond, an anxious female voice came from outside the room, "Mallory, the doctor told me you're awake!"

Charlotte rushed in and dropped into the chair beside my bed, frowning as she looked me up and down. Tears started rolling down her cheeks in an instant. "I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

Even I was thrown for a second as I watched her cry. How could she look so much like me even when crying?

The very next second, Jonathan walked over to her and started soothing her. "Don't be scared. She's fine. She just needs a few days of rest."

She leaned into his chest without missing a beat. "You have no idea what people online have been saying about me these past few days. They're calling me a murderer and saying Mallory doesn't have long to live. I've been so scared that I couldn't sleep. I rushed over here as soon as I heard."

Before she could get any further, the door to the hospital room was suddenly slammed open from the outside. A swarm of reporters poured in with cameras and mics, flashes exploding in my face like fireworks. The light was so harsh I couldn't even open my eyes.

"Ms. Silva, is it true that Charlotte pushed you down the stairs?"

"Rumor has it you were locked up in a psychiatric hospital for three years. Is that true?"

The questions crashed over me like waves. On instinct, I raised an arm to shield my eyes. The movement tugged at the wounds that still hadn't healed, and a sharp pain shot through me. Cold sweat broke out across my skin.

Jonathan immediately stepped in front of me, blocking their view. "Who let you in here? Get out!"

Charlotte shrank back behind him, putting on a look of pure panic. But when I turned to glance at her, I caught the brief triumphant curl of her lips.

The reporters ignored Jonathan completely. They only pressed in closer, practically shoving their mics into my face.

"Ms. Silva, please say something!"

I leaned back against the bed, my face deathly pale and expressionless. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jonathan turn toward me, his gaze full of warning.

I lowered my eyes. Home was finally within reach. I didn't want to be entangled with him anymore. So, I drew a deep breath and lifted my head to speak.

"What happened that day was an accident. I lost my balance. It had nothing to do with Ms. Stewart."

The room instantly erupted. The reporters clearly didn't buy it and only came at me harder.

"But the surveillance footage clearly shows Charlotte making a pushing motion at the time!"

"Ms. Silva, are you being threatened into saying this?"

Jonathan opened his mouth, but before he could get a word out, Charlotte suddenly broke away from behind him. She rushed to my bedside and grabbed my hand, squeezing so hard that my knuckles ached.

Her eyes were rimmed red, and tears trembled on her lashes. "Mallory, I know you hate me, but how can you do this to me? I never once blamed you for pushing me down the stairs back then. Why won't you just tell the reporters the truth?"

I was taken aback, and so were the reporters.

Charlotte yanked up her sleeve, revealing a large patch of purple bruises on her arm. "I know you love Jon, and you hate that I'm always around him. But I never once thought about stealing him from you. Why do you have to push me this far? Why do you want me dead?"

She sobbed so hard she could barely breathe.

Jonathan quickly strode forward to hold her up, his brows drawn tight.

I opened my mouth, but it felt like a hand had clamped around my throat. I couldn't make a sound. I barely had the strength to stand, let alone shove her. How could I have pushed her?

But the reporters now had their cameras pointed straight at me. The sympathy in their eyes turned into suspicion.

"Ms. Silva, is what Charlotte said true?"

"Did you frame her on purpose because you were jealous?"

"Are you dealing with some kind of serious psychological problem?"

The flashes went off in a rapid-fire crackle, every question stabbing into me like a knife. I looked at Jonathan.

He was staring down at Charlotte, who was crying in his arms. Then, he lifted his head and glanced at me, his eyes icy cold. "Mallory, you've gone too far."

I couldn't be bothered to explain anymore. I lowered my gaze and said quietly, "Think whatever you want."

But Charlotte refused to let the matter slide. She spoke up, her voice full of wounded grievance, "Mallory, if you're upset, you can take it out on me. Just don't lie with all the reporters here. What will Jon think of me after this? What will the whole country think of me?"

As she spoke, her knees suddenly buckled, and she collapsed.

Jonathan reacted quickly and caught her in his arms, his expression changing instantly. "Lottie? Lottie!"

He scooped her up and strode out of the room. He paused at the doorway and said, "When Lottie wakes up, I'll have someone send you back to the psychiatric hospital."

The reporters frantically pressed their shutters, trying to capture every second of this circus.

I didn't cry or kick up a fuss. I just lay there, staring quietly up at the ceiling.

It was fine. Nothing mattered as long as I could go home. Everything that happened here would stay here.