I fell in love with the nanny's son. After boldly pursuing him, he reluctantly agreed to marry me. But I never expected his young lover to storm into my home like a madwoman, prying my mouth open to pour scalding water down my throat, pressing me into a sink full of dirty water, and finally pushing me down the stairs. My husband stood by my hospital bed, looking at my broken body with disdain.
"Irene, every moment with you makes me sick," he spat, barely able to hide his impatience for my death.
Yet, when I finally died, he sobbed uncontrollably in public, playing the role of the devoted, heartbroken husband.
"Irene, don't leave me! You have no idea how much I wanted to die with you!"
At that, I spoke softly from behind him.
"Is that so?"
I was focused on studying a nutritional recipe when a sudden knock at the door startled me.
It was probably the grocery delivery I had ordered half an hour ago.
"Just leave it by the door," I called out, opening the door and turning back inside without a second thought.
The door slammed shut behind me.
"Are you Irene Vingate?" A woman's voice, filled with fury, erupted behind me.
Confused, I turned around to see a woman dressed in a delivery uniform, her eyes blazing with hatred.
"Who are you?" I asked, realizing she had nothing in her hands and was not the delivery driver I had expected.
As I noticed the closed door, a wave of fear washed over me.
I spun around and rushed toward the kitchen, intending to grab my phone and call my husband, Harrison Maddox, for help.
Before I could reach it, a strong hand yanked my hair, sending pain shooting across my scalp as I was thrown to the floor. She climbed on top of me and slapped my face so hard that stars burst in my vision.
"You spoiled witch! Don't think your privileged upbringing will let you have it all forever," she snarled. "Your good days are over!"
Dazed, I tried to comprehend what was happening, but she slapped me repeatedly, each strike ringing in my ears.
"So, you're the little princess of the Vingate family, huh? Listen well. The one Harrison really loves is me. You're nothing but a nuisance. When I'm done with you, he'll marry me!" she threatened.
Growing up, I had always been sheltered and cherished by my parents. I had never even argued with anyone, let alone fought.
Now, pinned down by this furious stranger, I couldn't muster an ounce of strength to fight back.
But the slaps weren't enough for her. She grabbed my hair and slammed my head against the wall.
"Harry only told me to get rid of you. He didn't say how," she hissed. "I hate people like you, born with everything handed to them. Let's see if you can feel pain—if you'll scream like an animal!"
Her round, doll-like face twisted into a mask of rage, eyes glinting darkly.
The throbbing pain at the back of my head made my vision blur, and I was on the verge of blacking out.
Yet, clinging to the last shreds of consciousness, I managed to stammer, "W-Who are you? Why do you say my husband wants me dead?"
She scoffed as if she had heard something hilariously absurd.
"Husband? You stole my Harry, and now you have the nerve to call him that? Don't think that being married makes you anything but the other woman! My name is Giselle Tanner, and I was with him first," she spat.
Through her enraged rants, I pieced together the story.
Her name was Giselle Tanner, someone Harrison had met during college while working part-time. She had confessed her love, and they had been together for years. Even when Harrison married me, they had not broken up.
"Harry said you forced him into it! You wretch! You shameless woman! Using your money to tear us apart!" she shrieked.
I could not believe her story. Taking advantage of her rant, I reached desperately for my phone and dialed Harrison's number.
When she noticed, panic flashed across her face, and she lunged for the phone.
But seeing that I had not called the police, only my husband, she burst into mocking laughter, clutching her stomach as she did.
"Harry was right. You really are stupid. I told you he sent me, and you still don't believe it?" she said, grabbing my phone and dialing him repeatedly.
"Let's see if your so-called husband will come to your rescue," she said, eyes glistening with sadistic glee.
Five calls—no answer.
Hope drained from me, leaving only a hollow ache.
Giselle watched my face with satisfaction. "Idiot. Since you're going to die, I'll let you in on something. Why do you think the Vingate estate, usually bustling with staff, is empty today? How did I know today was the perfect day to get in without any trouble?"
Memories of the previous night flooded back…
For the first time in ages, Harrison gave me a gift.
"I'm sorry I missed your birthday, honey. I hope you like this," he said, offering me a diamond necklace.
His uncharacteristic tenderness made my heart flutter as I accepted the gift.
He mentioned how the house staff had been making us feel distant and suggested I give them a holiday so we could spend some quality time alone.
I was thrilled, so I handed out generous bonuses and sent everyone home for the week. Then, I meticulously selected ingredients online, researching recipes he liked.
In the kitchen, I even blushed at the thought of him approaching me with that rare affection.
-
But now, it all clicked. It had been a trap.
My mind raced, trying to pinpoint where I had gone wrong. But there was no time to dwell.
Giselle, now fully recovered, grabbed my hair again and dragged me into the kitchen, shoving my head into a sink full of water and vegetables.
The suffocating feeling hit me like a wave, triggering my survival instinct.
I thrashed desperately, but Giselle pinned me down with relentless force.
"Irene, at least I'm kind enough to let you die knowing why. For years, you forced yourself on my man, making me, his true love, live in the shadows. Today, we settle this!" Giselle hissed.
Just as I thought the water would claim my last breath, Giselle yanked me up by my hair.
"We, the ones who truly love, are destroyed by people like you wealthy types. Don't think you'll die so easily!"
With that, she dunked my head under the water again, repeating the torture until I was limp, too weak to resist.
When my fight had completely drained away, she picked up a fruit knife from the nearby cutting board.
Her eyes glistened with malice as she met my horrified gaze. "I'll ruin that pretty face of yours so that even your corpse makes him want to vomit!"
The knife slashed down, and my skin tore, sharp pain searing through me and stealing my breath. My feeble cries only fueled her twisted satisfaction.
"That fragile little whimper of yours. Ugh, disgusting," Giselle mocked. "No wonder Harry stopped visiting me for so long. You must've seduced him with that voice. You vixen. Even in death, I'll make sure you're silenced forever!"
She grabbed a kettle of scalding water and forced my mouth open, pouring the boiling liquid down my throat.
The sensation was like embers scorching my mouth and searing my throat. I choked on the agony, unable to make a sound, every nerve ablaze.
As I flailed, my fingers brushed against a small, handmade pouch hanging from her waist. I tore it away without thinking. The moment I saw it, a fury like no other overtook me.
Before this, I might have chalked up Giselle's actions to a madwoman's fit. But this pouch confirmed the truth of her words. It was one I had sewn myself for Harrison.
Bloodied and trembling, I stared at her with eyes burning red, my throat gurgling in fragmented moans.
Giselle's grin widened when she noticed the pouch. "Oh, this? It's your handiwork, isn't it? Such ugly stitching."
I had never been good at crafts. Inspired by a historical drama, I once decided to sew a pouch for the man I loved, trying to imitate ancient women who expressed their affection with handmade gifts.
My fingers had been pricked and bloodied countless times in the process. But who could have known that Harrison would give it away? And to this monster torturing me?!
Seeing my doubt, Giselle pulled out her phone and played a voice message. It was Harrison's smooth, deep voice.
"Gigi, if you don't like the pouch, just throw it away. It's ugly and unlucky. That woman is so stupid. She couldn't even do a simple craft. When she gave it to me, her hands were covered in needle pricks. Not like my Gigi, who's clever, resourceful, and capable of running a household perfectly."
There were more messages, each one filled with syrupy sweetness and sneering comparisons.
Giselle, thrilled by my torment, kept playing them one by one.
Pain roared through my mind, drowning out everything else. My head pounded, unable to absorb any more.
Moments before consciousness slipped away, Giselle, bored now, dragged my limp body to the balcony.
"Die already. That's the fate of a mistress who dares play innocent, you wretch!"
-
When I woke, I thought I was dead. But the sterile smell of disinfectant and the murmur of doctors and nurses around me told me otherwise.
"Doctor, my wife… is she going to be okay?" Harrison's voice, choked with emotion, came from somewhere nearby.
The doctor patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Mr. Maddox, I'm so sorry. We did all we could, but your wife's injuries were extensive."
"Is there really nothing else you can do?" His tone sounded sincere, full of grief.
The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid she won't be able to live a normal life."
As the doctor turned to leave, I struggled to move, to catch his attention, to shout for help—anything to tell him what the man by my bedside had done.
But Harrison, always quick to act, escorted the doctor out and intercepted him the moment he paused at the sound of my movement.
"Thank you. I'll take care of her," he said, his voice steady.
I tried to fight, but Giselle, lurking nearby, pressed hard on my cracked wounds.
"If you struggle again, I promise life will be worse than death for you," she warned and ground her hand into my injury, igniting fresh waves of pain.
A moment later, Harrison returned to my side.
I stared at him, disbelieving. We had been together for three years, married for two. How could I have missed this depth of his hatred?
Noting my bewildered gaze, he dropped the mask of his usual polite smile. His eyes darkened, cold and unforgiving, emanating a suffocating terror.
"Irene, you are truly loathsome," he spat.
