A few minutes later, the doors of the school building swung open again.

But it wasn't the same teacher from before. This time, it was Teresa Madron, the dean of admissions herself, walking straight toward me. Her face was cold as she handed me my marriage certificate.

"Ms. Willis, I'm sorry," she said flatly. "We just verified this through the official records. There's no trace of your marriage certificate in the government registry, which means it's invalid."

My mind exploded into static.

"That's impossible!" I shot back. "Richard and I got this seven years ago!"

Teresa gave me a tight, uncomfortable look. "But according to the system, Mr. Pascall's spouse isn't you."

The words weren't even cold yet before the other parents burst out laughing.

"Wow, did she seriously bring a fake certificate?"

"She must be desperate. Who tries to scam their way into a school?"

"No wonder she looks so plain. You can tell she doesn't belong here."

"Women these days will do anything just to marry rich."

And then Iris laughed. Not loudly, but just enough to slice right through me.

She brushed past my shoulder as if I were in her way and smiled sweetly at Teresa. "Sorry about that, Ms. Madron. She's just the nanny from my husband's family. She must've gotten confused and brought the wrong paperwork."

Then she gave me a sharp side-eye, pulled a folder out of her designer bag, and handed it over.

"This is the real marriage certificate for Richard and me, plus the official sponsorship paperwork for Tristan. Everything should be in order now, right?"

Something in me snapped. I lunged forward and snatched it out of Teresa's hands.

The piece of paper was stamped with an official seal. My hands shook as I looked at Richard and Iris's names, written in full.

And the date—seven and a half years ago.

It was six months before my wedding. Before the day Richard slipped a fake certificate into my hands and called me his forever.

I held the papers up, staring at Richard as if my whole world had just been turned upside down.

He finally dropped the act. His smile vanished, and his voice was cold and sharp. "Yvette, let's stop pretending. Iris is my legal wife. The certificate you're holding is fake."

"Fake…" The word tumbled out of me, broken and small. It felt as if the ground were tilting under my feet.

Around us, a crowd of parents had already gathered, whispering loud enough for me to hear every word.

"My, is this a wife catching the mistress in public?"

"She was a side chick for seven years, and she even had a kid? And now she's trying to force her way in? The nerve."

"Look at her plain outfit. She's nothing but a gold digger. Mr. Pascall probably got bored and moved on."

I turned toward Tristan, the boy I had carried for nine months and raised for six years. I was sure he'd be on my side.

But instead, Tristan hid behind Iris, peeking out just long enough to glare at me.

"You liar! So, you're not even Dad's wife! I always wished I had a mom like Mama Iris. She owns a big company, and she buys me whatever toys I want. And you, you just make me do homework. You don't give me anything."

Iris tightened her arm around him, smiling at me as if she'd already won.

Something inside me caught fire. I grabbed their marriage certificate and ripped it into pieces.

Richard's face went dark. "Yvette, are you out of your mind? You're jealous because you don't have it, so you destroy it? You’re acting like a petty townsfolk."

I froze where I stood, his words cutting straight through me.

The cold spread from my chest to my fingertips. Everything I had given him and every sacrifice I made for this family felt like the punchline of some cruel joke.

For years, he claimed he was too busy getting the company back on track, so I stayed home, raising our son and running the house, carrying the weight.

In public, he paraded me around to prove how "perfect" his life was, that he had a successful career and a happy little family. I had always played along, never once calling him out.

And all the while, he thought he could climb right over me and treat me as if I was disposable.

What he didn't know was that I wasn't just anyone. I was Yvette Willis, the head of the Willises, the richest family in all of Rendallton.

And Richard had just made the biggest mistake of his life.

I laughed at Richard. "You're calling me a petty townsfolk? You're basically insulting yourself."

My smile sharpened. "Don't forget, your dad handpicked me to be his daughter-in-law. You really wanna treat me like this?"

For a split second, panic flickered across his face. But just as quickly, he smoothed it over with a smug smirk.

"So what?" Richard sneered. "You really think that means I married you for love? Please. Don't flatter yourself."

Iris, standing there as if she owned the place, leaned in with her voice dripping sweet poison.

"Yvette, you can't blame Richard. You should blame yourself for being so naïve. A regular woman like you could never keep up with his ambition. Me? I can give him Poole Corporation's power, connections, and money. What do you have? Love?" She snorted. "That won't even buy you a cup of coffee."

Her words burned through me, making my whole body shake. My hand flew up, and I was ready to slap her across the face when Richard's hand clamped around my wrist. His grip was iron-tight, hurting me.

"Enough!" he snapped. "Yvette, stop embarrassing yourself here."

He shoved me hard. I stumbled back, my heel twisting, and I crashed onto the ground.

My palm scraped the rough floor, and fire shot through my hand.

Richard looked down at me coldly. "For Tristan's sake, I'll give you one last shred of dignity. But don't push me, or I won't hold back."

He turned away as if I was nothing, then he wrapped one arm around Iris's waist and held Tristan's hand.

Tristan's little face was glowing with excitement as the three of them walked through the school gates, looking like the perfect picture of a happy family.

I pressed my hands against the cold pavement, rage roaring inside me. I wasn't going to let any of them get away with this.

I forced myself up, only to see Iris dragging Tristan back toward me.

Then, with a loud smack, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. I hadn't even gotten steady before she hit me again, knocking me back to the ground.

"You home-wrecking tramp!" she screamed, her voice shrill and shaking with fury. "You deserve to be taught a lesson!"

My face throbbed, the taste of blood sharp on my tongue.

Then the kicks and punches started raining down—her fists, her heels, all of it landing on me again and again.

"I'll end this today!" Iris snarled. "I'll beat you until you stop ruining other people's marriages!"

I curled in on myself, gasping for air, too beaten down to fight back.

Meanwhile, Tristan clapped his hands and cheered her on. "Get her! Kill the witch! Go, Mama Iris!"

Something inside me cracked.

That was when my phone buzzed quietly in my pocket.

It was a message from Phil Curry.

[Everything's ready, Ms. Willis. Just say the word.]

I staggered to my feet, my eyes locking onto Iris as she bounced around, still fuming.

She saw me stand and snarled, lunging to yank at my hair. "How dare you look at me like that, you wench!"

I shoved her off and straightened my clothes, fixing my hair with calm, deliberate movements. Then I lifted my chin and stared her down, my gaze slicing through the crowd.

For a moment, Iris faltered. She actually took a step back.

But she caught herself, barking out another insult. "Don't act tough with me! If it weren't for Tristan's admission interview today, I'd really show you what happens when you cross me. Just you wait!"

With that, she grabbed Tristan's hand and stormed into the school building.

I looked down. Our marriage certificate was lying there, trampled under muddy heels.

It sat on the ground like a mirror of me—six years of giving everything for this family, only to be crushed.

I inhaled deeply, then pulled out my phone and called Phil.

"Brighton International Academy. Come and handle things now."

I ended the call and walked forward, ignoring the shocked whispers around me.

-

Inside the interview room, the air buzzed with fake cheer.

Hank Stone, the overweight principal, was practically groveling as he spoke to Richard and Iris.

"Mr. and Mrs. Pascall, don't worry. Your son is clearly brilliant. We'd be honored to have him at our school. I'll handle his admission paperwork personally."

Richard leaned back in his chair, soaking in the praise like a king on his throne.

Iris lifted her coffee cup, smirking at me as I stood in the doorway.

Hank picked up the stamp that would seal Tristan's acceptance. Just as he was about to press it down, his phone rang.

He answered it casually, but the longer he listened, the paler his face grew.

Sweat broke out on his forehead. His hand trembled as he stammered, "Y-yes… I understand. I'll take care of it right away!"