I lowered my head in silence. I hadn't forgotten.

It had been a brush with death. Bertram and I had gone skiing in Switzerland over the holidays when an avalanche hit. We were buried beneath the snow for three days and three nights.

During those three days, he held me tight against his chest. He stripped off his own clothes to keep me warm. Every scrap of food went to me.

He'd said, "Cheryl, if I don't make it out of here, I want you to remember me for the rest of your life. Don't you dare find another man."

By some miracle, the rescue team found us.

But after we got back, the doctor told me that the prolonged exposure to freezing temperatures had most likely left me unable to conceive.

"Go get changed. I'll take you out tonight, clear your head."

His voice softened. He stood and crossed the room, blocking my path. "Come on, Cheryl. I'll move back in tonight."

He leaned close to my ear and murmured, "Your period just ended, didn't it?"

Then he kissed my forehead and walked out.

He didn't know that after giving birth, periods don't come back right away.

The moment the door clicked shut, my phone rang.

On the other end, I could hear the baby crying.

The man on the line chuckled softly. "He's saying he misses his mommy."

"When will the divorce be finalized? If he won't agree, I can step in and handle it."

I turned him down. "That won't be necessary. Soon. The lawyer says a week at most."

If he got involved, it would cause another citywide scandal.

I refused to go to the party with Bertram.

He left with a flash of anger in his eyes. "Cheryl, you're getting more and more disobedient. Suit yourself."

But that evening, while packing my things, I realized the identity documents were with Bertram. I had no choice but to go find him.

Inside the private room.

"Haven't you gotten bored yet, Mr. Edwards? Cheryl Henson is just some nobody from the sticks. Don't tell me you actually caught feelings."

I was about to push the door open.

Bertram's voice carried through. "Bored? Of course I'm bored. Why do you think I keep swapping them out, one after another?"

"How else could I have lasted five years?"

I froze.

This was the fourth year of my marriage to Bertram. By my count, we were one week shy of five.

Laughter and agreement rippled through the room. All of them were Bertram's usual crowd.

"Cheryl Henson? She's nothing but a little toy Mr. Edwards picked up on a whim."

"'The nation's purest beauty'? Please. She was entertainment. And she actually believed she was the Edwards family's young wife?"

"If Mr. Edwards hadn't bet me he could bag this so-called purest beauty and keep her playing the dutiful Mrs. Edwards for five whole years, would she ever have had the chance to sit at the same table as us?"

A woman's flirtatious giggle cut through, followed by a chorus of jeers.

"Come on, Mr. Edwards. You're the one who took Rachel's virginity. The least you can do is treat her right."

"Thirteen rounds tonight might not be enough, huh?"

The woman's voice turned syrupy and coy. "Oh, stop it..."

I pushed the door open. The room went dead silent.

The woman perched on Bertram's lap was Rachel Keane, the rising supermodel.

She was squirming on top of him, her skirt hiked so high it barely covered anything.

Every pair of eyes turned to me. Not one held surprise. Only contempt. Only scorn.

I walked straight toward Bertram. I looked at the woman draped over him.

"Sorry to interrupt the fun."

"I just need your car keys. I left something behind."

Rachel didn't so much as flinch.

Bertram had one arm wrapped around her waist and the other resting on her bare thigh, his fingertips tracing lazy circles against her skin.

He looked up at me. "Still that good temper of yours. You said you weren't coming, but you couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"Couldn't even come up with a decent excuse. That desperate to take me home?"

He tossed the keys at me. "Fine. Since you've swallowed your pride, I'll give you one more chance..."

I smiled faintly and asked, "What home do we even have left?"

That caught him off guard. He blinked, momentarily speechless.

I didn't give him a chance to recover. I turned and walked away.

All this time, I'd believed the spectacle he'd made when he married me meant he truly loved me. I'd fallen deeper and deeper, until I couldn't imagine a world without him.

And in the end, I was nothing but a bet he'd made on a whim.

Bertram's expression darkened with anger. "Pick your battles, Cheryl. This isn't the place."

My feet didn't stop.

I needed to get to the courthouse and file for divorce.

Behind me, one of his friends called out, "Bertram, she's an orphan from the mainland. No family, no connections, and certainly not here in Harbor City. Where's she going to go without you?"

Bertram's voice was unhurried, almost lazy. "Exactly. She's got nowhere to go. By tomorrow morning, she'll come crawling back to beg."

He sounded so sure of himself.

I paused. Turned around. "Bertram, do you really think I have nowhere to go?"

He let out a cold laugh. "What are you putting on this brave face for? Where would you even get the nerve?"

"You might've had a little fame back on the mainland when you were young, but that was five years ago. You're a married woman now. How exactly do you plan to sell that innocent sweetheart image of yours? By painting with your crippled hand?"

My jaw clenched so hard my teeth ached.

Laughter erupted around the room.

Rachel stood up on her own, grabbed a glass of wine, and sauntered toward me.

"I've heard Mrs. Edwards was quite the prodigy in her younger days. Such a shame about the car accident, though. Lost a finger saving Mr. Edwards." She tilted her head, her voice dripping with manufactured sympathy. "I truly envy the love you two share."

She extended the glass until it nearly touched my lips. "Mrs. Edwards, since we're both here to keep Mr. Edwards company, we might as well call it fate. Do me the honor. Have a drink. Let's be friends."

I swung my hand and knocked the glass away before it could reach my mouth. "You're the other woman. On what planet would we be friends?"

The glass hit the floor and shattered into a hundred pieces.

Rachel's face twisted. She spun around to Bertram, teeth clenched. "Mr. Edwards, did you see that?"

Bertram waved her over. "She's just putting on airs. Come here. I'll drink with you."

Rachel smiled and turned back, but as she passed me, she rammed her shoulder hard into mine.

I wasn't braced for it. The impact sent me stumbling, and I crashed to the floor.

The back of my hand landed squarely on the scattered shards of glass.

White-hot pain shot straight through my bones.

Someone nearby sneered, "Well, there goes the other hand. She really won't be painting anymore."

"Shut your mouth!"

Before I could say a word, Bertram's voice cracked through the room like a whip. He was on his feet in an instant, striding toward me.

The private lounge went dead silent. No one dared to breathe too loudly.

Everyone in Harbor City knew the same thing: when Bertram Edwards lost his temper, half the city felt the tremor.

He crouched down and scooped me into his arms. His gaze fell on my palm, torn and bloody from the glass.

"You're okay. I'm taking you to the hospital."

I turned my face away from his touch and said nothing.

The people in the lounge exchanged uneasy glances. Not a single one opened their mouth.

Bertram set me in the passenger seat. "Just hold on a little longer. We'll be there soon."

I leaned back against the headrest. My eyes drifted to the center console, where the edge of my identity documents peeked out from the storage compartment.

While Bertram's attention was fixed on the road, I slipped the documents out and tucked them into my pocket.

After my hand was bandaged and we were home, I texted my lawyer and told him to come pick up the documents.

"I have the identity papers. Push the divorce through. I need it done within a week."

Bertram didn't stay the night. As he left, I caught the glow of his phone screen. An incoming call from some rising young starlet.

I didn't give it a second thought. The next morning, I got up and started packing.

I hadn't expected Bertram to come back so early.

He saw the suitcase in my hand, and his expression darkened. "Cheryl, what are you doing?"

He closed the distance in one stride, and I caught it immediately — the scent of another woman's perfume clinging to him.

I didn't answer.

He grabbed my wrist. "I'm talking to you. Answer me."

"Packing my things. Going home." I tried to pull free, but his grip only tightened.

"Home?" Bertram let out a cold laugh. "You have no one. No family, no connections. Where exactly would you go without me?"

He released me and tossed a document onto the table. "Read it. Then settle down and play the role of Mrs. Edwards like you're supposed to."

I opened the document, and my blood ran cold.

Bertram had relocated my parents' graves to Harbor City — without my knowledge, without my consent.

My voice shook. "Bertram, have you lost your mind?"

"Those are my parents' graves. What gave you the right to move them?"

He leaned against the wall, a lazy, taunting smile curling at the corner of his mouth. "I haven't lost anything. Your parents are here now. So where exactly do you think you're going?"

Something inside me snapped. I grabbed the ashtray beside me and hurled it at his head. "You're insane!"

It struck his temple. Blood appeared instantly.

The pain turned his amusement to fury.

He stormed forward, seized my wrist, and dragged me toward the stairs. "Fine. Let's go. I'll take you to the cemetery myself. You can tell your parents to their faces that you'd rather send them to hell than stay."

I fought him with everything I had, screaming. "Let go of me! What did you do to my parents?!"

Bertram stopped. His eyes were dark, predatory. "You want to know? I'll show you."

He shoved me into the car and sped toward the outskirts of the city, toward the old temple.

When we arrived, he led me deep inside to a side hall. On a stone altar sat my parents' memorial tablets.

The moment I saw them clearly, my entire body went rigid.

The tablets were pinned beneath a slab of black iron carved with curses. Pale, ghostly lanterns flickered around them.

"You're a monster." My legs gave out. Tears streamed down my face, my voice breaking. "You're absolutely deranged."

Bertram wrapped an arm around my shoulders, but his tone softened, as if comforting a child.

"All you have to do is stay by my side. Then none of this has to be a problem."

"Stop crying. Today is my mother's birthday. You're coming with me to the banquet, and you will not upset her."

The car turned toward the Edwards family estate. Bertram glanced at me. "When we get there, keep your mouth shut. Grit your teeth and bear it. Don't make my mother angry."

My mind was still back in that temple, still on those tablets. I couldn't have cared less what Bertram was saying.

The Edwards estate was lit up like a palace, draped in silk and celebration. Tamara Edwards sat in the seat of honor, surrounded by a flock of young women from Harbor City's most prominent families.

She had never accepted me. Not once in five years. In her eyes, Bertram deserved a wife from old money — someone who could give him heirs with the right bloodline.

As for pushing other women into Bertram's bed, she'd done it so many times I'd lost count.

Bertram had been raised by his mother alone. His devotion to her was absolute — bordering on blind.

We walked into the main hall. Tamara's gaze swept over me and dismissed me in the same breath. She only addressed her son. "Bertram, come sit with me."

He pulled me forward with him. He wished her a happy birthday, and I murmured the same. "Happy birthday, Mom."

Tamara didn't so much as look at me. She held Bertram's arm and gestured to the young women flanking her. "These girls are all very accomplished. You should spend some time getting to know them."

The insult wasn't even veiled.

Bertram nodded. "Of course, Mom."

With Tamara's blessing, the women descended on our table like sharks scenting blood.

They exchanged glances, then circled me with wine glasses raised.

"Mrs. Edwards, it's your mother-in-law's birthday. You're not even going to have a drink?"

"What's the matter — are you unhappy that we're here, or do you just not care whether she lives to see another year?"