Holly ignored Crawford's outstretched hand. She stepped out of the limo in her high heels, keeping her back straight.

Surrounded by bodyguards, they walked into the private rehab center. The place looked more like a five-star hotel than a hospital.

The elevator took them straight to the top floor. The head nurse respectfully pushed open a massive glass door. Inside was a sunlit conservatory filled with tropical plants.

Holly immediately spotted Delphine sitting in a wheelchair. She wore a pure white hospital gown, looking fragile and pitiful.

The second Crawford saw Delphine, the dark tension left his body. His steps naturally sped up.

He walked to the wheelchair and crouched down. His voice dropped to a gentle tone Holly had never heard before. He asked how she was feeling today.

Delphine offered a weak smile. Her eyes bypassed Crawford and locked dead onto Holly.

She covered her mouth in fake surprise. Her voice trembled as she said she didn't know Mrs. Morris was coming. She apologized for not being prepared to host.

Holly watched her cheap acting with cold eyes. She stood a few feet away. She replied coldly that she was just here to inspect the family's charity investments.

The words were a direct insult, calling Delphine a parasite living off the Morris money. Delphine's face stiffened instantly.

Crawford frowned hard. He stood up and blocked Delphine from view. He warned Holly to watch her mouth.

Delphine timed it perfectly. She grabbed the cuff of Crawford's shirt. Her eyes turned red. She whispered that she really was just a burden.

She suddenly started coughing violently. She gasped for air, looking like she was about to pass out.

Crawford panicked. He slammed the call button on the wall. He rubbed her back gently while glaring at Holly, blaming her for triggering the attack.

Holly watched the touching scene play out. Her stomach churned violently. The sight made her physically sick.

The medical team rushed in. They wheeled Delphine into the inner examination room. Crawford followed right behind them.

Holly stood alone in the middle of the conservatory. Surrounded by lush green plants, she looked like an unwanted outsider.

Ten minutes later, Crawford walked out of the inner room. He shut the door. His face was dark as he marched toward Holly.

He grabbed her wrist. He dragged her roughly into an empty lounge room next door.

He locked the door behind them. He shoved Holly against the solid wood door. He lowered his voice into a growl and asked if she was trying to kill Delphine.

Holly ripped her hand out of his grip. She mocked him. She told him if his heart hurt so much, he should submit the divorce papers to the court right now.

The word divorce lit a dark, uncontrollable fire in Crawford's eyes. He felt his absolute authority being fundamentally challenged.

He stared at Holly's stubborn, cold face. His gaze dropped from her defiant eyes to the slight tremble of her pale lips. The air between them thickened, suffocating and charged. He leaned in, his broad shadow entirely swallowing her smaller frame. The faint scent of her vanilla perfume clashed violently with the sterile hospital alcohol in the air. He suddenly dropped his head, his movement entirely devoid of hesitation. He crushed his lips against hers with brutal force.

There was absolutely zero warmth in the kiss. It was pure, unadulterated punishment and raw, terrifying possession. The impact forced a sharp gasp from her throat. It tasted like metallic blood, bitter anger, and a desperate need for control.

Holly's eyes widened in sheer panic before narrowing into pure fury. She fought back wildly. Her fists slammed into his solid chest, each strike fueled by years of pent-up resentment. But he anticipated her resistance. His large hand shot up, his fingers wrapping around both of her delicate wrists like an iron shackle, effortlessly pinning them against the solid wood above her head.

His other arm wrapped around her waist, crushing her body against his. He tried to force her to submit through sheer physical power.

Right then, the door handle rattled. A nurse's voice called out from the hallway, asking if Mr. Morris was in there.

Crawford froze, the authoritative voice from the hallway acting like a bucket of ice water. Reality crashed violently back into his brain, shattering the primal haze that had consumed him. He abruptly let go of Holly, taking a staggering step back, his chest heaving heavily as he tried to regain his composure.

Holly didn't hesitate for a microsecond. The moment her wrists were free, she channeled every ounce of her humiliation and rage into her right arm. She used the opening to strike. She swung her hand in a wide, vicious arc and slapped him across the face with everything she had. The sharp, explosive crack echoed loudly in the small, confined room, leaving a stinging vibration in her palm.

She watched the immediate aftermath, feeling no victory, only a deep, churning nausea. She aggressively wiped her bruised mouth with the back of her hand, trying to scrub away the lingering heat of his touch. She looked at his shocked profile as if he were nothing more than toxic trash. Her breathing was ragged, but her voice was deadly quiet when she spat out one final sentence. "You make me sick."

The sharp sound of the slap forced Crawford's head to the side. A red mark rapidly bloomed across his cheek.

The nurse kept knocking on the door outside. She called out that Miss Delphine needed him.

Crawford pushed his tongue against the inside of his bruised cheek. He stared at Holly with dark, dangerous eyes, but he held his temper.

He turned around. He adjusted his tie, took a deep breath, and opened the lounge door to step out.

Holly leaned against the back of the door. She waited for her breathing to slow down. She pulled a compact from her purse and fixed her ruined lipstick.

She pushed the door open and walked into the hallway. She saw Crawford just about to walk into Delphine's room.

The hospital room door was cracked open. Delphine was sitting up in bed, staring intensely through the gap at the hallway.

Holly caught Delphine's gaze instantly. At the exact same moment, the corner of her eye caught the wide-angle security camera mounted on the ceiling.

A dark idea flashed through Holly's mind. She walked fast toward Crawford, her heels clicking sharply on the floor.

Just as Crawford pushed the door to enter, Holly grabbed the lapel of his suit jacket from behind.

Crawford turned around in shock. Before his brain could process what was happening, Holly stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his.

It was a highly deceptive, heated kiss. Holly's hand deliberately slid up to stroke the back of his neck in a deeply intimate gesture.

Crawford's body went completely rigid. Then, pure instinct took over. His arms wrapped around her waist, trying to pull her closer and deepen the kiss.

Inside the room, Delphine watched the entire thing clearly. The glass water cup in her hand slipped. It hit the floor and shattered into pieces.

The sound of breaking glass reached the hallway. Holly's goal was achieved. She shoved Crawford away with all her strength, like touching a live wire.

Crawford stumbled back a step. His eyes were still clouded with a heavy, confused heat.

Holly wiped her lips with the back of her hand in absolute disgust. Right to his face, she delivered a cold review.

She looked dead into his eyes. She told him his kissing skills were garbage and the experience was terrible.

Crawford's face turned ash white. His male ego took a catastrophic hit.

He ground his teeth together. He demanded to know what the hell was wrong with her. She was the one who initiated it.

Holly smiled thinly. She used her chin to point at the half-open door and the camera on the ceiling.

She mocked him. She told him she was just doing her job, playing the loving wife for the cameras, and giving the audience a little free show.

Crawford followed her gaze. He saw the shattered glass on the floor and Delphine's pale, devastated face.

The realization hit him like a truck. Holly had used him as a cheap tool to torture his ex-lover. His blood boiled.

He pointed a shaking finger at Holly. He was so furious he couldn't form a single word. His chest heaved violently.

Holly ignored his rage. She turned gracefully and walked toward the elevators, her heels clicking in a steady rhythm.

She waved a hand over her shoulder. She reminded him not to forget to wire her PR fee for the day.

The elevator doors opened. Holly stepped inside. She looked at Crawford's furious face one last time and hit the close button.

The second the doors shut, Holly dropped the act. She leaned against the metal wall. A hollow sense of revenge mixed with exhaustion washed over her.

Crawford stood frozen in the hallway. He stared at the closed elevator doors. He suddenly kicked the heavy metal trash can next to him, sending it crashing against the wall.

A few days later, night fell over the city. Luxury cars lined up outside the Metropolitan Opera House in New York. The elite of the city gathered at the entrance.

Crawford wore a custom tuxedo. He pushed Delphine's wheelchair through the VIP entrance.

Delphine wore an incredibly expensive gown. She soaked in the flashing cameras and the envious stares of the crowd. She acted as if she were the real Mrs. Morris.

Crawford seemed distracted. His eyes kept sweeping the crowd. He was looking for the woman who hadn't shown her face in days.

Deep underground, in the premium dressing rooms, Holly sat in front of a bright vanity mirror.

Her socialite best friend, Tess Koenig, sat next to her with a cast on her leg. Tess was begging her for help with a panicked look on her face.

Tess was supposed to be the lead dancer for tonight's finale. But she fractured her ankle during rehearsal. If she didn't perform, the breach of contract fee would ruin her.

Holly looked at her own reflection. She remembered the legendary identity she had buried three years ago just to marry into the Morris family.

She took a deep breath. She reached out and took the obsidian half-mask from Tess's hands.

Holly changed into the costume. It was a black feather dress that offered almost no coverage. It clung to her curves and radiated raw power.

Up in the theater, Crawford settled Delphine into the best VIP box in the house.

The show started. The first few acts were boring. Crawford leaned back in the red velvet chair, scrolling through work emails on his phone.

Suddenly, all the lights in the theater went black. A single, freezing white spotlight hit the center of the stage.

A wild, heavy drumbeat echoed through the speakers. The entire audience gasped.

A woman wearing an obsidian mask rose slowly from the stage elevator. The name "Nyx" flashed across the giant screen behind her.

Crawford casually looked up. The second his eyes hit the figure on stage, his pupils shrank to pinpricks.

Holly began to move. Every single movement was packed with lethal power and pure seduction. It was the exact opposite of the quiet, obedient wife he knew.

A male backup dancer named Rhys Fallon stepped onto the stage. The two of them engaged in a deeply physical, tension-filled routine. Their bodies tangled and fought.

Crawford's hand tightened around his glass. His knuckles turned bone white. He stared unblinking at the familiar lines of the woman's body.

He saw it. Right below her collarbone was a tiny, hidden red mole. It was the exact spot he had kissed on countless nights.

A wave of jealousy and blind rage exploded in Crawford's chest like a volcano.

He watched the male dancer's hands slide down Holly's waist. Crawford squeezed his crystal glass so hard it nearly shattered in his palm.

Delphine noticed his dark mood. She followed his stare. Jealousy flashed in her eyes. she deliberately whispered that the dancer on stage had no shame.

For the first time, Crawford did not agree with her. He stood up abruptly. He threw down a cold excuse about needing the restroom.

He stormed out of the VIP box. A terrifying, murderous aura radiated from him. He headed straight for the backstage access doors.

On stage, the music hit its peak. Holly executed a flawless, high-flying leap and landed perfectly.

The crowd erupted into deafening applause. Holly breathed heavily. She soaked in the absolute freedom and control she had missed for years.

But as she bowed, the thin string of the mask snapped. The heavy obsidian mask slipped off her face and plummeted toward the wooden floor.

In a split second of pure adrenaline, Holly threw her arm up, her flowing feathered sleeve instantly covering the lower half of her face. The giant screen's close-up camera only caught a fleeting, blurred glimpse of her striking eyes before the stage lights abruptly cut to black, a planned part of the finale.

The theater went dead silent for one second. Then, a massive shockwave of whispers and shouts exploded. No one could definitively confirm her identity, but the air buzzed with frantic speculation about the mysterious dancer's familiar gaze.