"Ms. Ruiz, this is my husband's fault. We're willing to compensate you," Stella said.

Compensate?

A heavy weight pressed against my chest.

"And what exactly are you compensating me with?" I sneered.

She frowned in deep thought for a full five minutes before answering, "The Vasquez family will give you three hundred million. We'll help you immigrate. With that money, you can live whatever life you want."

"Just don't come back to the country again. For a failed relationship, three hundred million is a good deal."

I stared straight into Gerald's eyes.

He said nothing. He let his mistress treat me like I was the mistress.

I inhaled slowly, forcing my trembling emotions back into my chest.

"Gerald, I'm giving you one last chance. Tell us—who is the mistress? Whose marriage certificate is fake?"

"If you don't clarify it, then tonight the three of us are going to make the front-page headlines together."

"You don't have to love me. You can fall for someone else and divorce me. But you don't get to treat me like a fool."

"Everything that happened today... I'll take it as the price of being your childhood sweetheart."

Gerald frowned deeply, glaring at me for "making things worse."

But faced with my unwavering gaze, he finally spoke the truth.

"Sorry, Stella. The marriage certificate between you and me... It's fake. I'm sorry."

Smack!

Stella trembled with rage—as if her world had collapsed—and slapped him hard.

I continued, my voice was cold, "No wonder after we registered our marriage that day, you rushed off saying you had something urgent. Turns out you were going to comfort her."

"And on our wedding night—did you spend the first half with me, then use some 'emergency at work' excuse to go keep her company?"

Stella couldn't take it. She broke down and ran out.

Gerald didn't even glance at me.

He chased after her, and didn't return all night.

I didn't care.

I was used to it.

My work involved late-night scientific research; my schedule was always nocturnal.

And that became the perfect cover for years of his cheating—something I never suspected.

On his laptop, I prepared a divorce agreement.

Just as I finished, a WhatsApp notification popped up.

[Mr. Vasquez, should I continue arranging night shifts for Madam? Her medical results weren't ideal.]

My heart tightened.

The message was from my direct supervisor.

I opened the chat.

It wasn't long, but every message was the same—Gerald repeatedly instructing him to give me night shifts.

Even three years ago, after my miscarriage, when my body was weak, he still told them to keep me on exhausting late-night laboratory work year after year.

I sat before the computer, drained and hollow, rereading the chat over and over.

By the time Gerald returned, his face was weary and tense.

He checked several rooms before Wilma told him I was in the study.

The moment he opened the door and saw the laptop—and my lifeless expression—his face tightened with a sudden alarm.

He rushed to me, half-kneeling as he grabbed my hands.

His eyes were bloodshot. He must have spent the whole night comforting Stella.

"Wilma said you haven't eaten since yesterday. Can you eat something? Please?"

He spoke as if nothing had happened. As if we were still the same couple.

But now, his voice only made my stomach twist in revulsion.

I pulled my hands away from his grip.

My voice was icy calm. "Let's divorce. I can see clearly now—you love her. You even have a child already."

"I love you too. Stop it. I am not divorcing you." He cut me off suddenly, expression turning serious.

I stared at him, unable to understand this man anymore.

My gaze toward him grew more and more filled with contempt.

"Gerald, you're spineless."

"I will never respect a man like you."

He suddenly laughed—a laugh filled with defiance, or perhaps complete indifference.

That afternoon, my mother-in-law came to "persuade" me.

The same old lines—which man doesn't cheat? Men just play outside, it's normal.

She even said the marriage was shaky because I hadn't given them a child.

I had always respected her. But today, I splashed a full cup of coffee across her face.

She shot up in fury. "Are you insane?!"

Yes, I was going insane because Stella had attempted suicide.

Unable to accept that she was the mistress, she swallowed a handful of sleeping pills. She was rescued just in time, barely clinging to life.

Gerald, panicked and heartbroken, dragged me to her hospital bed and forced me to kneel.

"Apologize to Stella!"

"If not for you, she wouldn't have done this!"

"She's two months pregnant—do you have any idea?!"

"You almost killed her!"

His grip was brutal, digging into my shoulders until sharp pain shot down my arms.

My knees pressed against the cold tiled floor.

His voice trembled with rage as he forced the command out.

I pulled my shoulder back stubbornly, but I couldn't break free of his hold.

"I said apologize! Didn't you hear me?!" he thundered.

My silence only enraged him more. His shout startled Stella awake.

Her voice was weak but dripping with grievance. "Stop pretending. No amount of 'sorry' can make up for the pain I've endured... or the child I lost."

A bitter laugh escaped me. "Why should I apologize? You two are the ones who wronged me!"

Stella's anger sharpened. "You didn't manage your husband. He lied to me because of you! If it's not your fault, then whose?"

Gerald rushed to her side, heart aching as he comforted her.

"It's my fault and Aliyah's fault. Stella, calm down. Don't get worked up."

He held her like she was a fragile princess, every movement gentle and full of affection.

He used to hold me like that.

Every sweet memory suddenly turned into blades, slicing my heart open piece by piece.

Then—a sharp pain stabbed my lower abdomen.

Warm blood slid down the inside of my thigh.

I gasped and instinctively moved toward the door to call for a doctor.

But Stella pushed Gerald away in a petulant fit.

"Why should I be the only one suffering? We're both your women! Why am I the one losing children, the one going through stomach-pumping misery?!"

Just to appease her outrage, Gerald turned to a bodyguard.

"Give my wife half a bottle of sleeping pills too. Then have the doctors save her."

My mind went blank, thunder exploding in my skull.

Had those words truly come out of his mouth?

"Gerald, I—I'm bleed—"

Before I could finish, the bodyguards forced the pills down my throat and carried me away.

I felt like a fish on a chopping board—completely powerless.

Back inside the ward, Stella scolded him.

"What are you doing?! I didn't tell you to do that!"

"If you want to prove your sincerity, divorce her! That's the attitude you owe me!"

He coaxed her gently.

"Be good. Other than the marriage title, I can give you everything."

Hours later, she finally fell asleep from exhaustion.

Gerald rubbed his temples, lit a cigarette, and headed toward the emergency room.

"What happened to my wife?" he demanded.

The doctor handed him a file—and what he said next would haunt him for the rest of his life.