I am Jody Holt. The day my husband, Nate Holt, froze all my bank accounts, my mother was in the ICU waiting for surgery.

He said only one thing. "Jody, either you sign the divorce papers, or your mother can figure it out herself."

I thought he was only trying to pressure me, until his lawyer slid a second document in front of me.

It was the prenuptial agreement between him and Sharon Jones, the woman who had come between us. The date they signed it was three months before this divorce agreement between us.

I asked him, "Since when have you two been together?"

He glanced at his watch as casually as if he were checking the time for an unimportant meeting. "We have been together since the day I married you."

I signed my name on the divorce agreement.

Then I died.

At least, that was what all the newspapers in the city said.

...

The moment Nate saw me sign it, he stood up without the slightest hesitation and was about to leave.

I still could not let it go. I pressed a hand over the prenuptial agreement. "You married me for the voting rights of my family's Wells Group?"

Nate stopped in his tracks and said, not denying it, "Holt Group needed the Wellses' support back then, and you needed to marry someone your parents could trust. We both got what we needed. This marriage was not as shameful as you think."

He could always make a betrayal sound like cooperation.

Eight years ago, I had entrusted him with the shares my grandfather left me. I had also persuaded my father to give Wells Group's orders to Holt Group, the company owned by Nate's family.

When his uncles conspired to oust him, I visited fourteen banks for him.

When he was hospitalized with a high fever, I waited outside his room with stacks of documents in my arms, calling the directors one by one.

In the early hours of that morning, he walked out of his hospital room and draped his coat over my shoulders. "Jody, when this is over, I will take you to see the Northern Lights."

I waited for him to fulfill his promise for seven years.

But what I finally got from him instead was a divorce agreement delivered by his lawyer less than two hours after Nate's press conference announcing that he had taken over as chairman of Holt Group.

I let go of the pages of the prenup. "What about my mother's surgery fees?"

Nate said, "Once you sign, your accounts will be unfrozen."

I said, "The hospital wants me to pay them by three this afternoon."

Nate glanced at his phone. "My lawyer will handle it."

I said, "Unfreeze my medical account first."

"Jody, do not fight me over this right now." He leaned down and straightened the water glass in front of me, his tone still patient. "Your mother will still get her treatment. Once you cooperate with me to finish the divorce, I will arrange for foreign specialists to come and consult on her case. As for the shares and the properties, I won't shortchange you."

He used the same trick to placate me before.

If he forgot my birthday, he would make it up with a necklace. If he canceled a trip at the last minute, he would have his assistant send me an open-ended plane ticket.

But every ticket eventually expired unused.

I looked at him, whom I had hopelessly loved for years, and I finally understood that he had never loved me.

I had desperately and secretly loved him since I was a student, but in the end, it had all been a joke.

I gave a bitter laugh, did not look at Nate again, and walked out of the hospital.

When I returned to Holt Manor, I prepared to pack my things.

Then I discovered that my fingerprint had already been deleted from the manor's security system.

Just then, bursts of cheers suddenly came from the main hall of the manor.

I froze where I stood with a sharp pain in my heart. So he had not only signed a prenup with her. He had brought her home long ago.

I was the only fool who had been kept in the dark.

I wanted to turn around and leave, but things my dead father left me were still inside the manor, so I had no choice but to press the doorbell.

Ten minutes later, a servant finally came to open the door at a leisurely pace.

I knew they were doing it on purpose, but I no longer had the energy to argue with them.

There were so many champagne and flowers in the main hall. Dozens of Holt Group executives and socialites surrounded Sharon, congratulating her.

Someone fawningly called her "Mr. Holt's fiancee," and she responded with a smile, raising her glass.

"Jody, why did you not tell me you were coming back?" Sharon turned to me and lifted a hand to adjust her hair.

The moment she raised her hand, I noticed the blue diamond necklace around her neck, and the scene gave me a painful twist in my heart.

It was the necklace my father had personally made for me before he died. He had told me it was a gift for when I got married.

I had always treasured it. I kept it in the safe and had never worn it.

Now it was around Sharon's neck.

I clenched my fists and tried my best to speak calmly. "Give me back my necklace. My father left it to me."

Sharon raised an eyebrow and said innocently, "Jody, Nate gave it to me."

I clenched my fists until my nails dug into my palms, forcing down the dull ache in my chest. Without another word, I pulled out my phone and called the police.

Blocking the door, I said, "Since you refuse to return the necklace, Ms. Jones, we will let the police settle this when they arrive."

The entire hall fell silent.

Sharon's face turned pale, but she wasn't taking off the necklace.

She picked up her phone, dialed a number, and said aggrievedly and piteously to the person on the other end. "Nate, Jody accused me of stealing her things."

Less than twenty minutes later, Nate came rushing back.

He protectively stepped in front of Sharon, shielding her behind him, and stared coldly at me. "Did we not already sign the agreement? Why are you making a scene now? It is just a necklace. Name your price, and I will transfer the money to you."

He thought I was still the same person who he could easily dismiss with a little money I had been before.

But he was wrong.

I stared straight into his eyes without backing down. "You know that was what my father left me."

Nate froze for a moment, as if he had remembered it.

But in the next second, he put on that same arrogant attitude again. "Sharon will hold a jewelry exhibition next month. She needs a centerpiece for the event. We will return it to you once the exhibition is over."

I argued, "No. It is mine. I do not agree..."

Before I could finish, Nate impatiently cut me off. "Jody, stop making a scene. Having the police here will do no good to anyone. Call again and tell them not to come, and I will have Sharon return it to you right now."

Suddenly, a sharp police siren sounded outside the door.

I clenched my hands and gave a cold laugh. "It's too late."

Two police officers stepped into the main hall of the Holt Manor.

I immediately handed them the necklace's certificate of authenticity from an international appraisal agency, the insurance policy for it, and videos of my father making the necklace himself while he was still alive, which were all conclusive evidence.

Sharon hid herself behind Nate, her eyes red, clenching his sleeve. "Officer, I did not steal it. Jody gave it to me herself."

She pulled out her phone and opened a video.

In it, I was sitting on the floor of the master bedroom of the manor in my pajamas, smashing the jewelry box to pieces.

My eyes bloodshot, I kept screaming hysterically, "Get them out! I do not want any of it!"

Then came the second clip.

Sharon stood outside the door and asked in a timid voice, "Jody, you do not want this blue diamond necklace either?"

I hurled the necklace at her feet and screamed, "Get out!"

The video ended abruptly.

One of the officers frowned and looked at me. "Mrs. Holt, is that you in the video?"

I stared dully at the video, my mind completely blank.

It was definitely me in the video, but I had no idea when it had happened.

I realized I had no memory of any of it, yet I could not understand why.

I hurriedly said, "No! That is not me. I never..."

"Officer, the video can be examined to verify its authenticity." Sharon interrupted me, looking at the officers and said hesitatingly, "Actually, this is not the first time Jody has acted like this. She does things and then refuses to admit them. I never expected her to involve the police this time. I cannot keep covering for her anymore."

I instinctively protested, "That's a lie..."

But the next second, Nate grabbed me and stopped me from saying anything more.

He raised a hand and beckoned at the lawyer behind him, who handed the officers a sealed envelope with documents in it.

"Officer, my wife's mental state has been extremely unstable for the past six months," Nate said, voice devoid of emotion. "These are her medical records. She has an acute psychiatric disorder with severe delusions and tendencies to assault. She is having another episode now. I will have her admitted for inpatient treatment."

For a moment, I was stunned. I stared at him in disbelief.

I had no idea what he was talking about.

I did not remember I had ever been diagnosed with any psychiatric disorder.

I struggled to break free from Nate's grip, but it was useless.

"Nate, have you lost your mind?! You actually forged my psychiatric records just to protect her?" I let out a derisive snort and said furiously, "I want a blood test at the hospital!"

"You will have one." Nate stepped forward and looked at me with a cold look. "Once you get to the treatment center in Vessia, the best medical team there will give you a full examination."

The moment he finished speaking, two unmarked black medical vans pulled up outside.

The lawyer stepped in at that moment, claiming that this was a family dispute and that my family had already arranged medical intervention for me to forcibly stop the police from their investigation.

Under pressure from Holt Group's influence, the officers could only advise me to seek proper medical treatment and then left.

As soon as the police cars drove away, several foreign caretakers entered the main hall carrying medical kits. They immediately took out a sedative.

"Nate, get them out of here!" I shrieked, grabbed a vase from the table, and smashed it against the floor. Then I pressed a sharp shard of glass against my neck and backed away step by step.

Nate's expression darkened. He raised a hand, signaling the caretakers to stop approaching me.

He walked up to me, ignoring the broken glass scattered across the floor. "Jody, stop this. You will be there just for a month. Once you are better, I will personally bring you home."

I said, "For what? To attend your wedding with her?"

Nate clenched his jaw, but he did not refute.

Sharon stepped forward at the moment and picked up the torn pieces of the report from the floor. "Jody, Nate stayed up all night contacting specialists in Vessia for you. Stop being so ungrateful."

For the past eight years, every time she overstepped and I confronted her for that, she always acted like this.

And every time, Nate would tell me, "You are the honorable mistress of the Holt family. Do not stoop to her level."

But then, she walked into my house, took everything from me, and drove me mad, making me "a crazy woman."

"I am never going to Vessia." I hissed through my gritted teeth, pressing the shard against my neck until it drew blood.

"You don't have a choice." Nate pulled out his phone. "One call from me, and they will shut off your mother's ventilator."

I instantly felt my blood run cold.

The shard slipped from my hand and clattered to the floor.

He knew exactly how to control me.

I closed my eyes and stopped resisting completely.

I let the cold needle pierce into my vein.

The drug took effect almost instantly. My vision began to blur, and I felt myself falling into darkness uncontrollably.

I woke up at the treatment center with cold liquid medication running into my left hand through an IV line.

A nurse walked into the room, pushing a cart, and dropped two white pills onto the tray. "Mrs. Holt, it is time for your medication."

I said, "I want to see the director."

"Your doctor will arrange that after you complete the treatment." The nurse handed me a glass of water expressionlessly.

I held the pills in my mouth and took a sip of water, pretending to swallow them.

As soon as she turned around to take the tray away, I bit down on the tip of my tongue and pushed the pills behind my gums.

The moment the door was locked, I leaned over the side of the bed, spit the pills into a tissue, and crushed them forcefully.

But during my first two days there, I had been completely unguarded.

And less than half an hour after taking the medication, my limbs would become completely weak, and I would lose consciousness as if my mind were being forcibly shut down.

Whenever I woke up, I had to write my own name hard in my palm just to remember it.

After that, I stopped swallowing the pills.

I hid them under the mattress or flushed them down the toilet to the drain.

But I could not avoid the injections.

Whenever the needle pierced into my vein, I clenched my fist tightly until my nails dug deep into my palm.

The intense pain was the only thing keeping me conscious.

On the fourth day, the screen on the wall of my room suddenly lit up.

Sharon appeared on the screen wearing Nate's oversized shirt, sitting on the bed in the master bedroom that Nate and I had shared. She raised a glass of red wine toward the camera.

Then Nate walked out of the bathroom wearing nothing but a towel, followed by scenes of the two of them having sex.

That master bedroom had been remodeled by me personally.

It was now their playground of lust.

I could not cut the power of it, so the video kept playing on a loop.

I had fought back and broken down. I smashed the screen with all the strength I had.

But a new screen would soon be installed, playing the same sickening video that made me want to throw up.

I stopped wasting my energy smashing the screens and turned around, resting against the headboard.

That evening, I heard the door unlock.

Sharon walked in on high heels and waved for the nurse to leave.

She picked up the remote and turned off the video, then sat across from me. "Why aren't you making a scene today?"

I stared at her coldly without saying a word.

She pulled a venue confirmation form from her bag and dropped it in front of me. "Nate chose the manor where you always wanted to have your wedding. You never got to have a wedding ceremony back then, but now he is giving one to me next month."

I stared at the paper.

Back then, Holt Group had been on the verge of going bankrupt, and Nate had begged me to postpone our wedding.

I had waited seven years in the wedding dress I had altered twice to get the right fit.

Sharon slowly folded the confirmation form. "Are you still wondering why Nate was so certain that you were sick?"

She leaned closer and lowered her voice. "Of course there was something wrong with the tea you had been drinking for the past six months."

I looked up sharply.

"When I first started adding the drugs into them, I was even worried the dosage was not high enough," she said with blatant mockery in her eyes. "But now that you have been labeled as having a severe psychiatric disorder, no one will believe anything you say."

She stood up and smoothed down her skirt before giving me a sweet smile. "Jody, you absolutely have to attend our wedding."

After the door closed, I remained in the same position and counted to thirty.

Once I was sure she had gone far enough, I reached for the sleeve of my hospital gown.

A tiny button-sized recording device was hidden inside.

The young foreign caretaker with a look of sympathy and reluctance to see what was going on with me had secretly slipped it into my palm while bringing me my medication the night before.

Every word Sharon had said while gloating over me had been recorded with perfect clarity.

I pressed the call button beside my bed.

The person who opened the door and came in was that foreign caretaker.

I deliberately swept the water glass off the bedside table and sent it crashing to the floor.

The moment she bent down to clean up the shards, I yanked the IV needle out of the back of my hand.

Blood immediately welled up and dripped onto the pure white sheets.

"Mrs. Holt!" she cried out and rushed over to stop me.

As she grabbed my hand to press against the puncture wound, I slipped the tiny recording device precisely into her pocket.

She paused for a moment and gave me a long, knowing look before turning and running to call the doctor.

I knew that the moment she finished her shift and walked out of this signal-blocked building, the recording would be automatically sent to the overseas secure email address I had set up in advance.