###Chapter 5

A flash of panic crossed Richard’s eyes, but he quickly forced himself to look cold.

“Back then, Margareth had just broken up and got drunk. She grabbed a random man on the street and said she wanted to marry him. I was afraid she would regret it, so I went with her to register the marriage.”

He looked at me with blame in his eyes. “Is this small matter the reason you kept targeting her after she came back?”

A small matter?

He gave the promise I begged for all my life to her so easily, just because he was afraid she would regret a moment of impulse.

And now he still had the nerve to accuse me for her sake?

“It’s all my fault,” Margareth said with teary eyes. “Hermione never liked me since we were young. Richard, let’s get divorced. You can go register with her instead!”

“Don’t talk nonsense!” Richard tightened his arms around her. “At our age, what divorce? I will never let you suffer this kind of grievance!”

What a loving couple.

He was so afraid she would suffer even a little. Then what about the thirty years of grievance I endured?

I was about to leave when Margareth’s elbow suddenly hit my shoulder on purpose.

Caught off guard, I fell and rolled down the stairs.

“Hermione, y-you did that on purpose, didn’t you? You threw yourself down the stairs just to frame me again?”

Through the dizziness, I heard Margareth’s shrill voice above me.

Richard immediately followed, calm and decisive. “Don’t worry. We all saw it. She fell by herself.”

He took her hand and walked downstairs. When they passed me, he didn’t even slow down.

“Maybe you’re really not fit to remain the mistress of the Hawthorne Family. If you keep acting this immature, losing this position and the children’s respect is your own fault.”

I had landed on the shattered pieces of a broken vase. My elbows were slashed open, thin lines of blood seeping out.

Yet he only worried that Margareth might get cut. He scooped her up in his arms, not sparing me a single glance and strode away.

“Grandma is bleeding…”

Leo’s trembling cry was quickly muffled by his mother’s hand.

I lay on the cold floor, so numb that I couldn’t even feel the pain.

After a long time, I forced myself up. Silently, I cleaned the wounds with iodine, wrapped them in gauze and went back to packing.

The cuts became inflamed. That night, I developed a high fever. Shivering, I dialed my daughter Jassy’s number.

It rang for a long time before she answered, her voice lowered.

“Mom, I’m accompanying Auntie at the spa. You know she’s in a bad mood because of you. There’s medicine in the drawer. Just take it yourself.”

Before the call disconnected, I heard her laugh lightly.

“Auntie, let me help you apply the essential oil.”

I curled up on the cold bed, tears soaking through the pillow.

After an unknown stretch of time, my phone screen lit up. It was a new post from Jassy.

In one photo, she was attentively massaging Margareth’s shoulders.

In another—“a family portrait”—her father, brother, sister-in-law and Jassy herself were gathered around Margareth like stars orbiting the moon, having breakfast at a top luxury hotel.

The caption read: “May time treat my goddess gently.”

The last flicker of light inside me went out.

Even disappointment felt like a luxury.

In a daze, I remembered years ago—my soft, sweet little girl stubbornly raising her tiny fists to pound my back after I came home exhausted.

“Mommy worked so hard. I will love Mommy forever.”

A cold draft slipped through the crack in the window, scattering that illusion.

I would never find my Jassy again.

I slept in a feverish haze for a whole day and night. Not a cup of water. Not a single word of concern.

When I woke, I gathered all the gifts Richard had ever given me, along with everything my son and daughter had given and handed them to the only housemaid in the home.

Just then, Richard’s call came in—shrill and relentless.

“Make a honey yam cake and bring it to the company immediately! Hurry!”

His urgent tone made me think his asthma had flared up again.

All these years, whenever he felt unwell—no matter how late—it was always me who made it fresh by hand and delivered it personally.

Richard would eat it with his coffee, a smile blooming on his face.

“Hermione, I want to eat the honey yam cake you make for the rest of my life.”

In moments like that, I truly believed we were in love.

Silently, I walked into the kitchen.

Unfortunately, there was no “rest of my life.” This would be the last time.

Carrying the food container, I stepped into Richard’s office—only to see Margareth reclining sideways on the leather sofa.

She wore his shirt loosely draped over her body, the buttons undone, her bare legs exposed. There was a lingering charm in her eyes; even at her age, she was still alluring.

And the beige lace cover I had carefully sewn and spread over that sofa—was tossed onto the floor, stained with something suspicious.

Rage surged through me. I strode forward. “On what grounds did you throw away my things? I stitched that piece thread by thread!”

Margareth covered her mouth, looking innocent. “Oh… I thought it was some cheap roadside item. I accidentally stained it. I’m sorry, Hermione. I’ll buy you a new one.”

Richard walked out of the lounge, adjusting his cuffs, his tone indifferent.

“Why compensate? It was old junk that should’ve been thrown out long ago.”

Old junk that should’ve been thrown out long ago?

That cushion…

He had once complained the sofa was too hard. I chose the softest yarn I could find and, through countless nights of his late returns, endured the ache in my neck and shoulders, crocheting for months before I finished it.

He walked over, ignoring my ashen face and took the food container from my hands.

Suddenly, Margareth’s gaze fell on my neck. Her voice rose slightly.

“Isn’t that our family heirloom—the ‘Tears of the Galaxy’ diamond necklace? I’m the eldest daughter. It should belong to me.”

I covered the necklace and stepped back.

“This was left to me by our parents! You have no right—”

Before I could finish, Richard’s hand was already reaching toward the back of my neck.

###Chapter 6

“Click.” The clasp of the necklace was yanked open.

The chain slipped free and was gently placed into Margareth’s palm.

“If you like it, wear it,” he said softly. “It was yours to begin with.”

Her fingertips brushed over the diamond, a radiant smile blooming on her face. Her gaze slid past his shoulder and landed on me—openly triumphant.

I stood there, my neck suddenly bare, nothing left but cold air against my skin.

When Margareth left years ago, she never once came back to see our parents. More than twenty years ago, when they died in a car accident, I called her in tears, begging her to return. But she refused to even attend the funeral.

She only said, “They were old anyway. People die sooner or later. Don’t interrupt my date with a handsome French guy.”

And now, she wore our parents’ keepsake around her neck, acting every bit the rightful heir of the Summers Family.

“Give it back!” I lunged at her.

Richard reacted instantly. He shifted to shield Margareth behind him and swung his arm, striking me.

I crashed to the floor. The wound on my hand split open again, beads of blood seeping out.

“It’s just a necklace.” He looked down at me, his eyes icy. “Are you done making a scene?”

Just a necklace?

When my parents passed away, I was devastated beyond words. He had personally put that necklace around my neck, knelt before their graves and sworn:

“Mom, Dad, don’t worry. I’ll protect Hermione for the rest of my life. If I break this oath, may heaven strike me down.”

His “lifetime” was laughably short. Before my parents were even laid to rest, he was already someone else’s husband.

I pressed my bloodied hand against the floor and struggled to stand.

“Richard, that was the last thing my parents left me!”

He looked utterly impatient. “Hermione, who are you putting on this hysterical act for? Haven’t you embarrassed yourself enough?”

Only then did I realize the doorway was crowded with whispering employees.

“She cheats and makes a scandal out of it and still has the nerve to come here and cause trouble?”

“Margareth is so elegant. She and Mr. Hawthorne are the perfect match. How could that old, washed-up wife compare?”

I opened my mouth to defend myself. “I didn’t cheat. I was framed!”

But my voice was weak and powerless, drowned out by even more contempt and speculation.

Suddenly, Margareth began breathing rapidly. One hand clawed at her own throat while the other pointed at the smashed honey yam cake on the floor.

“There are… peanuts in this… I’m allergic to peanuts… Hermione… knew…”

But she had never been allergic.

“Stop acting, Margareth!” I roared.

Richard’s eyes instantly turned bloodshot. The tip of his shoe slammed viciously into the shin that had once been broken.

“You vicious, poisonous woman!”

A piercing pain shot through me. I collapsed again beneath the desk.

There, crumpled at the corner, lay a wrinkled, semi-transparent lace bra. The stains on the cushion were exactly what I had thought…

Covering my mouth, I remembered a rainy night more than ten years ago. Richard had nearly been hit by a drunk driver.

Instinctively, I shoved him away. I was the one who got struck instead, my left leg fractured.

Ever since then, every damp and rainy day made the bone ache faintly.

Back then, he had stayed by my bedside for three days and three nights, heartbroken and devoted.

Now, he struck that very injury with precision—using it to trample me.

And while waiting for me to arrive, he had been that impatient.

Disappointment reached its limit. I lifted my head calmly.

“Let’s divorce, Richard. Oh, no need. Congratulations. You should give her the grand wedding she deserves.”

“Shut up!” he snapped like a beast whose tail had been stepped on, cutting me off in fury. “Stop using these ridiculous tricks to get my attention. Look what you’ve done to Margareth!”

Then, in a rush to carry the “allergic” Margareth to his private helicopter, he handled her with the utmost care—as if she were some priceless treasure.

“No one is allowed to disturb me!”

I watched as the helicopter disappeared toward the hospital. Then, limping, I walked out of the Hawthorne Group building. Every step felt like I was treading on knife blades.

No car would take me. The drivers recognized me. One even rolled down his window and spat in my direction.

“Old slut. Go look at yourself in a mirror.”

The setting sun stretched my shadow long across the pavement—long, cold and utterly alone.

I walked for five full hours. My feet felt like they were about to break before I finally made it back to that cold, luxurious “home.”

It was already pitch dark.

On the dining table sat a slice of Black Forest cake my grandson had left for me. Beneath it was a note:

“Grandma, take good care of yourself. Love you, Leo.”

Beside the words was a crooked little heart.

The freezing weight in my chest thawed by that tiny warmth, though only half.

I picked up a spoon. Just before it reached my mouth, a shrill ringtone exploded through the silence.

“Hello, is this Ms. Summers? This is the city police. We’ve been unable to reach your family. Please come to the station immediately.”

A sense of dread clenched around my heart.

“May I ask… what happened?”

As the officer’s words fell, a loud buzzing filled my head.

The cake slipped from my hand and shattered on the floor.

###Chapter 7

“We found a severely injured child. He’s in critical condition. We believe he may be your grandson, Leo Hawthorne. Please come to the hospital immediately to confirm!”

No. No!

Leo was my life. Nothing could happen to him.

I rushed out of the house like a madwoman—only to crash straight into Richard at the door. His eyes were bloodshot, veins bulging at his temples like a beast driven mad.

“Go apologize to Margareth.” He seized my wrist, his grip so tight that it nearly crushed the bone. “Do you have any idea she almost died? She’s still being resuscitated!”

Crying, I clutched at him. “Leo’s been hurt! He’s at the hospital. Please, save him first!”

“Shut up!” he roared. “Hermione, do you have any bottom line at all using your own grandson as an excuse?”

He dragged me violently toward the car.

“I’m not lying! Leo—”

A hard slap struck my face. My vision went black. He shoved me into the car and a bodyguard sealed my mouth with tape.

At the hospital, the sharp smell of disinfectant filled the air.

My son and daughter were already there. Richard had actually mobilized all the hospital’s top specialists, crowding them into Margareth’s emergency room.

Down the corridor, a small body covered in blood, face unrecognizable, was rushed past on a stretcher.

Medical staff shouted urgently, “The child needs surgery immediately! How much longer will the people inside take?”

Staring at that small body soaked in blood, my heart seemed to stop.

I struggled wildly, muffled cries breaking from my throat. “Leo…!”

Richard saw the blood-covered child too. His steps faltered for a brief second.

Just then, my son frowned and said, “I just spoke to Dyna. The two kids are vacationing at a classmate’s villa. They’re perfectly fine. Mom, just to get Dad’s attention, you’d even curse your own grandson?”

My daughter’s eyes were filled with disappointment. “Have you really become this vicious, just to drive Auntie away?”

The last trace of doubt in Richard’s eyes vanished, replaced by icy disgust. “If you keep talking nonsense, I’ll have you sent to a psychiatric hospital!”

Tears streamed down my face. I dropped to my knees, bowing over and over, knocking my forehead against the floor in desperate pleas.

He merely gave the bodyguards a look.

I was dragged into an empty hospital room nearby and locked inside. No matter how I pounded on the door or begged, there was only dead silence outside.

I didn't know how long passed before voices sounded beyond the door.

“Congratulations. The patient is out of danger.”

Almost at the same time, from farther down the corridor came a doctor’s exhausted, heavy sigh.

“The child wasn’t treated in time… Time of death confirmed.”

The world collapsed with a roar in my ears.

Through the crack of the door, I saw Richard’s tightly furrowed brows relax, light returning to his eyes. My son and daughter wore relieved smiles as well.

They were celebrating that woman’s “rebirth.”

And Leo—my little sun—had died on that cold stretcher.

At last, the bodyguard unlocked the door.

I collapsed onto the floor and suddenly began to laugh. The sound was hoarse, shattered, almost inhuman.

Richard glanced back unintentionally and met my frenzied smile. Something in his chest jolted.

Could it be…?

No. Our son had confirmed it. It was this woman making trouble, lying again.

He forced down the flicker of unease and strode into the ward, taking Margareth’s hand, his voice gentle, “It’s all over now. At the banquet in two days, I’ll make it even more grand for you.”

Inside me, there was nothing left but the fire of revenge.

***

I claimed Leo’s body.

After the cremation, I had his ashes compressed into a tiny diamond and wore it at my neck, resting closest to my heart.

Two days later, the luxury yacht glittered with lights. Margareth’s birthday banquet was held in extravagant splendor.

Someone quietly turned on a livestream.

On camera, a man well past fifty knelt on one knee on the deck, slipping a massive diamond ring onto her finger, his gaze filled with devotion.

My son and daughter-in-law smiled and applauded. “Congratulations, Dad, on finding the love of your life again.”

My daughter wiped away emotional tears, captured in a close-up shot.

I watched the screen of my phone in silence, the corner of my lips curving into a cold arc.

A message came from Margareth—a photo of Richard passionately kissing her.

[The love returns to its rightful owner. Thank you for thirty years of free nanny service.]

I calmly deleted the message, touched the ashes-diamond resting against my heart and walked out of the villa that had imprisoned me for half my life—for the last time.

A black sedan had been waiting for a while. I got in, opened my email, selected several files and scheduled them to be sent at midnight.

“Happy 30th anniversary.”

I removed my SIM card, snapped it in half and tossed it out the window like something no longer wanted.

At that very moment, Richard was absently rubbing the velvet box in his pocket. Inside was a pair of pearl earrings that I had glanced at a few times while shopping before. He had someone purchase them, intending them as compensation for our thirtieth anniversary.

He knew I had always been easy to appease. He believed a little sweetness like this would be more than enough to coax me.

Imagining the look of surprise on my face when I received the earrings, Richard unconsciously curved his lips into a faint smile.

He had no idea that when the clock struck midnight and the magic of the night dissolved, he would receive the most “magnificent” gift of his life.

And my flight was already heading toward a dawn that no longer held him.