The third time Federico stormed into the hotel room with his entourage to find me in bed with a stranger, I didn't scramble for my clothes or offer a frantic explanation. Not like the first two times.

Savannah Cross, the Grayson Group's wealth manager, stepped forward, her voice dripping with poisonous sweetness. "Ms. Berry, this marks your third instance of infidelity."

"And according to the prenup," she added, "that means you forfeit all assets and relinquish custody of your child."

Federico’s patience had worn thin. His gaze burned with loathing as it landed on me.

He slammed the divorce papers onto the nightstand.

"The first time, you said you didn't know the man."

"The second time, you claimed you had no idea how you got to the hotel."

"This is the third time, Berry. What's your excuse now?"

He expected another clumsy excuse, another pathetic denial.

But I said nothing.

I just calmly picked up the pen and signed my name.

Then, I vanished from his world.

So why, when I finally gave him exactly what he wanted—when I gave up everything, including our child—was he the one who completely shattered?

————————

1

Savannah immediately snatched the signed agreement.

As if terrified I’d change my mind, she turned to Federico. "Mr. Grayson, she signed it."

Federico stared at me, his brow furrowed into a tight, angry line.

He clearly hadn't expected this. He probably thought I’d shred the papers and collapse, begging him through sobs just like before. "For Erik's sake," I'd wept, "please, just trust me this one last time!"

…

I capped the pen and set it neatly on the nightstand.

"I'll have my things moved out as soon as possible. As for visitation—"

"You don't deserve to be a mother," he cut in, his voice arctic. "You will never see him again."

I didn't look up. I just smiled faintly. "I was about to say the same. As for visitation rights—I don't want them."

Federico's cold gaze never wavered, but he shot me a look, clearly puzzled by my sudden resolve.

For four years, he and our son had been my entire world.

Hearing my son call her "Aunt Savannah" was enough to ruin my entire day.

To give him up this easily? That wasn't the woman I used to be.

"What a shameless woman," he sneered, as if he'd finally found the reason for my strange behavior.

"Willing to abandon your own flesh and blood for another man."

"So why did you bother scheming your way into my bed to have his child in the first place?"

I listened, feeling no desire to defend myself.

The first time he caught me in a "compromising position" at the art gallery, I was utterly bewildered.

I tried desperately to explain that I'd never betray him.

He, so certain I couldn't live without him, and with the other man having already vanished, leaving only a blurry security camera image, chose to believe me—for the moment.

But he still took our son away from me.

For my once-a-month visit, I had to book an appointment with Savannah a week in advance.

During the visit, she would trail me, "supervising" my every move.

I had to read her expression just to hold my son for a minute longer.

Any toys or clothes I bought for Erik had to be reported to Savannah, or they'd never reach him.

My spirit had been worn down to a fine powder by the time they framed me for the second "affair."

I'd found a job to fill the empty hours, but on a business trip to Chicago, I woke up groggy in a hotel room.

A corpulent man lay beside me, drooling in his sleep.

I called the police, but the examination showed I hadn't been assaulted.

The facts were clear, yet Federico remained convinced I just hadn't had time to go through with it.

After that, I wasn't even allowed at my son's school activities.

For every school event, Federico would send Savannah and order me to stay home, telling me not to "go out and disgrace the Grayson name."

When our son pointed a finger in my face and called me a "bad woman," he just stood by and said nothing.

The third time I was caught…

I was done playing their games. I would give them exactly what they wanted.

And now he had the gall to ask me why I was abandoning my child?

Savannah glided to his side. "Mr. Grayson," she murmured, "the agreement states she forfeits custody, but… I can't imagine any mother giving up her child this easily."

"For Ms. Berry to have multiple affairs, she must have her next move planned. A child would only be a burden, after all… There's no need to persuade her."

After she spoke, she shot me a look, a flicker of feigned gravity in her eyes.

I let out a soft laugh.

She seemed to have forgotten.

Four years ago, she was the one who drafted this absurd agreement, the one that specified the exact number of infidelities.

Federico's expression hardened.

"You'd better mean it. Don't come crawling back to me."

With that, he spun on his heel and left.

I watched his retreating back, the corner of my mouth twitching into a grim smile.

I won't, Federico.

I once filled hundreds of diary pages with your name—Federico Grayson—trying to convince myself to love you, praying to God for our story. I ran to every church in the city, kneeling until my knees bled, begging for a sign that love could transcend everything, that our different worlds didn't matter.

I never imagined the Prince Charming of my prayers would become my living nightmare.

This time, my knees will never bend again.

Savannah smirked at me. "Berry, the night is still young. We won't disturb you."

The moment the door clicked shut, the room plunged back into silence.

I glanced at the man still passed out on the bed, a wave of nausea rolling through me.

I had woken up long before him, long before they'd burst in. I could have left.

But I was tired of the chase. So I waited.

I pulled on my coat and walked out without a second glance.

The next evening, I returned to the Fifth Avenue penthouse to pack.

When I pushed open the master bedroom door, I realized everything was gone. All my clothes, my personal items—erased.

The butler stammered, avoiding my gaze. "Madam, your belongings... they've all been moved to the basement storage. Miss Savannah said the master bedroom will soon have a new mistress and needed to be cleared out."

A bitter smile touched my lips.

Four years of marriage, and I wasn't even worth a proper goodbye.

I turned and headed for the basement storage room.

Pushing the door open, I saw my life in boxes stacked high, bags piled in a corner.

I knelt and began to sift through the mess, piece by piece.

Nothing else mattered. I had to find the antique Cartier watch my mother left me.

It was a family heirloom, passed from my grandmother to my mother, and from my mother to me…

It was the only thing in this house that was truly mine.

I finally found it, buried at the bottom of a box.

I clutched the box to my chest, a long, shuddering breath of relief escaping my lips.

Just as I was about to grab a few changes of clothes, a childish voice piped up from the doorway.

"What are you doing?"

I turned. Erik's small frame was blocking the entrance.

He had Federico's features, but that condescending posture was pure Savannah.

"Getting my things."

I went back to packing, not looking at him.

Usually, the sight of him would make me rush over for a hug and a kiss, no matter how much he squirmed away.

But this time, my heart felt strangely still.

"These aren't your things."

Seeing I was ignoring him, he stomped in, treading on the clothes I'd laid out on the floor. "Aunt Savannah said everything in this house belongs to Dad. You can't take anything."

I paused. "These are mine."

"The money you used was Dad's," he said, clasping his hands behind his back like a little old man. "And Dad's money belongs to the Graysons. Outsiders can't take Grayson things."

Outsider?

I lifted my head and stared at him.

A four-year-old boy, standing there, looking at me like I was a common thief.

The coldness in his eyes was even more pronounced than Federico's.

"I'm just taking one thing." I clutched the watch box tightly and stood. "You can have the rest."

"No." He darted over, blocking the doorway with his arms spread wide. "You can't steal from the Graysons."

"Erik, move."

"No!" he shrieked. "You're a thief! A dirty thief! Aunt Savannah said if you leave, you can never come back, and if you take things, it's stealing!"

A vein throbbed in my temple. "I'll say it one last time. Move."

"No! Put it down!"

He lunged at me, grabbing for the velvet box in my hand.

I pulled back on instinct. The box tore open.

The Cartier watch tumbled out, hit the concrete floor with a sickening crack, and the crystal face shattered.

I froze, my mother's words echoing in my mind from the day she'd fastened it to my wrist.

Berry, she had said, this has been in our family for three generations. One day, you'll give it to your daughter. And if you don't have a daughter, give it to your son's wife…

No daughter. No daughter-in-law. Just this watch.

Passed down for generations, only to be shattered in mine. By my own son.

Erik stood to the side, muttering, "Well, you should've just let go…"

My eyes, red-rimmed, fixed on him. "I told you. This was from my grandma."

I stared at him, my own eyes burning. Does he even know who pays for his grandmother to lie in that private nursing home?

Erik flinched, taking a half-step back.

"I don't have a grandma. I just know some money-burning old woman…"

The blood rushed to my head.

"Aunt Savannah said so. She said she's in such a nice room, costing Dad all that money, and she's not even getting better. She's just burning money—"

"Say that again."

My voice was warped, unrecognizable even to me.

My expression must have terrified him. He bit his lip, then puffed out his chest. "She's a money-burning old woman, so what—Ah!"

I shoved him.

He stumbled backward and fell, landing hard on his backside.

He sat stunned for a second before his face crumpled and he let out a piercing wail.

"Dad! Dad!"

My hand was numb. I stared at my son thrashing on the floor, the words "money-burning old woman" echoing in my head.

That "money-burning old woman" was my mother. His grandmother.

The woman who'd dragged her post-surgery body to his one-month celebration, knitting him a tiny sweater, stitch by painstaking stitch.

The woman who, on his birthday every year, would call from the nursing home and have a nurse read out, "Happy birthday to my dearest Erik."

And he called her a "money-burning old woman."

The sharp edge of the broken watch face bit into my palm, the pain a welcome anchor.

Federico burst in and saw his son sobbing on the floor. He instantly scooped him up.

"Erik, what's wrong?"

Erik buried his face in his father's shoulder, his cries escalating. "Dad, she pushed me! Make her leave! I want Aunt Savannah…"

Federico held him, his gaze lifting to meet mine.

It was filled with cold disapproval. "Berry, have you lost your mind? Hitting a child!"

"I didn't hit him," I said, my voice quiet. "I pushed him."

"Is there a difference?"

I looked down at the shattered watch in my hand.

"Yes," I said. "Hitting him would have been a mother's discipline. Pushing him... was what he deserved."