The next morning, I came downstairs to find Malcolm standing in the middle of the living room.

A girl stood beside him, timidly clutching the edge of his sleeve.

I didn't ask a single question. I walked straight into the kitchen and grabbed my breakfast.

Footsteps approached from behind, and a familiar presence enveloped me.

Malcolm rested his chin against my shoulder, his voice low and laced with amusement.

"The other girls in the Henson family's branch families keep picking on Lillian. She can't handle that kind of environment, so I brought her here to stay for a few days."

The jasmine perfume clinging to him was impossible to miss.

My lashes trembled, but I pretended not to recognize whose scent it was. "I'll have the housekeeper prepare the guest room."

Malcolm hadn't expected me to be this calm. His thumb traced slow circles over the back of my hand.

"Since she's staying here, I need you to play the big sister. Teach her some social graces, how to carry herself. Thirty million dollars. Consider it compensation for the trouble."

"Fine."

Malcolm studied my uncharacteristic composure, sensing something was off. "Are you upset?"

I lifted my gaze. My tone was flat. "No."

He sighed. "Is it because she's the Hensons' real daughter? You think she's going to take your place?"

"Don't worry, that won't happen. I'll smooth things over with the Hensons. I'll give them new contracts. They'll still claim you as their daughter."

The corner of my mouth twitched into the kind of practiced, hollow smile I'd perfected over three years.

Lillian watched me cautiously, and the moment my eyes swept in her direction, she shrank behind Malcolm.

He reached back and gently nudged her forward, his voice dripping with indulgence. "This is your sister, not a monster. What are you so afraid of?"

It was the first time I really looked at Lillian Henson.

Small face. Round eyes.

She looked nothing like me, and nothing like any of his past lovers.

No wonder Malcolm treated her differently.

I turned away and sat down to eat.

Lillian seemed to gather her courage. She picked up a bowl of porridge and walked toward me.

"I got you some porridge, sis..."

Before she could finish, her wrist jerked violently.

Scalding porridge splashed across my body.

Before I could even react, she let out a sharp cry and threw herself into Malcolm's arms.

"I didn't mean to! She pinched me, it hurt so bad I couldn't hold it steady..."

Malcolm's first instinct was to check on me, but the moment he heard her words, his head snapped down to examine the back of her hand.

Sure enough, a red mark bloomed across the skin.

His brow furrowed. He looked up and glared at me. "Prudence, why the hell are you bullying her?"

"She's not like those other women. Don't take out your frustrations on her!"

I almost laughed.

Malcolm hadn't hesitated for a single second before believing Lillian's accusation and turning on me.

Lillian burrowed deeper into his arms, whimpering softly.

"Does she not like me? If I'm causing problems, I can go back to where I was before..."

She kept her head down, the picture of wounded selflessness.

Malcolm's hand settled on her shoulder. He patted it gently, his voice tender. "Don't overthink it."

"Prudence, apologize to Lillian. Then we'll put this behind us."

He turned to me, and his tone left no room for refusal.

Enough, Prudence. What are you still expecting from this man?

My expression went cold. I grabbed Lillian's hand and squeezed hard, digging my fingers into her skin.

The back of her hand swelled instantly.

"That is what a pinch feels like. Now you know."

I released her. My voice was ice.

"If you're going to play games, at least learn to play them well. That was embarrassing."

I turned and walked upstairs without sparing Malcolm a single glance.

By the time he finished consoling Lillian and came looking for me, I had already changed.

He walked over, his tone gentle. "Lillian really isn't the scheming type. She just got a little jealous, threw a small tantrum. Don't hold it against her."

I lowered my eyes to hide what I was feeling and offered no opinion on his assessment of "not the scheming type."

Malcolm seemed pleased by my compliance. He reached for me.

I stepped aside.

His hand froze mid-air. His brow creased. "What's wrong? Still angry?"

"My period's about to start. I'm not feeling well."

I fought to keep my composure, my fists clenched so tight my knuckles went white.

This time, all I could do was refuse. The contraceptive pills were brutal on my body, and I didn't dare take them again so soon.

Malcolm's interest visibly cooled. He was about to leave.

But as he turned, his elbow caught the nightstand.

A sharp clatter. A box of pills hit the floor.

He looked down. The moment he read the label, his face went dark.

"Prudence, you've been taking birth control?!"

"I've been regulating my cycle." I snatched the pills back, forcing my voice steady.

Malcolm laughed in disbelief, his eyes going cold.

"You don't want to carry my child, is that it?!"

He stared at my face, at the distance that had settled there without either of us noticing when it began. Fury surged through him, though beneath it flickered something he refused to acknowledge: panic.

My silence was answer enough.

"Wonderful."

To mask that sliver of unease, Malcolm released me with a shove so abrupt it bordered on violent.

"If you won't do it, I'll find someone who will!"

He stormed out and into the guest bedroom, dragging Lillian back with him.

He sat her on the edge of the bed, his voice deliberately low, almost coaxing. "Lillian, would you be willing to have my baby?"

Lillian's cheeks flushed. She nodded, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I don't know how."

Malcolm let out a quiet laugh. It was soft but carried no warmth. His gaze drifted past her and landed squarely on me, bright with undisguised humiliation.

"That's fine."

"Your sister will teach you."

My head snapped up. A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, and for a second I was sure I'd misheard.

Malcolm was going to sleep with Lillian right in front of me and make me coach them through it?

"She's taught plenty of women what to do in bed. One more won't make a difference."

He spoke slowly, his tone airy, laced with contempt.

Something seized my heart and squeezed. I thought of our wedding night seven years ago, Malcolm holding my hand, murmuring against my hair:

"You don't have to learn any of that servant nonsense my mother talks about. I'd never let you suffer even the smallest indignity."

My nails dug into my palms until they nearly broke the skin. I couldn't feel the pain.

Humiliation swallowed me whole.

I watched, eyes open, as the man who was still legally my husband pressed another woman into the bed and lavished her with tenderness.

I didn't want to watch. He made me guide them.

I was pinned in place, and whatever warmth remained inside me cooled degree by degree.

Until there was nothing left but dead, frozen silence.

Malcolm told me what to say, and I said it.

Calm as a puppet with its strings pulled taut.

When it was over, Lillian looked up with wounded eyes, her voice cottony and soft.

"Am I boring? I don't know anything. I'm not as good as she is..."

Malcolm leaned down to soothe her, his expression sated.

"You're nothing like her."

"She's a tramp. She knows every trick in the book because she trained her old lovers one by one."

"But you're innocent. Pure as a blank page. That's what makes you irresistible."

I let out a hollow laugh.

When we first married, I'd been curious about all of it. The two of us would hide under the covers, blushing, figuring things out together.

Now all of that had been reduced to one breezy verdict: I was easy.

I couldn't hold it in anymore. I bolted to the bathroom and threw up until there was nothing left.

The woman in the mirror was ashen, her lips drained of color.

My phone rang.

"The three-year agreement is up. It's time for you to step aside." Lauren Henson's voice on the other end was flat, indifferent.

"I've already sent Lillian to the Delgado estate. Find a way to make Malcolm marry her. This marriage was supposed to be hers in the first place."

"Don't overstay your welcome."

A strange clarity settled over me. My entire life had been something of a joke.

The love was a lie.

So was the family.

Lillian had been reclaimed by the Hensons three years ago, but they'd never made it public.

They even told me my birth parents had died in a car accident.

I had nothing left.

"As long as you give up your position," they continued, "we'll grant you one condition."

I closed my eyes. My throat burned, dry as paper.

"Fine. I want a green card."

I never wanted the title of Mrs. Delgado anyway.

Malcolm was standing in the doorway. I didn't know how long he'd been there. His gaze was heavy, fixed on me.

"You're going to the States?"

My body went rigid, but I smoothed it over quickly.

"A business partner's wife invited me to see an exhibition in the US."

Malcolm frowned. His tone dropped back to ice.

"I'll ask you one last time. Will you have my child?"

I knew that if I nodded, everything would go back to the way it was. As if none of this had happened.

In six days I would be gone for good.

Whether or not I agreed was mine to decide.

But the word "yes" lodged in my throat like a stone.

I couldn't force it out.

"Perfect," Malcolm's face darkened in an instant.

"You're going to regret this, Prudence."

The door slammed shut hard enough to rattle the frame.

I stood before the mirror and realized tears were already sliding down my cheeks.

The truth was, I already had regrets.

Regretting ever loving Malcolm Delgado.

Regretting ever marrying him.

The next morning, Malcolm gathered every servant in the house and made his announcement.

"From today on, you will treat Lillian as the lady of this house."

"Meals, daily care, everything prepared to the highest standard for a woman trying to conceive."

The butler hesitated, then asked carefully, "And the living arrangements...?"

Malcolm glanced at me. His tone was thin, mocking.

"Move my wife's things out of the master bedroom and give it to Lillian. She's carrying something precious now. She deserves the best."

"Malcolm, that's our bedroom!"

My voice cracked for the first time.

Every piece of that room we had chosen together, arranged together.

Every sweet memory we ever made lived between those walls.

Last night he'd taken another woman in that bed, and the thought alone made my stomach turn.

Now he wanted me to hand over the entire room.

Lillian spoke up, her voice small. "It's okay, really. I can stay in the guest room... even if it's a little scary being alone."

Malcolm pulled her into his arms at once, his voice softening. "No need."

He looked at me, careless and cutting. "Since you won't have my child, Prudence, don't interfere with my decisions."

"Until the baby is born, Lillian is the lady of this house."

"And when the child arrives, it'll be registered under your name. Lillian will never get to hear her own baby call her 'Mom.'"

"To make up for that, you'll move into the guest room and take care of her. Through the pregnancy, the delivery, and recovery."

My eyes finally burned red.

He wanted me to play nursemaid to his mistress?

The servants exchanged uneasy glances, none of them daring to breathe.

Was the lady of the Delgado household really being replaced?

Malcolm looked at me and raised one brow. "Any objections?"

I stared at the man who had once fought the entire world for me.

The one who held me in the rain and whispered, "No one gets to hurt you."

As if he'd never existed at all.

A long silence passed.

Slowly, I unclenched my fists, fingers numb from how tightly I'd been gripping.

My palms were stained deep red.

"No objections."

Soon enough, I wouldn't be here anyway.

What did it matter to me who slept in the master bedroom?

Malcolm's expression was stone-cold as he issued his orders. "Take care of Lillian while you're home. There's a gala the evening after tomorrow. You'll both attend. The gowns will be delivered tonight."

I answered quietly.

The next afternoon, I stood in the living room, watching the housekeeper press the gowns inch by careful inch.

I had no desire to play the charming wife at another one of Malcolm's galas.

But I refused to show up looking like a wreck. The gown and the jewelry were things I always inspected myself.

Lillian stood off to the side, her voice small and tentative. "Prudence, could you teach me the etiquette for these kinds of events?"

I didn't want to acknowledge her, but the housekeeper was right there, and I still had a role to play: the composed wife of a powerful man.

So I swallowed what I felt and walked her through the tedious formalities, one by one.

Lillian listened attentively. Then she said, "Prudence, I'd love to learn how to press clothes too. So I can iron Malcolm's shirts for him. Would that be okay?"

My fingers stilled for just a beat before I nodded.

"Sure."

Lillian would be the next Mrs. Delgado soon enough. Teaching her how to press his shirts made no difference to me.

I placed my hand over the iron, demonstrating the angle and pressure.

What I didn't expect was Lillian's hand shooting over mine, clamping down hard on my wrist.

I couldn't react in time.

The iron slammed flat against the fabric with a dull thud.

The smell of scorched cloth hit instantly, the material blackening beneath it.

Before I could wrench free, she had already let go.

And in the same breath, Lillian raised her hand and slapped herself across the face. Hard.

I realized what was happening and lunged to stop her, but it was too late.

Lillian was already rushing out, eyes brimming red.

She threw herself into Malcolm's arms, trembling all over, her sobs coming in broken fragments. "Malcolm, Prudence ruined my gown... and she told me not to tell you... I just wanted to learn to press your shirts, and she hit me, called me ungrateful, told me to get out, said I wasn't worthy of carrying your children..."

"What the hell is wrong with you, Prudence?!"

Malcolm's face darkened. His gaze cut toward me, ice-cold.

My stomach dropped. I forced the words out. "Lillian held my hand down and destroyed the gown herself. The slap was self-inflicted. The housekeeper was standing right there. Ask her."

"I... I didn't see anything..."

The housekeeper kept her head low, her voice shaking. She wouldn't even look at me.

I turned to stare at her, unable to believe that the woman I had trusted for seven years would betray me.

Before I could say another word—

Crack.

A slap landed full across my face.

The force snapped my head to the side.

A high-pitched ringing filled my ears, as if something had been split open inside my skull.

Malcolm stared at me. There was no hesitation in his eyes. Nothing but raw, undisguised contempt.

"When did you become this vicious, Prudence?"

"You refuse to have children yourself, and now you're threatening Lillian? You actually hit her?"

His voice grew colder with every word.

"Do you have any idea that obstructing an heir violates the Delgado family code?"

I drew a deep breath, refusing to accept a crime I hadn't committed. "I won't confess to something I didn't do. Check the security footage. Every inch of this house is covered by cameras."

"No need. You think Lillian would make this up? She's guileless. She doesn't have your kind of scheming mind."

Even my explanations were pointless now.

Malcolm had already convicted me.

"Since you enjoy ironing so much, you can stay in this room and press every last piece of clothing until you're done. Your gown goes to Lillian tomorrow. You can wear the ruined one yourself."

Malcolm let out a cold laugh, shoved me aside, and turned to leave.

My foot slipped. My lower back slammed into the iron I hadn't had time to move.

A searing hiss.

The pain detonated across my skin.

I couldn't hold back the scream. My whole body folded in on itself, vision going black at the edges.

Malcolm's footsteps faltered. He turned back, almost instinctively, concern flickering across his face before he could mask it.

But in the next second, Lillian pressed a hand to her cheek, her voice soft and trembling. "Malcolm... my face hurts so much..."

She'd learned from last time. The slap had been hard enough to leave a convincing flush, red and raw-looking, but calibrated just right so it wouldn't swell.

After all, swelling would mean she couldn't attend the gala.

Malcolm forgot what he'd been about to do. He reached for her face at once, his voice turning gentle. "Don't worry. Let me take you to get something for it."

His hand rested protectively against her back.

He didn't look at me again.

The housekeeper had already slipped away.

I straightened up slowly. Pain pulsed through my lower back in waves.

I went to get the burn ointment myself. My hands were shaking so badly it took several tries to twist off the cap.

In that moment, I couldn't tell which hurt more.

My back, or my heart.

I was supposed to have stopped expecting anything from Malcolm by now.

Because he'd deliberately kept me from buying a new gown, I couldn't wear the ruined one to the gala. On the night of the event, I had no choice but to put on an old dress.

The fabric was dated, the cut no longer flattering by current standards, but I still smoothed the hem inch by inch.

The entire ride there, I didn't say a single word to Malcolm.

He gave a cold scoff. The moment the car stopped, he stepped out with Lillian.

The door closed in my face.

I was a step behind. By the time I climbed out, one hand braced against my aching back, they were already walking ahead, side by side.

Under the lights, the two of them looked effortless together, intimate and natural. Every bit the married couple.

And I trailed far behind.

The moment I stepped through the entrance of the ballroom, the whispers began.

"Look at her. Why is the chairman's wife lagging behind?"

"He's had plenty of mistresses, but none of them have ever gotten this kind of treatment..."

"Looks like Mrs. Delgado has truly fallen out of favor."