I carried Lily straight upstairs to the nursery on the second floor and locked the door behind us.

Once I'd soothed her to sleep, I pulled out my backup phone.

I, Amy Fox, had never been a pushover.

Years ago, I'd seen something in Maxwell Gilbert. I'd handed him resources, connections, and a network that put him where he sat today.

If he wanted to bite the hand that fed him, then he had no one to blame when I bled him dry.

I dialed my private hacker assistant, K.

"K, I need you to trace the overseas transactions on an account for me."

For five years, Antonia Henson had been wiring enormous sums abroad under every excuse imaginable. She thought she'd been careful. In truth, I'd noticed a long time ago.

I just hadn't cared enough to look into it.

Now, though, the destination of that money was looking very suspicious.

Less than half an hour later, K sent the files to my encrypted inbox.

I opened the statements and scrolled through them, each line more absurd than the last.

Every single transfer ultimately funneled into an Australian account registered under the name Vivian.

And this Vivian's spending history could only be described as obscene. Day after day, it was either limited-edition handbags or chartered yachts and private parties.

Better still, K had hacked into an overseas social media platform and dug up Vivian's private account.

It was full of photos that could sear your eyes out of your skull.

The woman in the pictures wore oversized sunglasses and a bikini, draped over two blond men built like Greek statues.

Half her face was hidden, but I recognized her instantly by the signature red mole on her chin.

This was no Vivian.

This was Isabel Henson. The woman who had supposedly burned to ash in that fire.

I stared at the photos on my screen, and a cold smile curved my lips.

The sainted ghost. The untouchable first love, consumed by flames.

She and Antonia had orchestrated the perfect con, a masterwork of fake tragedy.

All for Maxwell's fortune. And they'd wanted my life thrown in as a bonus.

"Isabel, you've been having the time of your life overseas, haven't you."

"Since you're not dead after all, let me put together a proper welcome-home gift."

The next morning, I finished washing up and applied a full face of flawless makeup.

The moment I came downstairs, I saw Maxwell sitting at the table, spooning bird's nest soup toward Antonia's lips, coaxing her to drink.

When he noticed me, his gaze cooled several degrees.

"Have you come to your senses? If so, go to the hospital and get the pre-op screening done."

I walked to the dining table and poured myself a cup of black coffee. Every movement was unhurried, composed.

"Maxwell, I want a divorce."

The spoon in his hand stilled for a fraction of a second. Then he let out a derisive scoff.

"What game are you playing now, Amy?"

"Every time we fight, you throw around the word 'divorce' like it's supposed to scare me. You really think that still works?"

I took a slow sip of the coffee. The bitterness spread across my tongue.

"This isn't a threat. The attorney's letter will be delivered to your office this afternoon."

"Every asset under my name stays with me. You won't see a single cent."

"And I'm taking full custody of Lily."

Maxwell slammed the bowl onto the table. Bird's nest soup splattered everywhere.

"In your dreams."

"If you dare bring up divorce right now, I will destroy your reputation."

"Antonia's bone marrow donation? You're doing it whether you want to or not."

Antonia sat off to the side, dabbing at crocodile tears.

"It's all my fault, Amy. I'll just go. Please don't fight because of me."

She spoke while making a show of pushing herself up from the wheelchair. Her legs buckled, and she crumpled to the floor.

Maxwell scooped her up, cradling her against his chest, and turned a furious glare on me.

"Are you satisfied now?"

"If anything happens to Antonia, I swear you'll pay with your life."

I looked at the two of them—this disgusting pair—and felt nothing but nausea rising in my throat.

"Do whatever you want, Maxwell. You'd better pray your precious little sister-in-law lives long enough to make it to the gala."

I turned on my heel, walked out of the villa, and drove my Porsche straight to the office.

The moment I arrived at Fox Group, I called an emergency meeting with both the legal and finance departments.

A full audit. Every project Maxwell had his fingers in, every dollar he'd funneled through the company.

If I was going to cut him off, I was going to cut clean.

Over the next few days, I didn't go back to that revolting house. Not once.

I was busy laying the groundwork, preparing a gift the Henson sisters would remember for the rest of their miserable lives.

K sent me an update.

Antonia's so-called leukemia medical records were forged. Completely fabricated. Her attending physician turned out to be one of Isabel's old admirers, bought off with a staggering sum. And that "voluntary transfer agreement" for the properties—Antonia was already in a rush to cash out. She'd secretly contacted an underground money-laundering ring, planning to mortgage the real estate and move the assets offshore.

All of it happening right under Maxwell's nose, and that fool had no idea.

He was too busy posting melodramatic essays on social media, waxing poetic about the fragility of life and the weight of responsibility.

I scrolled through those nauseating posts and couldn't help but scoff.

Soon. Very soon, the charity gala everyone had been buzzing about would arrive.

Maxwell had gone all out for Antonia's big debut—every socialite, every media outlet in Cloudvale had received an invitation. He wanted the whole world to know what a loyal, devoted man Maxwell Gilbert was. And he wanted the whole world to pressure me, his cold-hearted wife, into handing over my bone marrow.

The day before the gala, Maxwell called.

His voice was hard as steel, laced with the tone of a man who expected absolute obedience.

"Tomorrow night. Eight o'clock. The Grand Hyatt. You will be there, dressed to the nines."

"If you don't show up, I'm sending Lily to a boarding school in the middle of nowhere."

My grip tightened around the phone. I swallowed the fury clawing up my chest and kept my voice perfectly level. Not a single ripple.

"Of course. I'll be there right on time."

Maxwell seemed caught off guard by how easily I agreed. He let out a cold grunt and hung up.

I stared at the darkened screen, a slow, razor-thin smile curling at the corner of my lips.

"Are you ready for hell, Maxwell Gilbert?"

"I'm not just going to show up. I'm going to make sure none of you can ever show your faces in Cloudvale again."

I dialed K and gave the final set of instructions.

Everything was in place. All I needed now was the right moment.

The Grand Hyatt's ballroom glittered under a cascade of crystal chandeliers.

Maxwell had booked the entire top floor. The venue was dripping in extravagance—towering floral arrangements, champagne towers, the works.

I stepped through the entrance in a fitted wine-red couture gown, my hair swept up, my heels clicking against the marble. Every pair of eyes in the room snapped toward me.

Whispers rippled through the crowd like wind through dry grass.

"That's Mrs. Gilbert. I heard her husband's giving half his fortune to his ex-girlfriend's sister tonight."

"And he's pressuring her to donate bone marrow too. Can you imagine?"

"Right? But she looks like she can hold her own. How does a woman like that end up a doormat at home?"

I ignored every prying glance, every pitying smirk, and walked straight to the head table.

Maxwell stood there in an impeccably tailored suit, all smiles, shaking hands and trading pleasantries with his guests like a man on top of the world.

Antonia sat in a custom wheelchair, draped in a white chiffon dress, styled to look like some fragile angel plucked from a painting. If you overlooked the carefully applied pallor on her face, she really did look heartbreakingly delicate.

The moment Maxwell saw me approaching, a sharp warning flashed through his eyes.

"Good. You know what's good for you. When it's time to go on stage, play along. Don't embarrass me."

I gave him one cold, withering look and said nothing.

Antonia tugged timidly at the hem of my dress.

"Amy, thank you so much for coming. I'll find a way to repay you someday, I promise."

I pulled my dress free, not bothering to hide my disgust.

"Save your repayment. You'll need it where you're going."

The color drained from Antonia's face, and her eyes turned red in an instant.

Maxwell saw it and immediately stepped in front of her, shielding her like she was made of glass.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Amy? This is an important event. Are you seriously going to cause a scene?"

"I'm not causing a scene. I'm stating facts."

I picked up a glass of champagne, swirling it lazily, and fixed him with a gaze cold enough to freeze steel.

"Maxwell, I'll ask you one last time. Are you sure you want to transfer those shares to her?"

He scoffed, his tone final. "I've already signed. Tonight, I'm announcing it in front of everyone."

"You'd better not try anything, or I swear I won't let it slide."

"Fine." I nodded, tipping the champagne back in one smooth swallow. "Wonderful."

"Since you're so eager to dig your own grave, I'll hand you the shovel."

Before long, the gala reached its main event.

The emcee delivered a stirring account of Maxwell and Isabel's story, painting Maxwell as the picture of undying devotion, a man whose love transcended death itself.

Then Maxwell wheeled Antonia onto the stage.

Thunderous applause erupted across the hall.

He took the microphone, his gaze sweeping the audience with practiced emotion.

"Thank you all for being here tonight."

"As many of you know, Isabel gave her life to save mine all those years ago."

"That is a debt I will carry for the rest of my days."

"Now her sister, Antonia, is battling a terminal illness. As the man who loved Isabel, it is both my responsibility and my duty to look after her."

"That is why I've decided to transfer thirty percent of my shares in Gilbert Group to Antonia, free of charge."

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Thirty percent of Gilbert Group. That was billions of dollars in assets.

Maxwell paused, and his gaze shifted deliberately to where I was sitting.

"I'd also like to thank my wife, Amy Fox."

"She has agreed to undergo bone marrow matching for Antonia, offering her own body to extend Antonia's life."

Every spotlight in the room swung onto me at once.

Hundreds of eyes turned my way, some filled with admiration, others with pity.

Onstage, Maxwell extended his hand toward me, beckoning.

"Amy, come up here. Let everyone witness your generosity."

I set my glass down slowly. Under the weight of every stare in the room, I walked toward the stage, one measured step at a time.

Maxwell thought I'd caved. A smug, self-satisfied smile spread across his face.

But the moment I took the microphone from his hand, that smile froze solid.

I swept my gaze across the sea of guests, and when I spoke, my voice rang out clear and steady.

"Good evening, everyone."

"Mr. Gilbert just told you a very touching story. Truly moving."

"However, he seems to have forgotten one rather important detail."

I turned to face Maxwell, my eyes cutting into him like a blade.

"I never agreed to donate bone marrow."

"And as for Ms. Antonia Henson here, she doesn't have leukemia at all."