Today is my ninth wedding anniversary with Joe.

At the dining table, my two stepsons are lost in a video call with their birth mother, Pamela. The younger one, Frank, pouts as he tattles. "Mommy, when are you coming home? The food this old witch makes is disgusting." Jonathan, the elder, merely shoots me a cold glance, his disgust laid bare.

Joe sits at the head of the table, polishing his cutlery as if none of this concerns him.

Setting down my fork and knife, I speak calmly. "Joe, let's get a divorce."

He looks up. "What game are you trying to play now, Allison?"

I simply shake my head, feeling neither sorrow nor anger. "The nine-year agreement is up. It's time we divorced."

…

Silence falls over the large dining room, so profound you could hear a pin drop.

Jonathan and Frank pause their call with Pamela, staring at me as if I’ve lost my mind.

The mockery on Joe’s face freezes, then twists into irritation. "Had your fill of this drama?"

"This isn't drama." I stand, my gaze sweeping calmly over the three of them—father and sons. "Nine years ago, I promised your mother I would marry you and look after Jonathan and Frank. Today is the last day. My duty is done."

Brenda—Joe’s mother.

Nine years ago, my only sister, Catherine, was suddenly diagnosed with acute leukemia. She needed a bone marrow transplant and a staggering amount of money for treatment, just as I had reached a dead end. That was when Brenda found me.

A powerful society matriarch from old money, she approached a young actress whose career had just been destroyed overnight by a rival’s malicious, fabricated scandal.

She offered me a check—enough to save my sister’s life.

Her condition? Marry her son, Joe. Become a stepmother to his two children. For nine years.

Joe, the infamous playboy heir of the Capital City. His one true love, Pamela, was a race car driver chasing her dreams. After giving birth to their second child, she flew abroad to compete and then vanished without a trace.

Heartbroken, Joe got into a car accident and nearly lost a leg.

Brenda needed someone to care for her injured son and two young grandsons, to uphold the family’s dignity. I needed money to save my sister.

It was a perfect match.

I signed the nine-year marriage contract. I signed away nine years of my youth.

"Old witch, don’t think I don’t know you’re just using this trick to get Dad’s attention!" Jonathan scoffs, pushing his steak plate away. "Stop acting. It’s disgusting."

For nine years, I’ve cleaned up his messes after fights, stayed up through his fevers, and—still bearing the faded title of ‘Beauty of the Century’—attended parent-teacher meetings when classmates mocked him for having no mother. All of it earned him plenty of face.

Yet none of it compares to a single video call from Pamela.

Ignoring him, I look only at Joe. "I’ll have my lawyer prepare the divorce papers. In nine years, I haven’t touched a single card you gave me. I want nothing from the family. Just sign quickly."

With that, I turn to go upstairs.

"Stop right there!" Joe’s voice is ice. "Allison, you think you can just waltz in and out of this family as you please?"

I pause but don’t look back. "It was a contract, Joe. Nine years are up. I’m free."

Behind me comes his low, anger-choked growl. "Over my dead body."

I offer no reply.

Back in my room, I lock the door and dial Brenda.

Her voice is as gentle as ever. "Allison, have you thought it through?"

"Yes. The nine years are up. Thank you for your help back then. It’s time for me to leave."

"Good." That single word brings instant tears to my eyes. "Get some rest. I’ll handle the rest."

Hanging up, I lean against the door. Nine years of grievances finally find an outlet, and tears slide silently down my cheeks.

My conscience is clear.

To Joe, I fulfilled my duties as a wife. To Jonathan and Frank, my obligations as a mother.

Yet in the end, I am nothing.

***

The next day, Joe doesn’t come home—his way of pressuring me to back down.

I pay it no mind. At six, as usual, I get up to make breakfast.

Frank glances at the sandwiches and frowns. "I’m not eating this. I want the egg custard Mommy makes."

Calmly, I reply, "I don’t know how to make that. Besides, she’s not your mother."

"You’re lying! She is my mother! You’re the bad woman who stole Daddy!" he shrieks, sweeping his milk glass onto the floor.

The shattering sound pierces my heart.

I look at his flushed little face, so like Pamela’s. For nine years, she has been a ghost haunting every corner of this villa, sending toys from abroad or calling for a video chat. A few casual words from her completely captivate the boys.

While my day-in, day-out care, in their eyes, was just a nanny doing her job.

Kneeling, I silently clean up the mess. A shard of glass slices my finger, and blood wells up.

Jonathan stands to the side, watching coldly. "Playing the victim to get sympathy?"

I say nothing. After tossing the shards into the trash and bandaging the cut, I walk into the kitchen for a glass of warm water.

My patience is not without limits. My affection is not to be trampled on.

Just then, the front door opens.

Joe walks in. And behind him stands a woman I haven’t seen in nine years.

Pamela.

She wears a white dress, her long hair flowing. A gentle smile graces her face, as if time has left no mark.

"Mommy!"

Jonathan and Frank fly to her like little birds, clinging tight.

Pamela kneels, gathering one in each arm, her eyes slightly red. "My darlings, Mommy missed you so much."

A moving picture of a mother’s deep love.

And I stand outside it, an unnecessary intruder.

Joe’s gaze falls on me, complex and unreadable.

Pamela sees me too. She rises and offers an apologetic smile. "Allison, it’s been so long. You’ve worked hard all these years."

She says my name like we’re old friends.

The corner of my mouth twitches, but no smile forms. "It wasn’t hard work. It was my job."

My words plunge the atmosphere to freezing point.

Joe frowns, displeased. "Allison, Pamela just got back. Is that any way to act?"

"And how should I act?" I counter. "Welcome her? Joe, have you forgotten? I am your wife."

"Not for much longer," he retorts coldly.

So he wasn’t applying pressure. He’d already found my replacement.

No—perhaps I was never a replacement. Just a temporary caretaker. Now the owner has returned, and it’s time for my exit.

"Fine. Perfect." I nod, the last shred of attachment dissolving. "I’ll have the lawyer send over the divorce papers as soon as possible."

I turn and head upstairs. Behind me, Pamela’s gentle, placating voice follows. "Joe, don’t argue with Allison. It’s all my fault. I shouldn’t have come back…"

Then Frank’s tearful cry. "I don’t want her to be my mommy! I want you! Mommy, please don’t go away again!"

Closing the bedroom door, I shut it all out.

My heart has never been so calm.

I started to pack my things.

Not that I had much to pack.

After nine years, I had bought almost nothing for myself.

The dressing room was crowded with that season’s luxury pieces, all sent over by Joseph’s assistant—nothing but window dressing. I’d never worn a single one.

I took only a few of my own old clothes, a pair of jade bracelets left to me by my mother, and one small, locked box.

Inside were treasures I had once held, and lost forever.

Four years ago, I’d gotten pregnant by accident.

It was our fourth year of marriage. I thought a child might ease the tension between Joseph and me.

When I told him, I was overjoyed. He only grunted a vague “Hmm,” handed me a card, and told me to handle the prenatal checkups myself.

Still, I let hope fill me.

I prepared everything for the baby—tiny clothes, little shoes, even names.

Only Joseph and I knew. My two stepsons didn’t.

But when I was two months along, Jonathan got into a fight at school, and the other child’s parents came to our door.

I went to deal with it. In the commotion, one of the parents shoved me, and I tumbled down the stairs.

When I woke, the baby was gone.

It had already been a tiny being with a heartbeat.

Joseph rushed to the hospital. When he saw me, his first words were, “Where’s Jonathan? Is he hurt?”

In that moment, I knew I had lost—utterly and completely.

Later, I locked away the ultrasound photo of that unborn child, along with all the little things I’d prepared for him, inside this box.

It was the one secret I kept from this marriage.

I was just about to place the box into my suitcase when the bedroom door burst open.

Jonathan charged in, snatched the box from my hands. “What’s this? Stealing something from our house?”

“Give it back!” My face went pale as I reached for it.

Using his height, he held it high over his head, well out of my reach.

“Jonathan, give it back!” My eyes burned with desperation.

“No! You’re a thief!” He grinned triumphantly and shook the box hard.

The latch gave way. The box fell with a thud, scattering its contents across the floor.

The yellowed ultrasound photo, the little embroidered baby shoes, a St. Christopher medal I’d had blessed…

Jonathan froze. Clearly, he hadn’t expected this.

My tears broke free, flooding down my cheeks.

I knelt, trembling hands gathering each item one by one, as if cradling the most precious treasures in the world.

“So… you had a child too?” His voice was rough.

I ignored him, carefully placing everything back and locking the box once more.

“I’m sorry…” he mumbled.

It was the first time in nine years he’d said those words to me.

But I didn’t need them anymore.

Some wounds, once made, never heal.

I stood, wiped my tears, and looked at him coldly. “Get out.”

“I—”

“I said get out!” My voice nearly broke with force.

The intensity startled him. He stumbled backward out of the room.

Clutching the box to my chest, I held it as if I could reclaim some shred of warmth.

But I knew—that child, my only hope, was gone forever.

Jonathan’s birthday party became Pamela’s first public move to reclaim her place.

The celebration was extravagantly grand, held on the lawn of the family villa.

Everyone who was anyone in the city attended.

I hadn’t wanted to go, but Aunt Brenda said over the phone, “Allison, go. Say a proper goodbye.”

So I put on a simple black dress, no jewelry, no makeup, and showed up at the banquet hall.

My appearance caused a small stir.

Everyone knew Pamela was back.

They were all waiting to see how I, the “legitimate” Mrs. Joseph, would handle it.

Ignoring the probing stares, I walked straight to a corner, picked up a glass of champagne, and watched quietly.

Pamela wore a custom pink princess gown, her arm linked with Joseph’s, smiling radiantly as she accepted everyone’s well-wishes. Jonathan and Frank stood like two little knights, guarding her on either side.

They looked like a family of four. I was the uninvited guest.

“Isn’t that Allison? How does she still have the nerve to show up?”

“Now that the real one is back, the impostor should just disappear.”

“I heard she only married him for the money. What a gold-digger.”

The whispers reached me. I didn’t care.

Halfway through, a large screen began playing a montage of Jonathan growing up.

From a babbling toddler to his first steps, to wearing a school backpack… At the end, words appeared: “Thank you, Mom. Welcome home.”

Then the lights dimmed, a spotlight falling on Pamela.

Tears welled in her eyes. “Thank you, my darlings. Mommy loves you.”

The room erupted in warm applause.

And in that moment, the screen flickered—and changed.

A series of graphic, obscene photos flashed across the display.

They were the maliciously photoshopped images my rivals had circulated years ago.

Though the rumors had been cleared, those pictures remained like a brand, seared forever onto my name.

The hall plunged into stunned, buzzing chaos.

Every gaze in the room was a dagger, all aimed squarely at me.

Mockery, disdain, gleeful schadenfreude—

I stood frozen, my blood turning to ice. Though my body trembled, I couldn’t move an inch.

After a moment of stunned silence, Jonathan and Frank broke into smug, malicious grins.

Qiao Joe’s face darkened instantly with rage. “Who did this?!” he roared at the security guards. “Turn it off—now!”

The screen finally went black, but the images were already seared into everyone’s memory.

I had become the city’s greatest disgrace.

Pamela walked over to me, wearing a mask of feigned concern. “Allison, are you all right? What in the world was that? How could—”

Before she could finish, Qiao Joe grabbed my arm and yanked me away, dragging me out of the banquet hall.

His grip was iron-tight, fingers digging into my wrist until it ached.

“Qiao Joe, let me go!” I struggled against him.

He shoved me roughly into the car, then climbed in after me. “Drive!” he barked.

The car sped away, leaving the laughter and whispers behind.

Inside, the atmosphere turned suffocating.

“Who told you to dress like that?” he snapped suddenly, his voice thick with fury. “Was this your plan all along—to make me a laughingstock?”

I stared at him in disbelief.

My reputation had just been publicly shredded, and all he cared about was his pride.

“Is your pride really all you see?” A cold laugh escaped my lips.

“What else is there?” he sneered. “Allison, remember your place! You are Mrs. Joe Joe. Everything you do reflects on this family’s name!”

“Not for much longer,” I reminded him.

He faltered for a second, then his anger flared hotter. “Until I sign those papers, you’ll remain Mrs. Joe!”

I closed my eyes, refusing to argue further.

My heart sank, piece by piece.

So this nine-year marriage… for me, it had been a cage. But hadn’t it been a shackle for him, too?

He hated me for occupying the position of Mrs. Joe. He hated me for making him a laughingstock.

He had never loved me.

Not even a little.

Back at the villa, Qiao Joe flung me into the living room before storming off to his study and slamming the door so hard the walls shook.

I collapsed onto the sofa like a puppet with its strings cut.

Two months.

My period was two months late.

A wild, terrifying thought shot through my mind.

I didn’t dare dwell on it. I didn’t want to know. I was terrified it would be just another cruel disappointment.

Soon after, Pamela returned, carrying a cup of hot milk with fake sympathy. “Allison, drink this. It’ll help you calm down. About what happened today… I’m so sorry. I have no idea how—”

“It was you, wasn’t it?” I cut her off, lifting my head to meet her eyes.

Her gaze flickered for an instant before settling into cool composure. “Allison, how could you think that of me? Why would I ever do such a thing?”

“Who else would it be?” I scoffed. “You came back and immediately started trying to push me out, so you could take the title of Mrs. Joe for yourself. Pamela, your tactics haven’t improved one bit in nine years.”

Nine years ago, she was the one behind those doctored photos and vicious rumors.

Jealous of my better resources at the company, she’d paid off a rival’s paparazzo to create the scandal.

I had never told Qiao Joe.

Because I knew, even if I did, he wouldn’t believe me.

In his heart, Pamela would always be that pure, kind-hearted girl who chased her dreams with everything she had.

Pamela’s face paled; then she quickly conjured a look of teary distress. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Joe, come quick! Allison has completely misunderstood me…”

She called weakly toward the study.

Of course, Qiao Joe emerged immediately.

Seeing Pamela’s wounded expression, he moved to shield her, glaring at me. “Allison, what’s wrong with you now? Apologize to Pamela!”

“Apologize?” It was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard. “Qiao Joe, are you blind? Can’t you see she’s acting?”

“Enough!” Qiao Joe barked, cutting me off. “I know exactly what kind of person Pamela is! Unlike you—vicious and incapable of change!”

His words were a poisoned blade, thrust deep into my heart.

I looked at him standing there, protecting her, and suddenly I started to laugh.

I laughed until tears streamed down my face.

What had I been hoping for?

That he’d finally see the truth? That he’d stand up for me, just once?

Nine years. I should have given up hope long ago.

“Fine. I’ll apologize.” I stood up, walked over to Pamela, and met her triumphant gaze. Word by word, I said, “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have exposed you.”

Then I turned to Qiao Joe, my voice eerily calm. “Qiao Joe. We’re done. Completely.”

I didn’t look at either of them again. I turned and walked toward the door.

I couldn’t stand another second in this place.

“Stop!” Qiao Joe’s voice rang out behind me. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“None of your business.”

“Allison!” He rushed forward and grabbed my arm. “I said, until I agree, you’re not going anywhere!”

“Let go!” I struggled with all my strength.

Just then, Pamela let out a sharp cry and collapsed to the floor.

A fresh, bloody gash had appeared on her arm.

At her feet lay a kitchen knife.

“Ah! Blood…” She stared at her wound in horror, then looked up at me with feigned shock. “Allison… why would you do this?”

I was frozen.

I hadn’t touched her!

Qiao Joe’s expression darkened completely. The look he gave me was pure, unadulterated hatred.

“Allison, how dare you hurt Pamela! You venomous witch!”

He shoved me away hard and rushed to scoop Pamela into his arms, his eyes full of tender concern.

The shove sent me staggering. A sharp, stabbing pain lanced through my lower abdomen.

Clutching my stomach, I broke into a cold sweat.

“Joe… my stomach… it hurts…” I managed weakly, reaching out.

He didn’t even glance my way. Holding Pamela, he turned and rushed for the door. “Guards! Lock this madwoman in the basement! She doesn’t come out without my permission!”

Two bodyguards seized my arms, dragging me toward the cold, damp basement.

I stared hopelessly at Qiao Joe’s retreating back until he vanished from sight.

The pain in my abdomen crested, sharp and vicious. I felt a warm, terrible wetness between my thighs.

With that crimson flow, my last hope drained away.

This… was the final straw.