Then she turned to the crowd with a smirk. "Everyone, this is the one I told you about—Oswald's precious son!"

Isabella's voice was loud, dripping with mockery. She pulled me close. "Tried for years with his dad and failed. But him? Took me three seconds."

Her hand slid to the small of my back. I felt sick, but I smiled. A good pet doesn't bare its teeth.

Let her show off. Let them laugh. Compared to my mother's medical bills and my son's upcoming surgery, this was nothing.

I reached up and wiped a smear of wine from her lips with my sleeve, gentle and calm.

"The doctor told you to quit drinking," I said. "Do it for me?"

She blinked, caught off guard, then recovered and poured out three glasses of liquor.

"I told you to be here in fifteen minutes. Why are you late?" she snapped. "Apologize to the execs. Or forget about your leave tonight."

If I hadn't run into Adeline, I wouldn't have been late. I'd timed it all—fed my son, put him to sleep despite his fever, then rushed here with one of my own. But she appeared and everything cracked.

Isabella couldn't last a night without drama unless I was sick—sick enough to collapse. When I asked for time off, she gave me a choice: perform, or lose it.

I didn't look at Adeline. Her face hovered somewhere between disdain and curiosity.

I picked up the three glasses. The sharp scent of alcohol hit before it even touched my lips.

One. Two. Three.

Each glass hit my stomach like a blow. My fever flared, vision blurring, knees shaking.

"I need the restroom," I muttered and walked off before they noticed.

Inside, I barely made it to the sink before vomiting. Acid and liquor tore out of me. I gripped the basin, breathing hard.

The mirror showed a man who looked half-dead. My shirt clung to me. My face was pale and slick with sweat.

I splashed water on myself. Then came the voice. Cold. Familiar.

"Your dad hated mistresses. What would he think if he saw you like this?"

I froze. Even after five years, her voice made my spine stiffen.

I looked up. Adeline stood at the door, unreadable.

I forced a smile and rinsed my mouth.

"You're quiet now," she said, stepping in. "Cat got your tongue?"

"Isn't this what you wanted?!" I snapped suddenly. The words came raw, hoarse.

I wasn't sure what I meant—then or now.

Her gaze shifted—something flickered in her eyes. It vanished quickly, but I saw it.

And with it, the memory of five years ago surged back.

Daniel hurling the marriage certificate at me in front of the crowd. Calling me a homewrecker. My father collapsing. My mother slapping me.

And Adeline? Standing there. Cold. Watching.

She believed my father caused the death of Harry Adams—her childhood sweetheart—and his mother.

But the truth? It was never him.

Harry's father had been the one who tore a family apart. My father only helped the real husband reclaim what was his.

Harry's mother couldn't bear the betrayal. She dragged her son to the roof, threatening to jump. She slipped. They both fell.

But Adeline didn't believe it. Or didn't want to.

So she married me in secret. And crushed me in public.

She ruined my family, my future.

Now, here she was. Still looking at me like she had something to say.

"Gavin," she said, voice sharp as glass, "what kind of man did your dad raise you to be?"

"Isabella is old enough to be your mother and you still shamelessly became her boy toy? Pathetic."

Adeline's voice was razor-sharp, her eyes drilling through me like I was something she'd stepped in.

My chest tightened. The pain from my father's death never really faded—it just hid better some days. But her words cracked something wide open. My breath hitched, rage rising fast. I bit down hard on the inside of my cheek, tasted blood and forced it down.

That man—my father—was the kind who stood straight even when the world tried to bend him. He hated mistresses, never touched a drop of scandal. Even in death, he clung to dignity like armor. And now? They all spat on his name. Called him a failure. Said he raised a disgrace.

Maybe they were right.

I exhaled slowly and forced a crooked smile to my face.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm pathetic. Otherwise, why would I have believed your bullshit and been your secret lover for three years?"

The words hit heavier than expected. Her eyes flickered, something like guilt flashing across her face. But before she could speak, my legs gave out.

A wave of heat crashed over me as the room spun. My vision blurred. I staggered, clutching the wall for balance.

Her hand shot out instinctively, grabbing my arm. Her eyes widened the second she touched me.

"You're burning up," she muttered, her tone shifting.

I tore myself free, my body trembling from the effort. "None of your business," I spat, voice hoarse and raw.

She didn't back off. If anything, her grip tightened. "You're going to the hospital."

I tried to pull away, but she held on, unrelenting. Her perfume filled the air—once comforting, now nauseating.

"Let go!" I snapped. "Isabella's still waiting. I don't have time for your games."

Adeline's expression darkened, but before she could reply, the bathroom door creaked open.

"Well, well," came a slurred voice laced with venom. "Ms. Penna really is interested in my little boy toy."

Isabella leaned against the doorframe, eyes flicking over us with wicked amusement. She walked in slowly, owning the room like a queen surveying her court.

Adeline didn't flinch. "He has a fever," she said flatly.

Isabella's lips curled. "Since when is my man your concern?"

She wrapped herself around me, purring into my ear, "Come on. Let's go back and keep drinking."

Her touch felt like poison, but I nodded faintly. Pain and fatigue flooded every inch of me, but I'd learned how to perform. How to pretend.

Then Adeline said something I didn't expect.

"Isabella," she said, voice low and sharp, "humiliating the son of the man you once adored—is this your idea of love?"

The words hit like ice water.

Even through the fever haze, I registered what she'd said. Adeline—the woman who'd ruined my father, shattered my family—was now defending me?

Isabella's smirk vanished. Her expression turned to stone. "Ms. Penna, that's a low blow."

"He's burning up and you're still pouring drinks. Partying is one thing. But if he dies, it won't look good on you."

For a second, just one, I saw hesitation flicker in Isabella's eyes. She looked at me again and this time, her amusement faltered.

She masked it with a sneer. "Aw, Ms. Penna's grown a heart? Funny, you sure didn't have one when you dumped him five years ago."

Adeline didn't respond. She grabbed my arm and started dragging me out. I barely resisted. I didn't have the strength.

Behind us, Isabella cursed, voice sharp and shrill, but Adeline never looked back.

She shoved me into the back seat of her car. The leather burned against my fevered skin. I leaned my head on the cool window, eyelids drooping.

Then Isabella climbed into the front passenger seat without warning, her voice laced with challenge.

"Ms. Penna, where exactly do you plan on taking my man?"

Adeline didn't miss a beat. "If he ends up brain-damaged from the fever, your fun will be over."

Isabella scoffed but didn't argue. Maybe she saw I wasn't faking it.

The car sped off into the night. Silence stretched between them.

Then, quietly, Adeline said, "Where's our child buried? I want to visit him."

Her words sliced through me like a blade.

My fists clenched. Nails dug into my palms.

She didn't know. She thought the baby had died.

Five years ago, after her betrayal, she'd forced herself to give birth prematurely. A son. She hadn't even looked at him—just handed him over like trash.

And walked away. She never asked, never cared.

Later, she destroyed what was left of my life. I lost everything. So I left—with that child in my arms.

That boy, born with a failing heart, was the only reason I kept breathing.

Everyone assumed he'd died. And I let them. Because the last thing I wanted... was for her to find him.

"There's no need," I said coldly. "A child like him doesn't deserve a mother like you."

Adeline didn't deserve to be the mother of my son. If it hadn't been for that forced premature birth, Noel wouldn't have a heart condition. His tiny heart was a curse born from her selfish choice.

Suddenly, Adeline slammed on the brakes.

The tires screeched, jolting us forward. My body hit the seatbelt and Isabella's head nearly hit the dashboard. She scoffed, more annoyed than scared.

"Ms. Penna, the kid's already dead. What's the point of pretending to be a good mom now?" she sneered, her voice cold.

Silence followed. I turned, expecting Adeline to react, but she didn't speak.

She stepped out of the car, walked around and yanked Isabella out with surprising force. Isabella stumbled and fell onto the asphalt.

Adeline didn't look at her. She returned to the driver's seat, shut the door and drove off.

Now it was just the two of us.

The silence inside the car felt heavier than before. Outside, shadows slid past the windows, the world blurred and distant.

Thankfully, we reached the hospital quickly. After seeing the doctor, I didn't wait for Adeline to return with the medicine. I stepped outside and called a ride.

As the car pulled up and I reached for the door, it slammed shut.

Startled, I looked up to see Adeline standing beside me, waving the driver off. He left without a word.

"Are you in that much of a rush to go back to Isabella?" Her voice was sharp. "Gavin, how low are you willing to go?"

I stared at her.

How low?

I didn't know anymore. After the wedding ruined me, I stopped keeping track. I lost my job, my reputation and my future. Everyone I knew turned on me. Friends vanished. Strangers mocked me.

My parents' life savings vanished within a year. I sold everything just to keep up with the bills.

There was a time I stood on a rooftop, Noel in one arm, my mother's bills in the other. I thought about jumping. One fall and everything would end.

Isabella found me. She pulled me back and slapped me.

"Only the living can have hope," she said.

I didn't believe her. Still don't. But Noel was just a child. My mother didn't deserve to die just because I couldn't take it.

So I endured.

When Isabella offered to keep me, I only hesitated for three seconds before agreeing. I sold what was left of my pride.

I looked at Adeline and forced a smile. "Didn't you already know? I've always been this cheap."

I had once been foolish enough to fall in love with her. Later, I became a man who sold himself for money. But if that could save two lives, I didn't care.

Isabella humiliated me, yes, but she never withheld money. For that, I was grateful.

Whatever she wanted—lust, revenge—I no longer cared. Every insult, every night, I took it all. I called it penance.

Sometimes she laughed and said, "If your dad knew what you became, he'd crawl out of his grave just to die again." I'd laugh with her, but deep down, I wondered—if I gave up everything, would they come back?

Adeline's revenge after the wedding never stopped. One blow after another. If my father hadn't had that heart attack, maybe he could've cleared my name. But life wasn't kind enough for maybes.

Adeline stared at me now. Her face was calm, but her eyes weren't.

Then she said, "Get lost."

I turned around without a word, got into the next cab and went home.

As soon as I stepped inside, I heard Noel whimpering. My heart stopped.

I rushed to his room.

His face was red, his breath shallow, his body hot to the touch.

"Daddy... I feel awful..."

I picked him up, hands trembling and called for an ambulance. I rocked him gently, whispering whatever comfort I could manage.

The ambulance arrived quickly. I didn't even notice the black sedan parked down the street.

Inside, Adeline sat motionless, watching as the flashing lights faded into the distance.

Hours later, Noel was out of immediate danger. But the doctor's words hit hard.

"He needs surgery as soon as possible."

The estimate? Seventy thousand dollars.

I stepped out into the hallway, fingers numb as I pulled out my phone.

Then I called Isabella.

"Can I... get an advance of seventy grand?"