When Rebecca Gorman was eight months pregnant, she was involved in a devastating car accident.

Her uterus ruptured, and her baby was pronounced dead before ever taking a breath.

The woman responsible, Belinda Lamar, barged into the hospital and threw tens of thousands of dollars in cash at her.

"Your child was never meant to be born. Take this money and get lost. Even if you go to court, you won't get more than this."

Rebecca, furious, lunged at Belinda with reckless abandon, her voice raw and broken as she screamed, "I will sue you! I'll make you pay for my child's life!"

But on the day of the trial, her husband, Wesley Mattson, presented a psychiatric evaluation, claiming Rebecca suffered from paranoid delusions and had deliberately thrown herself in front of Belinda's car, causing the death of their child.

Rebecca stared at Wesley in the witness stand, thunderstruck.

She was labeled a dangerous psychiatric patient and locked away in a special ward for five years.

She endured unspeakable torment there—electric shocks, needle jabs, and floggings. Her body and mind were shattered. Later on, just hearing the iron door of her ward open was enough to make her lose control and wet herself.

At last, the day came when she was declared mentally sound. For the first time in years, she saw sunlight and blue sky, but her body, overwhelmed by the intense light, broke out in angry red rashes.

A car approached from afar, pulling up in front of her. The window rolled down slowly.

Wesley's face appeared, his gaze cold and contemptuous, as if he were looking at a beggar on the street.

"Since you're out now, behave yourself. I bought a villa on the outskirts of New York. You'll live there from now on."

Before Rebecca could reply, he gestured to the car behind him to take her there, rolled up his window, and drove away.

A while later, they reached the house. Rebecca had just stepped out of the car when she witnessed a scene she would never forget.

Wesley's car drove past her villa and pulled into the driveway next door. He stepped out and opened his arms wide toward the house.

A little girl burst out of the villa, bright and lively, and leapt into his embrace. Her sweet, childish voice pierced Rebecca's heart.

"Daddy, Daddy, you're finally home! I missed you so much!"

Wesley scooped her up, kissing her plump, rosy cheeks. "I missed you, too. Did you have fun at home with Mommy today?"

The girl giggled, squirming in his arms, then shouted back toward the house, "Mommy, come quick! Daddy's tickling me! Daddy's being naughty. Come get him!"

The next moment, Belinda emerged from the house, her figure graceful and alluring. She wrapped her arms around Wesley's neck, pressed her red lips to his cheek, and left a vivid mark.

"There, Mommy hit Daddy. Happy now, little princess?"

Rebecca's chest clenched so tightly she could barely stay on her feet.

Watching the happy little family was a torment more agonizing than anything she had endured in the psychiatric hospital over five years—it made her want to gouge out her own eyes.

Why?!

Her child never even had a chance to see this world!

Her best years had been destroyed by Belinda!

And now, even though she and Wesley weren't divorced, he was already living a blissful life with Belinda and their child.

Rebecca couldn't put her feelings into words, nor did she have the courage to confront them.

Her mind buzzed, her chest tightened with pain, and she collapsed to the ground. The jagged gravel tore a deep gash in her palm, and blood instantly welled up.

It turned out that five years ago, Wesley had schemed to label her insane and have her locked away, just so he could openly be with Belinda and have a child of their own.

Rebecca and Wesley had been childhood friends, inseparable before middle school. Their parents often joked about them marrying someday, keeping them together forever.

But then the Mattson family fell on hard times. Wesley's parents were both sentenced to death for serious financial crimes, and as a minor, he was taken in by a distant uncle. Rebecca didn't see him again until they were in high school.

Life at his uncle's was miserable—he was the family punching bag, beaten and scolded daily, barely fed, his clothes always filthy. Despite being 1.85 meters tall, he weighed less than 65 kg, his body frail and unsteady.

Every day, Rebecca brought him home, where he had meals, showered, and completed his homework. Only after his uncle's family was asleep would he sneak back, leaving again before dawn.

One night, Wesley's uncle came home drunk and attacked him with a shovel. Without thinking, Rebecca threw herself in front of Wesley, shielding him, breaking two ribs in the process. Even covered in blood, she didn't cry out.

That night, Wesley held her in his arms and swore, "Becca, I'll treat you right for the rest of my life. I'll make sure you live a life of ease and comfort. If I ever break my promise, may I never know peace!"

From then on, he worked tirelessly to climb the ranks, eventually becoming a rising star in New York and rebuilding the Mattson Group.

Rebecca stood by him through every setback, all the while establishing herself as a highly sought-after environmental monitoring specialist.

Later, they got married, moved into a sprawling 400-square-meter apartment, and she became pregnant. Everything was perfect.

Until, at eight months pregnant, she was plunged into hell.

Wesley betrayed her, let his lover kill their child, and branded her a lunatic, locking her in a place darker than night and subjecting her to inhuman torment.

He broke his promise; he should be the one to suffer! Why was it her child who had to pay?

Just then, from next door, Belinda spoke up. "Wes, you brought that lunatic back today. Aren't you going to check on her?"

She nestled into Wesley's arms without the intention of letting him leave.

Wesley's handsome face was cold and sharp in the sunlight, his brow furrowed with disdain, his voice icy. "I was kind enough to bring her back. You think I'll take care of her now?"

Rebecca's fist clenched tighter, grinding the gravel into her palm, blood staining the ground beneath her.

Forcing herself up, she staggered into the villa.

Hands shaking, she scrolled through her contacts from five years ago, finally finding her best friend Rosalie Langley's number and dialing.

"Rosie, I'm out. That person you told me about when you visited the hospital—can you help me get in touch?"

"Really, Becca? You've made up your mind?"

Tears finally spilled down Rebecca's cheeks as she nodded hard.

"Yeah. I want justice for myself and for my unborn child!

"I'll make Wesley and Belinda pay for my baby's life!"

After hanging up the phone, Rebecca sat on the couch for a long time, dazed and silent.

It took her a while before she finally looked up and took in the villa Wesley had arranged for her. The décor was almost identical to the apartment they'd moved into after their wedding—down to the smallest, most delicate trinkets, all perfectly clean and placed just as she remembered.

The curtains, the couch, the paintings on the walls—every detail was exactly as it had been in her memory.

On the windowsill, several pots of succulents stood tall and healthy. They were the very ones she'd planted with her own hands five years ago, now thriving, clearly well cared for all this time.

Rebecca lowered her gaze and stood quietly by the window, lost in thought.

She didn't flatter herself that the man who had destroyed her life would be kind enough to tend her plants. But for a moment, she felt a strange sense of dislocation. If her child had survived, if none of that had happened, would she be as strong and beautiful as those thriving succulents?

A door opened at the entryway, and someone walked in.

Rebecca's back stiffened. She didn't turn around.

She couldn't understand why he wasn't staying next door, why he'd come back here instead.

It wasn't until Wesley changed into his slippers and walked over to her that she slowly raised her eyes and met his cool, distant gaze.

"Why are you just standing here? Haven't you gone upstairs to check things out? All your clothes and stuff are here—I moved everything from the old place."

Rebecca nodded numbly, her voice flat. "Thank you."

Wesley froze, clearly not expecting such a detached response. It took him a moment to recover, and then he forced a smile.

"Want a drink? You used to love having a glass of wine in the evenings."

He turned and walked to the bar, pulled out a bottle, popped the cork, and poured two glasses of wine, sliding one toward her.

"It's a good year. That subtle chocolate note you always liked."

Rebecca gave a bitter laugh, her eyes rimmed with red. She reached out with her hand—still smeared with blood she hadn't had time to clean—and the crimson on her palm was darker than the wine.

She grabbed the glass and hurled the wine in Wesley's face.

The glass followed, shattering against him and falling to the floor in pieces.

"Wesley, don't you have anything to say to me?!"

Wesley's expression barely shifted; he stayed calm. He simply drained his own glass in one long swallow, then tossed it aside, watching calmly as it smashed to bits on the floor.

"Rebecca, are you done yet? Five years in a psychiatric hospital and you're still just as rabid as ever. After all this time, what do you want me to say? That you killed your own child because you were jealous of Linda?"

Rebecca stared in disbelief, her chest tightening with pain.

She never imagined that after everything, he'd still twist the truth so cruelly.

She let out a bitter laugh. As she backed away, her bare foot landed on a shard of broken glass, and blood seeped across the shards of glass.

Wesley's eyes widened. He rushed over, gathering her into his arms.

"Becca, you have to be more careful. Come on, sit on the sofa—I'll clean up your foot."

He scooped her up and set her gently on the couch, then went to find the first aid kit, moving with practiced ease. But just as he sat down beside her, his phone rang.

He answered, and Belinda's anxious voice came through. "Wes, Jill's suddenly really sick—she's throwing up and has diarrhea, it's awful. You need to come see her."

Wesley didn't hesitate. He hung up and rushed out the door.

Before closing it, he called back, "Just rest tonight. I have to go out. I probably won't be back, so don't wait up."

"Wait for him?" she thought to herself.

Rebecca reached down, yanked a shard of glass from her foot, and stared at it for a long time, her grip tight. Blood dripped onto the back of her hand.

She laughed bitterly. "I stopped waiting for you a long time ago."

After tending to her wound, Rebecca took a shower in the guest bathroom.

She pushed open the door to the primary bedroom, finding it fully furnished—even the crib beside the sofa was the very one she'd carefully chosen years ago.

Her tears broke free, spilling down her cheeks as she collapsed at the bedside, sobbing uncontrollably.

Tiny clothes were neatly folded at the head of the bed, untouched toys still in their packaging, and several cans of expired formula and diapers crammed the space beneath the crib.

"My baby, my child... I don't even know if you were a boy or a girl. I hate myself for being so powerless. I hate that I still can't avenge you!"

And then there was Wesley.

Because of that car accident, his own flesh and blood had been forced from her shattered womb, the little body bruised and purple, never even crying before slipping away for good.

Rebecca could still remember those tiny hands resting gently on her belly, mixed with blood and viscera—a sight so cruel it defied belief.

He was the child's father.

Even if he no longer loved her, even if he wanted to spend his life with another woman, why did he have to kill her child?

Her anguished cries echoed through the empty bedroom, the sound making her skin crawl.

Without realizing it, she drifted off to sleep.

When Rebecca opened her eyes again, she was lying on the cold floor.

For a split second, she thought she was back in the psychiatric hospital. Instinctively, she curled up, eyes wide with fear.

Suddenly, the bedroom door swung open. A figure entered, holding a syringe and walking toward her. Rebecca screamed in terror and lunged, crashing into the person.

But the shrill cry that followed was a child's. By the time Rebecca realized it was a little girl, it was already too late.

The child had been knocked hard to the floor and burst into loud, desperate sobs.

Wesley and Belinda rushed in from either side, scooping the girl into their arms and soothing her anxiously. "It's okay, Jill, don't be scared. Mommy and Daddy are here. Why did you come in here? Don't cry, sweetheart, you're safe."

Rebecca trembled, pressed against the doorframe, her bloodshot eyes peering through sweat-soaked bangs, locked onto the syringe on the floor. It was a child's doctor toy—identical to the set she'd once bought for her unborn baby.

Wesley looked up at her, rage flaring in his eyes.

He strode forward, giving her no chance to react, and slapped her twice across the face, hard and fast. Blood sprayed from her mouth, splattering the white wall in crimson dots.

He grabbed her hair and yanked her head up, his breath coming in harsh bursts against her face.

"Are you truly insane, Rebecca? Five years in a psychiatric hospital and you're addicted to it now?!

"Jill is just a child—my biological daughter. What the hell are you trying to do, take your anger out on a kid?!"

Rebecca glared at him, disgusted beyond words, and spat out her response without hesitation. "What about it? When you and Belinda schemed to kill my child, did you ever think about whether they'd even get a chance to see the world? Did you ever consider that the baby in my belly was your flesh and blood, too?

"Why did you put me next door to them? Why not just divorce me and flaunt your affair for everyone to see? Wouldn't that be easier?"

Wesley's expression shifted, anger flaring and then forcibly tamped down.

He sighed, releasing her, then cupped her cheek in a mockingly tender gesture, as if he still loved her.

"Becca, I never considered divorcing you. But you had a hysterectomy—you can't have children anymore. My family needs an heir. Jill is my first child, but she won't be my last. Can't you try to understand?"

Rebecca laughed coldly, staring at him in utter disbelief.

She couldn't fathom how he could be so shameless.

"Really, Wesley? Why haven't you divorced me then? Is it the thrill of cheating? Or is it just that you're so filthy, so obsessed with this disgusting arrangement, you can't get enough of it?"

"Shut up!"

Wesley's roar shook the floorboards.

But Rebecca wasn't about to let him off the hook. She knew everything about him—his darkest secrets, the ones she'd once protected with her life.

Now, those secrets were her weapons, just like the day he sat in the witness stand and destroyed her in court.

"Why should I shut up? I want to say it. You're nothing but an illegitimate child, Wesley. You killed your own parents because every ounce of wealth and status you ever wanted had to be built on their lives!"

"Shut up! Stop talking!"

"I won't! Why don't you just die, Wesley?! You—"

A slap cracked through the air.

Wesley raged like a wild animal.

"Shut your mouth, Rebecca! What did you just say? Say it again if you dare!"

The veins on his hand stood out, trembling with fury.

His eyes burned with emotions Rebecca couldn't even begin to understand, barely kept in check.

Finally, he shoved her hard onto the floor, staring down coldly at her. "If you want a divorce so badly, fine. But my branch company is about to go public on NASDAQ next month. I can't afford any negative press.

"For now, you're going to stay put and behave yourself. Don't cause any trouble. If I could have you locked up once, I can do it again.

"If you ever hurt my child again, I'll send you straight to hell to join that unlucky little brat you carried!"

With that, Wesley turned and went back to Belinda's side, scooping their child from her arms and leading the way down the stairs.

Rebecca stared after him, hatred burning through her.

"Unlucky little brat?

"He actually called her child—his own flesh and blood—an unlucky little brat?" she thought in disbelief.

Just then, Belinda walked over, crouched down beside her, and leaned in close to her ear, speaking each word slowly and deliberately. "Rebecca, you weren't my match five years ago, and you're even less of one now. I begged Wesley not to divorce you. You were right—it's much more exciting this way..."

She paused, then added, "And it makes you suffer so much more."

***

Rebecca first met Belinda at Wesley's parents' funeral.

His father had actually had a wife, but ran away with his mother. They ended up in a poor neighborhood, had Wesley, and struggled for years until his grandmother, Theresa Mattson, secretly helped them start what would become the Mattson Group.

Later, Wesley was approached by the Mattson family's eldest uncle, who told him that if he could steal secrets from the Mattson Group, he'd be welcomed back into the family.

Wesley was desperate to prove himself.

The stigma of being an illegitimate child was enough to keep him from ever holding his head high among his peers.

So he stole.

His parents were framed for major financial crimes and executed immediately.

Wesley had once clung to Rebecca, sobbing, telling her that he hated betrayal more than anything, that he'd never repeat those stains on his life.

But five years ago, he betrayed his wife and child all over again.

What a joke.

He always managed to hurt the people who loved him most.

Rebecca and his parents had given him nothing but their most devoted, passionate love.

On the day of the funeral, Belinda had said to her, "Ms. Gorman, there's not a man I want that I can't have. Do you really think a woman who crawled out of the slums can compete with me?"

The Lamar Group was the Mattson Group's biggest partner.

As the cherished daughter of the Lamar Group's CEO, Belinda's very first demand was that any future contracts with the Mattson Group had to be signed by Wesley himself.

What tempting bait—how could a greedy fish resist?

Rebecca moved through her days like a ghost, tidying herself up, eating a little, then trying to go outside—only to find the villa surrounded by a dozen bodyguards, not allowing her to take a single step beyond the property.

No wonder he bought two villas side by side.

It was all just another way to keep her locked up.

He'd never meant to let her go. He'd just built her another prison.

Rebecca clenched her fists, veins throbbing at her temple.

She turned and slammed the door behind her.

Late at night, half-asleep, she felt someone enter the room, sitting by her bed for a long time, watching her.

In a hazy dream, a warm hand pressed gently to her forehead, stroking softly, the touch so tender it was almost heartbreaking.

The next morning, the bedroom was empty.

It was as if everything from the night before had been nothing but a dream.

But Rebecca knew—Wesley had come back.

Probably just putting on a show for the paparazzi lurking outside.

She glanced out the window, and sure enough, saw a shadow flit across the hillside opposite. She couldn't help but laugh bitterly. "You're really something, Wesley. Disgusting."

Just then, her phone rang—it was Rosalie.

"Becca, I've made contact. You'll meet in a week."

After that day, Wesley never came back.

Every laugh and cheerful shout drifting over from the house next door felt like a blade suspended above Rebecca's head, ready to drop and slice her to pieces at any moment.

She endured her days alone in the villa, rarely stepping outside. Years of constant monitoring in the psychiatric hospital had left her unable to tolerate even the hum of the air conditioning, and the lingering autumn heat kept her awake night after night.

On a few occasions, she caught faint snippets of a child's cries from the neighboring yard—broken, muffled, never clear.

She could just barely make out, "It's that wicked woman—she wants to hurt me, she wants to kill me...

"I'm scared. I'm so scared."

A sense of unease gnawed at Rebecca, a persistent feeling that something else was bound to happen.

It wasn't until Theresa's birthday banquet that Wesley finally sent word, early in the morning, that Theresa wanted to see her. Forcing herself to rally, Rebecca washed up and got dressed as best she could.

But the moment she stepped outside the villa, she saw Wesley already waiting by the car, holding his daughter, Jillian Mattson, at the door. Belinda, dressed in a custom evening gown, was standing beside him, chatting and laughing.

"Becca," Wesley looked up at her, his voice flat and emotionless. "My car only seats three, and with the driver, there's no room for you. Figure out your own way to Grandma's place. We'll go ahead and wait for you."

Rebecca's fingers trembled; she instinctively clutched her skirt.

This villa community was isolated, built for privacy by the wealthy—no subway stations, no bus stops, no taxis anywhere nearby.

To catch a ride to the Mattson's mansion, she'd have to walk 10 kilometers in high heels just to reach the edge of the neighborhood.

Her feet would be shredded.

Rebecca opened her mouth, glancing up at Wesley's indifferent face and Belinda's smug smile. In that moment, she understood—they were deliberately punishing her, taking out their anger over everything that had happened.

The CEO of the Mattson Group couldn't possibly lack a car with four seats.

She forced a thin smile and replied quietly, "All right. I understand."

Standing under the scorching sun, Rebecca watched as Wesley gently placed Jillian into her car seat, checking every strap and buckle with careful precision.

Once satisfied, he wrapped his arm around Belinda, opened the car door for her, shielding her from the doorframe as she climbed inside.

The engine roared, and the car sped away, leaving a cloud of dust behind.

Rebecca stared at the swirling dust, lost in memory.

Years ago, when Wesley bought his first car, he'd taken her on a trip to the outskirts. Afraid she'd get carsick, he'd ordered a custom air purification system for the cabin, and even the passenger seat had been specially made—soft, dry, comfortable.

He'd said, "Becca, I'll love you for the rest of my life. You'll always be the only one in my passenger seat. As long as I'm here, I'll make sure you never have to set foot on the ground—you'll live a life of luxury."

Looking back now, she realized he must have said those same words to another woman.

Rebecca walked alone down the mountain road, the evening heat radiating up from the asphalt. Her high heels quickly tore up her feet, and she was forced to take them off and walk barefoot.

Gravel sliced into her soles, sending sharp, burning pain through her body. The heat seared her bleeding feet against the pavement.

After an hour of walking, she was finally nearing the nearest bus stop when the sky suddenly darkened. Torrential rain began to pour, drenching her completely.

Her hair plastered to her face, makeup running in muddy streaks down her cheeks.

By the time Rebecca boarded a bus and reached the Mattson's mansion, the banquet was already underway. Laughter and celebration echoed through the rooms, with Wesley and Belinda standing on either side of Theresa.

"Look, isn't that the crazy woman? What's she doing here?"

"I heard she's cured, so they let her out, but just look at her—she doesn't seem cured to me. If she snaps again, we'd better keep our distance."

"When Mr. Mattson rose to power, this beautiful wife was the talk of the town. Now... she's really 'the talk of the town,' huh? Hahaha."

The sneers rang out clearly, each one cutting into Rebecca.

She acted as if she hadn't heard a thing, quietly wiping her face clean with a tissue and standing at the very back of the crowd.

Wesley glanced at her, his brows furrowed with barely concealed disgust, then turned to Belinda and bent down to pick up Jillian. "Grandma, the three of us wish you a happy birthday—wishing you good health and endless joy."

The three of them. A family.

Rebecca lowered her gaze, her hands clenched into fists.

Her own child had died before birth, the tiny body crushed and forced from her womb. Now, the one who killed her baby was nestled in her husband's arms, holding their child, claiming themselves "a family of three."

How absurd.

How cruel.

Just then, Jillian spotted Rebecca standing at the back of the crowd.

She abruptly pointed at her, her voice small but clear, "Great Grandma, look! That's the woman who tried to kill me. She almost threw me down the stairs.

"I've been having nightmares every night. Mommy called a fortune teller, and she said it's because this woman cursed me—she wants me dead."

All eyes instantly turned to Rebecca.

Belinda seized the moment, piling on with her own fabricated story. "Yes, Theresa, I know I don't have a title or a proper place here, and maybe I deserve to suffer, but my child is innocent. What happened back then wasn't my fault. It's Rebecca—she's like a mad dog who's never let go, tormenting me for years. I still have nightmares because of her.

"And now, she's after my child, too. Theresa, I'm really scared."

Rebecca felt as if the ground had dropped out from under her. She couldn't believe Belinda could twist the truth so viciously.

Pushing through the crowd, Rebecca stumbled to Theresa, dropping to her knees, tears streaming down her face.

"Theresa, the baby I lost was your great-grandchild, too. I hate Belinda, but I would never hurt an innocent child. I'm not her!"

Belinda rushed over and began beating her furiously. "You evil woman, you're always making trouble! If Wes and I hadn't shown up that day, my daughter would have been thrown down the stairs by you!"

Theresa slammed her cane against the floor, demanding silence.

"Enough! All of you, be quiet! Wes, you tell me—what really happened?!"

Wesley, who had remained silent until now, finally looked up. He walked over to Theresa and dropped to his knees before her, pausing before he spoke. "Grandma, Becca really is unstable. We felt sorry for her and let her out, but she repaid our kindness by trying to hurt my daughter. I'm so disappointed in her."

Rebecca jerked her head up, staring at Wesley in disbelief.

Theresa's expression shifted instantly. She sighed. "Becca, I used to feel sorry for you. I know how losing a child broke you. But Jill is a Mattson, and no matter how much you lose control, you can't go too far.

"You should know, letting Wes release you was already the biggest favor I could give. If you ever try to hurt my great-granddaughter again, I'll have him lock you back up."

Rebecca looked around at their united front, feeling her blood turn to ice.

She couldn't defend herself. She knew all too well that this was Belinda's revenge—she'd warned her just days ago.

She was determined to make Rebecca suffer.

Wesley bowed respectfully to Theresa, ignoring Rebecca completely, and accepted the blame on her behalf. "Grandma, it's my fault for not watching Becca closely. From now on, I'll make sure she's supervised and won't cause any more trouble."

Every word was like a steel blade driven into Rebecca's heart.

Theresa nodded calmly. "Good. Let's teach her a lesson in front of all our guests, so everyone knows the Mattson family rewards and punishes fairly."

At her words, Wesley stood and walked over to Rebecca, towering above her as he spoke each word slowly and deliberately. "Take her to the mastiff kennel at the breeding farm. Only a punishment harsh enough will teach her to behave and make sure she never tries to hurt Jill again."

Rebecca fought desperately, but it was useless.

A team of bodyguards quickly surrounded her, binding her tightly and hauling her out of the Mattson's mansion like livestock, stripping her of every last shred of dignity.

They dragged her to the mastiff kennel and shoved her inside.

The stench hit her immediately, and in the dim corners, blood-red eyes began to glow one after another.

Terrified, Rebecca curled up as small as she could, screaming Wesley's name over and over.

"Wesley, Wesley, you can't do this to me... Wesley..."

But no matter how she screamed, no answer ever came.

As the mastiffs drew closer, her despair reached its breaking point.

Rebecca flailed her arms, fighting with every ounce of strength. She couldn't die here. She couldn't. Not before she had avenged her child.

By the time dawn broke, Rebecca was barely clinging to life, her body ravaged with more than a dozen bite wounds. She lay slumped in the corner of the kennel, pain suffocating her with every breath.

Outside the cage, Wesley stood on the steps, looking down at her with nothing but cold contempt in his eyes.

"Does it hurt?"

His voice was harsh and unyielding. "Rebecca, don't blame me for being cruel. I'm sure this is nothing compared to what you went through in the psychiatric hospital. Think of it as a lesson.

"I can see you want revenge on Linda, but I can't just stand by and let it happen. If you behave from now on, I'll make sure you're taken care of for the rest of your life. Otherwise, don't expect any mercy. Do you understand?"

Rebecca's throat tightened. Her hoarse voice finally asked the question that had haunted her for years. "Wesley, why don't you just divorce me? Marry Belinda, give her a real place in your life?"

"Isn't it all because of you?!"

Wesley suddenly kicked the cage, the metal bars rattling. The mastiffs, startled, lunged at her even more viciously.

She shrank back instinctively, her spine pressed to the icy steel, nowhere left to go.

The Mattson's mansion's butler, standing nearby under Theresa's strict orders that no one was to die, couldn't bear the scene any longer and spoke up, "Mr. Mattson, please calm down. Jill's unharmed, and that's all that matters. If this gets out of hand, it'll only hurt the company's business..."

Wesley frowned, finally tamping down his anger. He continued, "Rebecca, I'll have someone take you to the hospital. After this, it's over."

Rebecca closed her eyes in despair, her nails digging into her palms.

She still didn't get the answer she wanted.

Wesley turned and walked away, his cold gaze lingering on her one last time. His voice was low and unyielding. "Let her out and take her to the hospital. Get a doctor to treat her."

The bodyguards moved in at once to unlock the cage.

Weak and trembling, Rebecca nearly collapsed as they helped her out.

Wesley reached out to steady her, but the moment he touched her, she instinctively recoiled.

He frowned, his eyes lingering on her pale face. "Did you hear what I said?"

Rebecca lowered her lashes, saying nothing.

***

The sharp scent of antiseptic filled the hospital room.

Rebecca lay on the bed, trembling as the doctor cleaned her wounds.

The door swung open, and Wesley walked in.

He'd taken off his suit jacket, wearing only a dress shirt with the collar undone, exposing faint red marks on his collarbone.

Rebecca's eyes paused on them before she looked away.

Wesley spoke, his tone detached. "Jill's been a mess since that day. She has nightmares every night and insists you need to be punished. She's just a kid. You'll have to bear it for a while.

"You spent years in the psychiatric hospital. You should know how to behave by now. I've arranged for you to run a flower shop. Once you're healed, you can take it over. Consider it compensation for all this."

His voice was calm, almost like he was closing a business deal.

Rebecca let out a bitter laugh.

After a moment, she looked up at him, her tone even. "Don't bother. Once I'm healed, I'll leave. I'll give you your happy family. Isn't it harder for you with me around anyway?"

Wesley froze for a second, then scowled, annoyed. "What's with the attitude? I don't have time for your drama. I'll pretend I never heard that. You'll stay put at the villa. Even if you run to the ends of the earth, I'll find you."

With that, he strode out, his back as cold and distant as ever.

Rebecca stared at the closed door, slowly shut her eyes, and felt tears slip silently down her cheeks.

She just couldn't understand—he already had the woman he wanted, already had their child. Why couldn't he just let her go?

At that moment, the hospital door creaked open again.

The sharp click of dress shoes echoed in the silent room.

Rebecca sensed something was wrong. She snapped her eyes open and looked at the newcomer. Before she could say a word, a handkerchief was pressed over her mouth and nose, her consciousness slipping away.

As her mind faded, a gentle male voice whispered in her ear, each word slow and deliberate. "Rebecca, if you want revenge, don't struggle."

The world spun as she slipped into darkness.

At the same time, Wesley had just returned home when his assistant called in a panic, his voice trembling, barely coherent. "Boss, something's wrong—Ms. Gorman is missing! I just went to check on her, and there's a note—she's been kidnapped!"