Chapter 2

The next afternoon, the moment I walked through the door, I saw her.

Chloe was sitting on the couch, sipping tea with an easy, radiant smile, looking like the true mistress of the house.

Tristan took my handbag and handed me a bowl of fresh strawberries, his tone sickeningly sweet.

"Your favorite strawberries, babe."

Strawberries were Chloe's favorite.

I was deathly allergic to them.

There was a time when Tristan policed my diet so strictly he wouldn't let a trace of strawberry anywhere near me.

"Chloe just had surgery. She needs to recover, and I need to stay by her side," Tristan announced.

"Pack your things from the master bedroom and move to the guest room."

In the center of the master bedroom hung our massive wedding portrait.

In that photo, the way he looked at me was full of tender devotion.

The king-size bed was custom-ordered after we had visited four different luxury stores. Sleeping on it felt like floating on a cloud.

Tristan used to wrap his arms around me on that bed, rolling around and laughing.

"Evelyn, you have to give me a little princess someday. I don't want a noisy boy stealing my wife's attention."

Lying on that bed, we used to dream about the day we would welcome a baby of our own—the ultimate proof of our love.

Now, Tristan was bringing his mistress—my wicked stepsister—to sleep on that very same bed.

"Evelyn, I'm so sorry," Chloe purred into my ear as I passed. "Looks like I'm stealing your husband again."

I didn't dignify her with a response. All I wanted was to crawl into the guest room, take a hot shower, and crash.

I had just stepped out of the bathroom when a bloodcurdling scream shattered the silence, followed by the crash of glass.

"Evelyn!"

"Evelyn! Get out here!"

Drying my hair, I hurried into the hallway as Tristan's frantic shouts grew louder.

I pushed open the master bedroom door. Tristan was cradling a trembling Chloe in his arms, whispering soft comforts.

"It's okay, Chloe. Don't be scared. She wouldn't dare hurt you."

Glass shards covered the floor. Our wedding portrait lay face-up among the wreckage, ruined and battered.

"I had a nightmare," Chloe whimpered. "I dreamed Evelyn chased me with a knife because I stole you, screaming that she wanted me dead..."

"Apologize to Chloe," Tristan barked at me. "You terrified her!"

I clenched my fists, letting out a bitter laugh.

At this very moment, I truly did want her dead.

But I hadn't done a single thing. Why the hell should I apologize?!

"Beep." Tristan picked up his phone and dialed the hospital.

"Cancel the medical account for Evelyn Vance’s mother. Stop the payments."

A tear slipped down my cheek, burning and salty on my lips.

I lowered my head and choked out the words:

"I'm sorry."

"Now clean up this glass before I take a shower. Don't let it cut Chloe," Tristan ordered dismissively.

Once, Tristan treated my hands like fragile treasures, forbidding me from doing any chores.

"My Evelyn’s hands were born to be a surgeon’s. I won't let a single scratch touch them."

Now, he commanded me like a maid to pick up broken glass.

Chloe lounged back against the pillows, pointing smugly at the shredded portrait on the floor.

"Sister, be a dear and throw that photo out with the glass."

I grabbed a handful of shards. My grip tightened involuntarily, and deep crimson blood welled up between my fingers.

Blood dripped onto the shattered glass and the torn portrait. The faces in the picture were scratched beyond recognition, bundled into a crumpled ball and tossed into the trash can.

Just like my marriage to Tristan.

In this marriage, I had cried every tear, bled every drop, and ended up covered in scars.

It was time to put an end to this farce.

Back in the guest room, I closed the door and slid down against the wood until I hit the floor.

Exhaustion, grief, and despair washed over me in crushing waves.

Sitting there in the cold dark, my face was drenched in silent tears.