"I'm not the other woman! My baby isn't a bastard!" I screamed until my throat tore, but my voice drowned beneath the roar. "He's my husband!"

I was a cockroach dragged into the light, shaking from head to toe with humiliation.

I looked up at Dustin. Save me. My eyes begged.

His gaze landed on me for a brief moment, then slid away, weightless. Like he was watching a scene that had nothing to do with him.

Something inside me collapsed for good. Three years ago, my parents had warned me: the way Dustin looked at me held no real love—only novelty, only the thrill of the chase. I was nothing but a shiny new toy a spoiled heir had finally gotten his hands on.

But swept up in his relentless pursuit, I'd brushed their words aside like wind. To marry him, I'd cut ties with my family entirely.

Now I understood. I'd been pathetically, pitifully stupid.

Only after the abuse had nearly drowned me did Dustin give a slight jerk of his chin, signaling his bodyguards to shut down the livestreams. He'd timed it perfectly—let me suffer just enough to "learn my lesson," then tossed me a scrap of mercy like charity.

I steadied myself against the wall. Every inch of me trembled.

"Dustin, I don't understand." My voice was raw, scraped down to sandpaper. "She miscarried ages ago. How much longer do you expect me to wait? I'm not the mistress. Alice Dotson is—"

Crack.

His palm struck my face with every ounce of force he had. My skull rang. The world went black for three full seconds.

"Cecily Harding." Each syllable fell like a hammer blow, his eyes brimming with threat. "Don't forget—my wife is Alice Dotson."

Alice swept her gaze over me, triumph radiating from every pore. Then she nestled into Dustin's arms, lips curling, and held up her hand with a little wave. "Honey, I broke my fresh manicure teaching that homewrecker a lesson."

Dustin took her hand and rubbed her fingers, his expression so gentle it burned.

"It's fine," he said. "I'll get you the best nail artist in the city. A hundred new sets—pick whichever you like."

Then he took her hand and walked away.

I stood there, numb. The overhead light was blinding, but I was so cold my teeth chattered.

A long time passed before I dragged myself to the bathroom. I scrubbed the filth from my skin, cleaned the dried blood from my face, and dabbed ointment onto every wound, one by one, staring at my reflection.