Chapter 2

The suffocating feeling hit me like a wave, triggering my survival instinct.

I thrashed desperately, but Giselle pinned me down with relentless force.

"Irene, at least I'm kind enough to let you die knowing why. For years, you forced yourself on my man, making me, his true love, live in the shadows. Today, we settle this!" Giselle hissed.

Just as I thought the water would claim my last breath, Giselle yanked me up by my hair.

"We, the ones who truly love, are destroyed by people like you wealthy types. Don't think you'll die so easily!"

With that, she dunked my head under the water again, repeating the torture until I was limp, too weak to resist.

When my fight had completely drained away, she picked up a fruit knife from the nearby cutting board.

Her eyes glistened with malice as she met my horrified gaze. "I'll ruin that pretty face of yours so that even your corpse makes him want to vomit!"

The knife slashed down, and my skin tore, sharp pain searing through me and stealing my breath. My feeble cries only fueled her twisted satisfaction.

"That fragile little whimper of yours. Ugh, disgusting," Giselle mocked. "No wonder Harry stopped visiting me for so long. You must've seduced him with that voice. You vixen. Even in death, I'll make sure you're silenced forever!"

She grabbed a kettle of scalding water and forced my mouth open, pouring the boiling liquid down my throat.

The sensation was like embers scorching my mouth and searing my throat. I choked on the agony, unable to make a sound, every nerve ablaze.

As I flailed, my fingers brushed against a small, handmade pouch hanging from her waist. I tore it away without thinking. The moment I saw it, a fury like no other overtook me.

Before this, I might have chalked up Giselle's actions to a madwoman's fit. But this pouch confirmed the truth of her words. It was one I had sewn myself for Harrison.

Bloodied and trembling, I stared at her with eyes burning red, my throat gurgling in fragmented moans.

Giselle's grin widened when she noticed the pouch. "Oh, this? It's your handiwork, isn't it? Such ugly stitching."

I had never been good at crafts. Inspired by a historical drama, I once decided to sew a pouch for the man I loved, trying to imitate ancient women who expressed their affection with handmade gifts.

My fingers had been pricked and bloodied countless times in the process. But who could have known that Harrison would give it away? And to this monster torturing me?!

Seeing my doubt, Giselle pulled out her phone and played a voice message. It was Harrison's smooth, deep voice.

"Gigi, if you don't like the pouch, just throw it away. It's ugly and unlucky. That woman is so stupid. She couldn't even do a simple craft. When she gave it to me, her hands were covered in needle pricks. Not like my Gigi, who's clever, resourceful, and capable of running a household perfectly."

There were more messages, each one filled with syrupy sweetness and sneering comparisons.

Giselle, thrilled by my torment, kept playing them one by one.

Pain roared through my mind, drowning out everything else. My head pounded, unable to absorb any more.

Moments before consciousness slipped away, Giselle, bored now, dragged my limp body to the balcony.

"Die already. That's the fate of a mistress who dares play innocent, you wretch!"

-

When I woke, I thought I was dead. But the sterile smell of disinfectant and the murmur of doctors and nurses around me told me otherwise.

"Doctor, my wife… is she going to be okay?" Harrison's voice, choked with emotion, came from somewhere nearby.

The doctor patted his shoulder reassuringly. "Mr. Maddox, I'm so sorry. We did all we could, but your wife's injuries were extensive."

"Is there really nothing else you can do?" His tone sounded sincere, full of grief.

The doctor shook his head. "I'm afraid she won't be able to live a normal life."

As the doctor turned to leave, I struggled to move, to catch his attention, to shout for help—anything to tell him what the man by my bedside had done.

But Harrison, always quick to act, escorted the doctor out and intercepted him the moment he paused at the sound of my movement.

"Thank you. I'll take care of her," he said, his voice steady.

I tried to fight, but Giselle, lurking nearby, pressed hard on my cracked wounds.

"If you struggle again, I promise life will be worse than death for you," she warned and ground her hand into my injury, igniting fresh waves of pain.

A moment later, Harrison returned to my side.

I stared at him, disbelieving. We had been together for three years, married for two. How could I have missed this depth of his hatred?

Noting my bewildered gaze, he dropped the mask of his usual polite smile. His eyes darkened, cold and unforgiving, emanating a suffocating terror.

"Irene, you are truly loathsome," he spat.