On their wedding night, Marielle Alden suddenly collapsed in the bridal suite, a bloody dinner knife still gripped in her hand.

Her husband Theodore Meyer—whom she had loved for years—lay there in a pool of blood, stabbed multiple times.

In court, the evidence was pretty clear-cut. Marielle was convicted of premeditated murder and sentenced to thirteen years behind bars.

As she heard the verdict, Marielle broke down completely. She loved Theodore more than anything. How could she have "killed him with her own hands"?

But no matter how much she tried to explain or appeal, it was all pointless.

For more than a thousand days and nights, she endured beatings, insults, and buckets of icy water splashed over her.

They made her kneel on rough concrete floors just to lick up leftover food.

Other inmates surrounded her, yanking at her hair with creepy smiles while calling her a "murderer."

At night, she curled up in the damp corner of her bunk, clutching the frayed wedding photo while tears streamed down her face. The pain of losing Theodore and being wrongly accused consumed her.

She had slashed her wrists, swallowed pills, and slammed her head against the wall—desperate attempts at ending it all.

Every time she woke up from the edge of death, she felt a mix of despair and helplessness.

The day she walked out of prison, sunlight stabbed at her eyes like knives.

She dragged along an empty suitcase, looking thin and worn out.

Then, she spotted Theodore—her "dead" husband.

He was in a smart suit, standing tall and straight. The smile on his face was one she'd missed so many times. He pulled her into his arms like he was trying to reclaim something precious.

"Elle, I'm sorry for being late. I went into a coma back then. But as soon as I woke up, I figured out who really did it. You're free now."

Three years of agony came crashing back all at once, shattering her fragile calm.

She fell into his arms, crying hard and clutching at his shirt—terrified that if she let go even for a second, this dream would fall apart.

Theodore gently patted her back with a loving tone. "It's all over now. Let's go home."

Back at their familiar villa, everything felt just like before—the decorations in the hallway, the couch in the living room, the paintings on the walls.

Not a single thing had changed.

That night, she curled up in his arms again and finally felt that long-missed heartbeat.

Marielle promised herself she'd make up for the three lost years with twice the love.

But that promise started to fade when she began spotting signs of another woman in their home.

There were long chestnut-colored hairs under the pillow in the main bedroom—definitely not her short blond hair.

In the walk-in closet, there was a silk nightie that wasn't hers, with a sweet, fruity-floral scent.

She picked up the hairs and went looking for Theodore, planning to ask if he had hired a new housekeeper.

The study door was slightly open, and his voice—light and amused—drifted out. "You know how it goes with the Meyer family tradition, right? To officially join us, you have to endure 99 lashes as proof of your loyalty. It usually leaves people either dead or hurt, and I couldn't do that to Marielle. But rules are rules, so we needed some kind of symbolic test at least."

A hint of satisfaction mixed with coldness crept into his voice.

"Thank goodness that my girl came up with this clever idea back then—faking a death and sending Marielle to prison for three years. It checks off our family rule while also letting us..."

He let out a soft chuckle and lowered his voice, which only made what he said sound even more cruel.

"It also means I can have a few more years of fun with my girl without having to sneak around. Now that Marielle is out, it shows she's good enough to join the Meyer family. And honestly, I've had my share of fun too. It's time for me to settle down and be a decent husband again."

Marielle gasped in shock.

His voice dripped with self-assured gentleness. "I'll spend the rest of my life fixing all the hurt she went through these past three years, cradling her gently and spoiling her forever."

The world seemed to crumble silently before Marielle's eyes.

All the love, faith, and hope that kept her going during those hellish three years in prison turned into festering wounds in an instant.

The wedding, the pool of blood, the cold shackles, endless beatings and humiliation behind bars...

It was all just an elaborate setup to prove "how much she loves me."

So-called "family traditions," those ridiculous "loyalty tests"—all nothing but excuses.

In the end, he just wanted to keep his affair going and still hang on to her who actually deserved to be his wife.

A cold chill shot up from her feet.

Marielle held onto that hair so tightly that her nails were digging into her palm.

She turned around slowly and shuffled back to the master bedroom.

A test?

"Theodore, I passed your love test for me. But sadly..."

She whispered to the dark night, "You failed mine. You're out."

Marielle called up the lawyer who had helped her out three years ago to chat about getting a divorce from Theodore.

"Ms. Alden, Theodore was officially declared dead before. Even though he's now 'back,' his legal status as 'deceased' hasn't been changed yet. If we can get his death certificate, in theory..."

The lawyer paused for a moment, "You won't need to go through any complicated divorce stuff. You'll be free and able to deal with his assets."

Marielle gripped her phone case tightly, her knuckles turning white.

"How long will it take to get the death certificate?"

"If everything goes smoothly, about three days. At most, no more than five."

Her heart skipped several beats. "Okay, please make it happen as soon as you can."

After hanging up, she looked around this big but stifling home.

Barefoot, Marielle started searching everywhere for signs of that other woman.

Then she spotted some chestnut-colored long hairs. They turned up everywhere—on the couch armrest, under the bed, scattered across the closet floor of the walk-in closet.

In the sunlight, her chestnut hair glowed with health—so unlike Marielle's brittle blond strands, dull and frayed with split ends.

It was clear how many times this other woman had been around and how often she and Theodore had gotten close over the last three years.

While Marielle lay on the cold prison floor, taking beatings and kicks, that other woman was sleeping peacefully in the comfy big bed that should have been hers.

She also stumbled upon a thick pile of money transfer receipts hidden deep inside the bedside cabinet.

The recipient? The female prisoner who had bullied her the most while she was locked up.

The amount was 10,000 dollars every month without fail.

When did it start? It kicked off right when Marielle got sent to prison three years ago and hasn't stopped since.

Slaps, punches, cold showers, being forced to lick stains off the floor...

Marielle's stomach churned violently. The severe gastric ulcer from long-term starvation and having to eat spoiled food started throbbing again.

10,000 dollars a month, which added up to 360,000 dollars over three years.

Theodore had dropped 360,000 dollars just to make sure that every single day Marielle spent in prison felt like pure hell.

Marielle slid down to the cold floor, her back resting against the icy cabinet.

Once, he grew restless if he went more than two hours without seeing her. He even took her along on business trips and meetings.

People around them joked that Marielle was Theodore's "mood stabilizer"—as long as she was around, he was always sweet and caring.

How could someone like him stand leaving her in prison for three whole years without checking in once?

He wasn't always like this.

On that stormy night with heavy rain, Theodore got chased by his enemies. His car lost control and crashed into a stone pier by the roadside.

Marielle didn't pay any attention to the smoke still pouring out of the car. She yanked the door open with all her might to pull Theodore out.

She took off her silk scarf and wrapped it around his bleeding forehead. "Don't freak out. I've already called for an ambulance."

Under the streetlamp, her downcast eyes were full of genuine care.

This moment left a deep impression on him.

He went after her in a big way, and everyone knew about it.

He was the only heir to the Meyer Group, a billionaire who looked like he stepped right out of a magazine.

As for her, she came from a regular family and had just a pretty face.

Everyone said she was just after his money and wasn't good enough for him.

But he stood up for her against all those rumors and family pressure. "Elle, trust me. I'll make you the happiest woman ever."

He brushed aside all objections and threw her an incredibly lavish wedding.

She thought she had really found love that rose above all those worldly judgments—pure and unshakeable.

She had no idea that he was just like those guys who mess around with people's feelings.

The special treatment she thought she was getting was really just a fantasy from her own wishful thinking.

A soft voice suddenly came from above her. "What are you doing sitting on the floor? Aren't you worried about catching a cold?"

Theodore's warm, solid chest pressed against Marielle's back as he instinctively wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her into his embrace.

Marielle stiffened, nearly crumpling the receipts in her grip.

"There's a charity gala tonight. Go change your clothes and come with me."

His tone was casual but had an undeniable authority to it.

Marielle frowned without thinking. "Look at me, how can I possibly go like this?"

Her face was pale, her skin worn and rough. She felt worlds apart from the glowing Mrs. Meyer who had been full of love three years ago.

Prison life had left its mark on her for sure.

Theodore turned her around to face him, his gaze serious and sincere.

"Silly girl, in my eyes, you'll always be the most beautiful."

His thumb brushed gently across her cheek. "Only you deserve to be called Mrs. Meyer. Now go get changed. I'll wait for you downstairs."

The sincerity in his eyes almost overwhelmed her. If it weren't for those receipts still pressing against her palm.

In a moment of frustration, Marielle blurted out, "If you weren't dead, why didn't you come back sooner—say, a year ago, or even six months earlier—to clear things up and get me out?"

The softness on his face wavered for a second, and he frowned.

"Aren't you free now?"

His tone was light, almost playful. "What's the big deal if it happened a year earlier or later?"

Not a big deal?

A year had 365 days, and each day felt like an endless night filled with pain.

It was all about beatings, humiliation, cold despair, and that constant self-blame eating away at her heart.

It was the struggle of trying to end it all countless times but never succeeding.

Yet in his eyes, it all seemed brushed off with a casual "what's the difference?"

Marielle felt her heart break into a million pieces the moment she heard that sentence, and even just breathing made the dull ache in her chest worse.

She wanted to say more, but he was already losing his patience.

"Okay, stop overthinking."

He pulled out a velvet box from his pocket. Inside were some stunning earrings with huge sapphires.

"They just arrived from the auction. I thought they'd look perfect on you. Do you like them?"

His tone had this kind of condescending sweetness to it. "Think of it as a little something to help calm your nerves."

Right after he finished talking, his phone rang.

He glanced at the caller ID and couldn't help but smile slightly.

As he hurried outside to take the call, he quickly added. "Hurry up and put on something nice. The driver will be here in an hour."

When he picked up the call, there was almost a warmth in his voice. "Yeah, got it. It looks perfect on you..."

His voice trailed off as he walked away.

Marielle stood alone in the middle of her bedroom, holding those cold, expensive sapphires in one hand and thick money transfer receipts that twisted her heart in the other.

The charity gala hall was sparkling with lights and the sound of clinking glasses—a scene that felt totally foreign to Marielle.

As soon as she and Theodore walked in, all eyes were on her.

There were so many stares. Some curious, some judgmental.

Whispers filled the air, "Is that Mrs. Meyer?"

"I heard she just got out of prison. She looks so pale and worn out..."

"Word is, she went through a lot in there—crawling between people's legs, eating dog food, even serving men..."

Marielle straightened up and focused ahead, telling herself over and over that it was all behind her.

Then suddenly, a bright flash of red caught her eye out of nowhere.

Before she could see who it was, this figure dressed in red—drenched in a heavy cloud of perfume—threw herself into Marielle's arms.

"Elle, it really is you! I heard you got released. I've missed you like crazy."

The voice sounded both familiar and strange at the same time, full of excitement mixed with sniffles.

It was Selina Meade. Her best friend from their teenage years.

They used to share everything together. Their thoughts and secrets from their girlhood days.

Marielle felt a sting in her eyes from the heat, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself.

But just then, a familiar scent of perfume wafted into her nose.

That smell...

It was exactly like the fragrance of that silk nightgown hanging in the closet at home—one that definitely wasn't hers.

She turned her head slowly, her gaze landing on Selina's perfectly styled hair.

Healthy, shiny chestnut locks with those gorgeous curls.

The other woman who had teamed up with Theodore, faked her own death to get Marielle locked up, then moved into Marielle's place while she was behind bars and left all sorts of traces in what should have been Marielle's new house.

It was actually her best friend, Selina.

Her eyes couldn't help but drift down to Selina's fair, slender neck.

Around it hung a stunning sapphire necklace.

Noticing where she was looking, Selina dramatically pointed to her own ears. "Elle, we're totally on the same wavelength. We've got matching jewelry."

People around who knew about jewelry let out some quiet snickers. "Matching? Is that the main stone from 'Star of the Deep Sea' hanging around Ms. Meade's neck? Mr. Meyer snagged it at auction last week. It is worth millions of dollars."

"And those earrings Mrs. Meyer is wearing. Aren't they just the freebie that came with the necklace?"

Theodore next to her looked a bit awkward for a moment. He stepped closer and wrapped his arm around Marielle's shoulders.

"Elle, don't think too much about it. You just got out, and I was worried that such a flashy necklace might make you feel uneasy.

"Selina is your best friend, so I thought she could wear it instead. With how close you two are, you won't mind, right?"

His explanation sounded pretty reasonable and even had this thoughtful vibe like he was really considering her feelings.

Before Marielle could say anything, Selina jumped in. "Of course she doesn't mind! Mr. Meyer, you're just overthinking things. Back in college, Elle and I shared clothes all the time. We didn't care whose was whose!"

She laughed as she continued, "If husbands weren't off-limits for sharing, we might've even swapped them for fun!"

Theodore shot her a mock angry look, his voice dripping with playful sarcasm. "What are you talking about? How can anyone share a husband?"

Selina stuck her tongue out at him, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

In that moment, their lighthearted teasing—completely ignoring everyone else around them—made Marielle feel totally left out.

In her ill-fitting dress and cheap giveaway earrings, she felt like the evening's clown.

Selina grabbed Marielle by the arm and pulled her over to where a bunch of wealthy ladies and socialites were hanging out, all decked out in shiny jewelry.

"Mrs. Caselden, this is Marielle. She's my best friend! She just got out of prison not too long ago."

"Ms. Orlande, it's been ages! This is Marielle. She just got out. I can only imagine how awful prison must have been."

***

Every time Selina introduced Marielle, she made sure to mention that three-year prison stint, whether on purpose or not.

Those words instantly made the women look away like they were afraid that even looking at Marielle would bring them bad luck.

Finally, Marielle couldn't take it anymore. She yanked her hand free from Selina's grip. "I'm heading to the restroom."

She gripped the sink, struggling to steady her breath.

Just then, someone pushed open the restroom door.

Selina walked in looking worried. "Elle, are you okay? Don't mind those people, they're just snobs who judge everyone based on their status."

Marielle cut her off sharply. "That's enough already, Selina. I know everything about you and Theodore.

"I know you—you love showing off. You left those hairs behind on purpose, didn't you?"

Selina's worried mask slipped, replaced by a smug, relieved smile.

She casually smiled, pulled out her compact to fix her makeup, and said, "Pretending has been so exhausting. Now that you know everything, I don't need to keep up this act anymore."

"Why?"

Marielle's voice was shaky and rough. "We used to be best friends!"

"Why?"

Selina looked Marielle up and down with a sneer in her eyes. "We both come from regular families. Are you really prettier than me? Do you have sweeter words than I do? Can you make people happier than I can? What makes you think you're worthy of marrying into the Meyer family and jumping straight to being above everyone else?"

Her tone got sharper as jealousy bubbled over. "That's why I'm going to take everything from you—including Theodore!"

Marielle felt chills run through her as she listened.

Clenching her teeth, she managed to say, "Aren't you worried I'll tell Theodore what you're really like?"

Selina let out a mocking laugh. "Go ahead! Let's see if he believes me—the confidante who's been there for three years, always gentle and caring—or you—the wife who just got out of prison and is losing it with jealousy? Marielle, let's see whose tricks are better."

Unbelievable! So unreasonable!

Marielle shook with anger. She stepped around Selina, pushed open the door, and rushed out of the restroom.

Selina was right behind her. When they got to the stairs outside the restroom, she suddenly lunged, grabbing Marielle's wrist.

Marielle turned around in shock, only to see Selina jerk back violently.

"Ah! Help me!"

A loud scream pierced the air.

Marielle didn't have time to react. She could only watch helplessly as Selina tumbled down the stairs.

The noise and scream immediately caught everyone's attention, with Theodore being the first one to rush over.

His face twisted in anger, he hurried down a few steps and rushed to where Selina lay motionless at the bottom.

He suddenly looked up, his eyes locked onto Marielle with intense fury.

"Marielle! What did you do to her?"

Marielle stood frozen, her hand still hanging in the air.

She suddenly dropped it and said urgently, "It wasn't me! She just fell down on her own!"

Theodore tightened his grip around Selina, a flicker of doubt crossing his face.

At that moment, Selina let out a painful groan in his arms.

"Mr. Meyer, don't blame Elle for this. Prison has all kinds of people—she just got out, so it's no surprise she picked up some bad habits. It's my fault for making her mad..."

Her words instantly stirred a chorus of self-righteous outrage from the crowd.

"Just listen! Ms. Meade is still defending Elle even now. She's really kind!"

"Anyone who can walk out of prison after three years must have been bullying others the whole time!"

"People with records like hers must have twisted minds already. Just look at her, she has such an evil look!"

Those nasty accusations came crashing down on her like waves.

The dark and humiliating memories from prison mixed with the faces of these accusers right in front of her.

"It's not like that! I didn't do it!"

She tried to defend herself. But it was no use, she clamped her hands over her ears in despair.

The flicker of compassion and doubt that had just appeared in Theodore vanished instantly.

When he looked at Marielle, his eyes were filled with disappointment. "After you went to prison, Selina stepped up to help me run the company and take care of everything at home without a single complaint."

"But you pushed her down the stairs out of jealousy! I should never have let my guard down and brought you back!"

All of Marielle's words got stuck in her throat.

The judging looks from everyone around felt like they were pinning her to a pillar of shame.

Someone in the crowd shouted. "You really expect us to believe Ms. Meade fell by herself? Who can make such wild claims?"

And through the gap between Theodore's arms, Selina shot her a challenging look. "Elle, if you can fall just like I did right here in front of everyone, they'll totally buy your story and so will Mr. Meyer."

As soon as she finished speaking, Theodore glanced between the wronged Selina and pale-faced Marielle. "She's got a point. Either fall like she did—or stop with the excuses."

Marielle stared at him in disbelief—at the man she once loved with all her heart.

He actually wanted her to prove she was innocent this way?

A bitter smile, worse than tears, crept onto Marielle's lips. "Alright, Theodore. Just watch closely..."

Without a second thought, she hurled herself backward.

"Oh my god!"

As the crowd gasped in shock, her back hit the cold marble steps hard.

Marielle let herself roll down, landing in a messy heap at the bottom.

The last step smacked into her head, and warm blood started pouring out right away.

Theodore frowned as a mix of emotions flashed across his face. He instinctively took a step forward to help her up.

Selina quickly grabbed his sleeve with trembling hands, her voice shaky. "Mr. Meyer, I feel so dizzy..."

Theodore glanced at Selina, looking weak and fragile in his arms, then at Marielle with blood all over her head.

In the end, that complicated feeling turned into irritation and impatience.

"Marielle, why do you have to act like this? If you pushed her, just own up to it. Was that really so hard? You didn't need to turn this into such a mess."

He was sure Marielle was just being stubborn and dodging responsibility. He didn't even bother to check on her injuries.

He picked Selina up in his arms and shot back coldly. "If you're not dead, get home by yourself. Stop embarrassing yourself here."

With that, he walked away while the crowd watched—some with disdain, others eager for the drama.

Marielle lay on the cold floor, blood still trickling from her forehead.

She looked up at the dazzling yet frigid crystal chandelier above and suddenly felt an urge to laugh.

She wanted to laugh—at the wasted three years, at her pathetic love, at her own blindness.

Tears mixed with blood dripped into the corner of her mouth—salty and bitter.

Marielle dragged her tired body, making her way home step by step.

When she finally pushed open the heavy door, the bright light in the entrance hall hit her like a ton of bricks.

Right away, she spotted those bright red high-heeled shoes carelessly tossed on the doormat by the door.

Her heart dropped instantly. She stumbled and rushed into the living room.

Selina was sprawled out lazily on the couch, with her red strapless dress slipping down and showing half of her chest.

And Theodore...

Her husband, was kneeling on one knee, gently holding Selina's foot and giving it a massage.

The suffocating tension made her stomach churn.

"What are you two doing?"

Theodore looked up at her, his brows knitted together in annoyance. "Why did you take so long to get back?"

Selina quickly yanked up her slipping dress to cover herself, but that just made it even more obvious she was trying to hide her embarrassment.

Theodore let go of her foot and said casually, "Selina's foot is really hurt. I can't just let her head back alone. She'll be staying here to recover."

He paused for a moment before adding, "You take care of her. It'll be your way of making up for what you did by pushing her down the stairs tonight."

Make up? For what?

Marielle looked at his handsome but icy face, and a wave of nausea hit her stomach.

But since she hadn't gotten the death certificate yet, all she could do was swallow her anger and hold it in.

"Fine."

Selina chimed in with a flirty tone, "Elle, could you please get me some water to wash my feet? Mr. Meyer's massage earlier felt amazing. I want to soak my feet now."

Marielle turned around numbly, went into the bathroom to grab some water, and brought it out to set at Selina's feet.

Selina dipped just the tip of her toe into the water but immediately pulled it back with disgust.

"Oh no! It's too cold. Add some hot water."

Without saying anything, Marielle picked up the kettle nearby—filled with boiling hot water.

Selina's eyes sparkled oddly as she said, "Wash my feet for me."

Marielle suddenly looked up and snapped back, "Selina, I'm not your servant. Don't push it!"

Selina stomped her foot hard in the basin, splashing water all over Marielle's face.

"Marielle, do you really think you're still the big shot CEO's wife? He's totally over you. You should just quit and step down."

Marielle scoffed. "Give up my spot for you? No way!"

Feeling humiliated and furious, Selina suddenly grabbed the hot water kettle and poured it right onto her own foot.

"Aaaaah!"

She screamed in agony as nasty blisters quickly formed on her instep.

Marielle stared at her in shock. Was she really that crazy?

Theodore rushed over. "What's happening here?"

When he saw Selina's badly burned foot, his face turned bright red with anger.

"Marielle! You actually scalded her with boiling water! Once wasn't enough—you had to go and do it again! You're unbelievable!"

"It wasn't me! She did this to herself! There's a camera at home. You can check it out!"

"Enough already! I believe Selina!"

Theodore shouted angrily. "Looks like three years in prison didn't teach you anything about behaving yourself. You've just picked up these awful tricks instead!"

He called over his tough bodyguards. "Set up a big pot outside. I'm going to help her get rid of all that bad energy from her heart!"

Marielle's eyes went wide with fear. "Theodore, you can't do this to me! Let me go!"

The bodyguards were ruthless. They grabbed her and dragged her outside.

In the yard, flames roared around the massive iron cauldron, and steam was rising from the boiling water inside.

Selina, all wrapped up in a blanket, lounged on a chair in the hallway. She spoke sweetly but insincerely, "Mr. Meyer, maybe we should just let this slide. I've heard that for someone coming out of that kind of place, getting scalded by boiling water to peel off some skin is like being reborn—a chance to start fresh. But this feels way too harsh. How can Elle handle it?"

Her words subtly reminded Theodore just how tainted Marielle was and how much she needed some cleansing.

Theodore clenched his jaw and ordered. "Throw her in! We'll only pull her out when she genuinely apologizes to Selina."

Ignoring Marielle's kicks and screams, the bodyguards roughly tossed her into the cauldron.

The boiling water swallowed her up instantly. "Ah!"

She screamed sharply and fought to get back up.

But the bodyguards quickly pushed her down again with thick wooden sticks. "Mr. Meyer said—only an apology will get you out."

Theodore's cold voice came from next to the cauldron, "Keep throwing in more firewood."

More logs were tossed into the flames, and the water in the cauldron started boiling even harder.

Marielle felt her mind slipping away, and it was like her skin was being burned on a scorching hot iron plate.

Through the thick steam, she caught a glimpse of Theodore's indifferent profile and Selina's smug grin.

Finally, the fire under the cauldron went out, and the air was filled with that awful smell of burnt flesh from the scalds.

Marielle lay there in the water, which was slowly cooling down but still hot. Her whole body felt like it was being torn apart with pain.

Theodore looked away, clearly not wanting to keep staring at that horrific scene in the cauldron any longer.

"Three years in prison, and you still can't admit when you're wrong? How are you going to survive in the Meyer family if you keep this up?

"Learning a lesson now is better. It'll save you from getting completely eaten alive later."

He waved his hand dismissively, sounding tired and annoyed. "Jason, go get Dr. Dixon to check on her."

With that, he picked up Selina wrapped in a blanket and headed back into the brightly lit villa without looking back.

When the doctor, William Dixon took a look at her injuries, his eyes were wide with shock and concern. "We need to clean these wounds right away, but we have to use some anesthetic. Otherwise, you'll be knocked out by the pain."

He turned around to dig through his medical kit. "That's weird. Where did all the anesthetic go?"

A housekeeper leaned in and said, "Ms. Meade just mentioned her instep is really hurting right now, so she took all the painkillers and anesthetics away."

Marielle opened her mouth, her voice raspy. "Just... do it."

"Please hang in there."

As the disinfectant touched her swollen, infected wounds, she bit down on her lip, a muffled whimper escaping.

There was that one time when she accidentally cut her finger while slicing fruit. Theodore had freaked out completely and rushed her to the hospital for emergency care overnight.

When she just frowned as the doctor wrapped up her finger, he nearly went wild in the emergency room.

Once they got home, he even ordered the staff to hide all sharp objects and would personally check how hot the water was whenever she washed her hands.

But now? With her body covered in festering burns, he would probably find her nothing but a nuisance.

Just when Marielle thought she might pass out from the pain, she caught a glimpse of something red darting past through a crack in the door out of the corner of her eye.

The next day, Marielle was jolted awake by the sounds of crying and rummaging through boxes and cabinets.

From the living room, she heard Selina's voice, choked with sobs. "Mr. Meyer, the 'Star of the Deep Sea' necklace you gave me is missing! I definitely left it on the dressing table last night."

Theodore tried to soothe her. "Don't worry. Maybe it just fell somewhere? It's only a necklace. If we can't find it, I'll get you another one."

Selina wailed even louder. "But it was a gift from you. It means so much more! And it's really valuable... do you think someone might have taken it?"

She suddenly dropped her voice. "Mr. Meyer, I don't want to point fingers or anything, but I've heard that people who just got out of prison sometimes steal small things. Shouldn't we check every room? You never know when a thief could be hiding in your own house..."

Marielle felt her heart drop like a stone.

Theodore paused for a few seconds before finally saying, "Jason, take them to check out the guest room and... also my wife's room."

The door was shoved open, and Jason came in with the servants trailing behind him, all of them wearing stoic expressions. He started digging through Marielle's suitcase and her room's cabinets.

One of the servants pulled out a velvet box from an old coat pocket. "Found it!"

Marielle's eyes went wide. "No way! I never touched that necklace!"

But nobody cared about what she had to say. They dragged her from the bed and flung her onto the living room floor.

Selina was crying, tears streaming down her face. "Elle, we were supposed to be best friends... How could you steal from me?"

For just a second, Theodore looked unsure. "Why did you take it? If you wanted one..."

Marielle gathered every bit of strength she had to lift her head. "I didn't take anything! I'm in so much pain right now that I can barely move. How could I have stolen anything?"

The doubt on Theodore's face became more obvious as he hesitated.

Seeing this, Selina quickly said, "Hey, why don't we check the hallway security footage? That way, if Elle's innocent, we can prove it!"

Jason jumped right in and pulled up the video from last night.

In the clip, there was someone with Marielle's hairstyle wearing those same pajamas stumbling into Selina's room.

The lighting was pretty low, so their faces couldn't be seen clearly. But honestly, anyone would think that person was Marielle.

Marielle tried to defend herself. "No way! That's not me!"

Theodore turned to her with a serious look on his face. "Marielle, I'm really disappointed in you."

"Stealing—again? After everything? Looks like prison didn't teach you anything about being better."

Selina leaned against him and spoke softly. "Mr. Meyer, stealing is a crime. We should call the cops and send her back to prison for some re-education—only then can she really shake off these bad habits."

At the mention of "call the police," Marielle felt her blood run cold.

"No, please don't..."

Memories of those three dark, humiliating years in prison rushed back to her.

Cold fists, nasty insults, awful food, endless despair...

She couldn't go back!

The fear was so overwhelming that it crushed all her dignity and made every ache in her body feel worse.

Somehow, she found the strength to move forward, kneeling and crawling to Theodore's feet to grab onto his pants.

"Theodore... please don't call the police. Don't send me back there..."

She looked up at him with tear-streaked cheeks. "They'll torture me to death. Please, think about our past..."

She collapsed fully to the floor, begging for the faintest shred of mercy.

Theodore looked down at Marielle, who was lying flat at his feet, and there seemed to be a moment of doubt in his eyes.

Selina quickly leaned in close and whispered softly in his ear, "Mr. Meyer, now's not the time to be soft-hearted. If she doesn't break this supposed stealing habit, it's going to cause endless problems down the line. Do you really want people saying that the wife of the respected CEO of the Meyer Group is a thief? What will that do for the Meyer family's reputation?"

Theodore repeated her words quietly, "The Meyer family's reputation..."

He couldn't stand anything that might tarnish the prestige of the Meyer family.

"I'll give you one more chance. Just admit you stole the necklace and promise never to do it again, and I might think about not calling the police on you."

Admit to something so ridiculous?

Her heart felt completely numb.

Marielle slowly released his trousers and spoke each word clearly, "I... did... not... steal anything."

Theodore was really furious about her stubborn refusal to back down. "Fine! If you're set on being unrepentant, then don't come crying to me!"

He turned to the police officers waiting nearby and snapped, "We've got her dead to rights with both the suspect and the stolen stuff, yet she still won't confess. A hardened criminal like her who never learns should face some serious consequences!"

Cold steel cuffs locked around Marielle's wrists once more.

She didn't even look at him or glance at Selina—who was snuggled up in his arms, wearing a smug smile.

Charged with theft—a crime that even other inmates look down on—she became an easy target as soon as they locked her up in the detention center.

Fists and kicks came raining down on her, deliberately hitting the fresh wounds on her body.

The injuries under her bandages split open again, and new blood started seeping through.

A burly inmate yanked her hair and smashed her head against the wall.

Everything went dark for Marielle. She coughed out a mouthful of dark red blood. "Ugh!"

Her consciousness began slipping away while a loud buzzing filled her ears.

***

When she came to again, it was to the loud wail of an ambulance siren.

"Her blood pressure is dropping fast!"

"The internal bleeding is really bad!"

"Where's the patient's family? Who do we contact in case of an emergency?"

The strong smell of disinfectant hit her nose, and above her was the stark white ceiling of a hospital.

She heard a doctor's worried voice. "The patient has a ruptured organ and needs surgery right away! Get in touch with her family and let them know it's critical!"

Cold instruments brushed against her skin. Faintly, she could hear a nurse making a phone call.

"Hi there, can I talk to Mr. Theodore? This is Orlando Health Bayfront Hospital. Your wife, Ms. Alden, is in critical condition and needs..."

From the other end of the line came a woman's voice—soft but clearly annoyed.

"You've got the wrong number."

"Then the line went dead."

"Hello? Hello? Mr. Meyer?"

The nurse's worried voice seemed to drift away, getting softer and softer.

Marielle felt the steady motion of a vehicle and caught a whiff of disinfectant in the air. With a lot of effort, she managed to pry her heavy eyelids open and realized she was lying on a medical bed inside an ambulance.

An IV drip was hooked up to the back of her hand, and there was a heart monitor next to her showing a faint but steady line.

Then she heard a familiar voice said, "Mrs. Meyer, you're awake?"

She turned her head just enough to see her lawyer sitting nearby in one of the seats.

He pulled out some papers from his briefcase and held them up carefully for her to see.

"This is Mr. Meyer's death certificate that you asked me to take care of."

His voice dropped down to almost a whisper, "It's officially in effect now. From this moment on, you're completely free legally speaking. Also, according to Marriage Law and Inheritance Law, all assets under Mr. Meyer's name—including shares in the Meyer Group, real estate properties, and cash—will automatically be transferred into your name within the timeframe set by law."