AT THE BIRTHDAY PARTY, MY HUSBAND HUNG ME FROM THE CEILING BEAM AND WHPPED ME 30 TIMES, JUST BECAUSE I HAD STAINED HIS MISTRESS'S CLOTHES. I CALLED MY FIVE GANGSTER BROTHERS: "MAKE HIS ENTIRE FAMILY LIVE A FATE WORSE THAN DETH."

The morning sun broke through the heavy silk drapes of the Vale estate.

Adrian Vale woke up in the master suite, smelling of bourbon and Vanessa’s expensive perfume. He stretched luxuriously, a smug smirk settling onto his face. Last night had been a triumph. He had established absolute dominance. The socialites had understood the message: Adrian Vale bowed to no woman, least of all a quiet wife with no family to protect her.

Vanessa stirred beside him, draped in a sheer silk robe. "Did you hear her crying last night?" she purred, tracing a finger down his chest. "Pathetic."

"She won't cry anymore," Adrian sneered. "Today, she signs the post-nuptial agreement surrendering her shares in my commercial venture. If she refuses, I'll send her back to the beam."

Downstairs in the breakfast salon, Eleanor Vale was already seated, sipping Earl Grey while reading the society pages. Marcus was slouching in an armchair, watching yesterday’s video clip on his phone with a snicker.

"You should upload it to a private channel," Marcus muttered. "Show the guys at the club how Adrian handles a rebellious wife."

"Don't be vulgar, Marcus," Eleanor scolded lightly. "A lady handles discipline privately. But she deserved every stroke. Spilling wine on Vanessa’s dress... she looked like a common scullery maid."

The double doors of the salon swung open.

Adrian walked in, adjusting his cufflinks, Vanessa trailing behind him like a victorious queen. He looked toward the kitchen staff. "Bring Anna down. Tell her she has ten minutes to get dressed and sign the paperwork."

"No need to call the staff, Adrian."

A clear, cold voice resonated from the foyer.

Every head in the room snapped toward the entrance.

I walked into the salon.

I was not crying. I was not limping. I wore a tailored black Saint Laurent suit that concealed the bandages beneath, high heels that clicked with razor-sharp cadence against the marble, and my hair swept up in a tight, flawless chignon. My makeup was pristine, my dark red lipstick sharp as a scalpel.

Adrian blinked, taken aback. "What are you doing walking around? Who gave you permission to leave that room?"

I pulled out a chair at the opposite end of the mahogany table and sat down, crossing my legs with royal composure.

Vanessa laughed, trying to mask an inexplicable tremor of unease. "Look at her, trying to play lady after last night. Adrian, tell her to kneel."

Adrian’s face darkened. He stepped toward me, raising his hand. "You think you can play games with me, Anna? Sign the papers on my desk, or I swear to God—"

The screen of his phone on the table buzzed violently. Then Marcus’s phone rang. Then Eleanor’s tablet chimed with a dozen urgent notifications.

None of them moved for a second. The shrill chorus of alarms filled the dining room.

I leaned back, steepled my bruised fingers, and smiled.