10 years of marriage—I thought I had it all.

A brilliant husband, James J. Caldwell. An influential family of in-laws who always seemed to adore me. An enviable career as the marketing director for the Solstice Group, the fashion empire my father had built with his own two hands.

I was immersed in that satisfying life until one Friday afternoon, when a single text message brought it all crashing down.

I was leading the strategy meeting for the last quarter of the year when my phone, lying on the mahogany conference table, vibrated silently. It was from Emily, my best friend since college.

Sophia, where are you? It’s urgent.

I frowned. I gestured to my assistant to continue with the presentation and discreetly slipped out of the room. I called Emily back.

Her voice was tense.

“Emily, what’s wrong? Why the rush?”

“Sophia, listen to me and stay calm. Your husband—Jay—wasn’t he supposed to be on a business trip in San Francisco?”

My heart lurched. “What are you talking about? He called me this morning to say he’d landed safely.”

“No, Sophia.” Emily’s voice was on the verge of tears. “My cousin works for the airline. She just sent me a picture. Jay is at JFK right now, checking in for a flight to Miami… and he’s not alone.”

A sharp ringing filled my ears, but I fought to keep my voice from trembling. “Who is he with?”

“His entire family. His parents, his sister and her husband… and a young, very pregnant woman. They look incredibly happy. His mother was caressing the woman’s belly.”

Every word from Emily was a dagger twisting in my chest.

Miami. A pregnant woman. His whole family.

The scattered pieces of the puzzle clicked into place in an instant, forming a picture of unimaginable cruelty. I hung up. My knuckles turned white as I gripped the phone.

I returned to the conference room, my face a mask of professional calm.

“Today’s meeting is over. I want a detailed report from everyone by 9:00 a.m. tomorrow. You’re dismissed.”

My voice was firm, betraying no emotion. My employees, though surprised by the abrupt change, obeyed in silence.

As soon as the door closed, I grabbed my car keys and ran to the parking garage.

I had to go. I had to see it with my own eyes. No matter how brutal the truth was, I had to face it.

The car flew through the congested streets of New York, but my world was plunged into a chilling silence.

What had I done wrong in these ten years?

I had given my heart to his family, treating his parents as if they were my own. After my father’s death, they had been my emotional anchor.

I had shouldered the responsibility of the Solstice Group, working side by side with Jay to grow the company, to make him proud of his wife.

We didn’t have children. It was my greatest sorrow. But Jay always comforted me, saying it didn’t matter.

It turned out it was all a lie.

It wasn’t that it didn’t matter to him. It was that he had already found someone else to give him a child.

The airport was a chaotic hive of people and noise. I pulled on a baseball cap, covered my face with sunglasses and a mask, and blended into the crowd.

I found them in the business-class lounge.

There was the Caldwell family, gathered in a circle of radiant happiness. There was Jay—the man I slept with every night—his hand protectively on the shoulder of a young, beautiful woman whose belly was a mountain.

My mother-in-law, who always held my hand and told me to take care of my health, was now offering that woman a glass of warm milk with infinite tenderness.

My father-in-law, whom I respected like a father, was chatting animatedly with his daughter and her family.

They were a perfect, happy family—and in that picture, I was a complete stranger.

I watched silently from a distance, observing the way Jay looked at that woman.

A look I had once received, but hadn’t seen in a long, long time. A look filled with love, adoration, and hope.

He leaned in to whisper something in her ear, and she smiled broadly, resting her head on his shoulder with a coy gesture.

The scene didn’t make me scream or lose my mind.

It simply chilled my heart into a block of ice.

The betrayal of one person is painful enough, but this was betrayal by everyone I loved and trusted most. Together, they had staged a perfect performance, and I was the only audience member who didn’t know the script.

They weren’t going on vacation.

They were relocating—moving to Miami to start their new life, where the baby would be born.

A meticulously prepared plan… and by all accounts, a long-running one.

I didn’t approach them. I didn’t make a scene.

I just silently took out my phone and took several pictures from a distance, clear enough to see all their faces… all their happiness.

That would be the first piece of evidence.

Only when I saw them pass through security did I turn and walk away.

Not a single tear fell, but something inside me had died completely.

Ten years of love, trust, and respect turned to ash in that very airport.

As I walked out the main doors, I took a deep breath of the cold night air. I knew the Sophia of yesterday no longer existed.

From now on, I would be a different Sophia—a Sophia who would take back everything that belonged to her and her father, no matter the cost.

I drove to our townhouse on the Upper East Side, the place that was once our home.

The spacious house now felt empty and strangely cold. The scent of the lilies I loved so much still lingered in the air, but it no longer brought me peace. Instead, it suffocated me like a mockery.

From the large wedding photo in the living room to Jay’s slippers, neatly placed by the entrance, every object in the house was a testament to a cruel lie.

I didn’t allow myself to falter.

I went straight up to the second-floor office where the most important things were kept. I opened the heavy-duty safe my father had installed years ago.

Inside—besides some jewelry—were all the property deeds, contracts, and, most importantly, my father’s will and my stock certificates for the Solstice Group.

My father had always taught me to be a strong, independent woman, to know how to defend myself in any situation. Perhaps sensing something, he had prepared everything with extreme care.

He had left me the majority of the company’s shares.

Jay only owned a symbolic amount—enough to maintain his position on the board of directors.

My father said it was his wedding gift to me… and a shield that would protect me for life.

Only now did I understand the profound meaning of his words.

I took out all the important papers and organized them carefully in a leather briefcase. Then I sat at the desk, turned on the laptop, and made the first call.

I called Mr. Roberts, the lawyer my father trusted most—and in whom I also had absolute faith.

He answered almost immediately. His voice, as always, was warm and serene.

“Sophia, it’s Roberts. What’s going on at this hour?”

I took a deep breath, trying to keep my voice as calm as possible.

“Mr. Roberts, I need your help. It’s a very important and urgent matter.”

Detecting the seriousness in my tone, the lawyer’s voice turned grave. “All right. Tell me. I’m listening.”

“I want you to prepare a divorce petition. And I suspect that my husband, Jay Caldwell, has been embezzling funds from the Solstice Group and committing tax fraud. I need you to help me investigate and gather evidence.”

There was a brief silence on the other end of the line. Mr. Roberts must have been very surprised. He had witnessed our beginnings. He was even the legal representative at our wedding.

“Sophia, what exactly has happened? Isn’t this just a misunderstanding between you two?”

“It’s no misunderstanding,” I replied, my voice several layers colder. “He has another woman, and they’re about to have a child. His whole family has been deceiving me, and they’ve taken her to Miami to give birth. I saw them myself at the airport this afternoon.”

I heard the lawyer’s deep sigh.

“I understand. What an unexpected night. First, leave everything to me. Above all, don’t let them know you’ve found out. Act normally. I’ll get in touch with a specialist in Miami to collect evidence regarding the financial matters. Do you have any specific suspicions?”

“I suspect he’s been diverting funds through shell companies using his position as vice president, or through donations—especially via the Future Light Foundation, which is named after my father. I need a complete transaction history of the foundation for the last three years.”

“All right. I’ll get on it immediately. You’re the majority shareholder and the founder’s daughter. You have every right to request that information. Take care of yourself, Sophia. You can’t fall apart. Your father’s loyal colleagues and I will always be by your side.”

When the call ended, I felt a little stronger.

I wasn’t alone in this fight.

I immediately began my own work. Using my chief administrator access to the company’s server system, I made a secret backup of all email data, work conversation logs, and files related to Jay from the last three years.

I also reviewed the security camera systems at the company and at home—scenes of Jay making calls in secret, leaving for suspicious reasons. Everything was carefully saved.

The night wore on, and the townhouse fell silent.

I sat alone in the middle of the spacious living room, the light from the laptop screen illuminating my expressionless face.

The pain still burned in my chest, but it could no longer destroy me. It had transformed into the flames of anger and determination.

They had started this farce, but I would be the one to write the ending. And I swore that ending would be a nightmare they wouldn’t forget for the rest of their lives.

My drama had just begun.

On Monday morning, I met with Mr. Roberts in his office. Seeing me, he couldn’t hide the fatigue and concern on his face. He poured me a cup of chamomile tea and said gently, “Sophia, I know this is incredibly difficult, but you have to be strong.”

“I’ve taken a preliminary look at the financial reports of the foundation you mentioned. Over the past three years, huge sums of money have been dispersed under the guise of supporting young talents and study-abroad scholarships, and the beneficiary of all of them is a single person—a certain Khloe Morgan. Does that name ring a bell?”

Khloe Morgan.

My heart tightened at the sound of it. I remembered the young woman’s face at the airport—beautiful, but with a defiant air.

“It’s probably her, Mr. Roberts.”

The lawyer nodded, his expression hardening. “I thought so. I contacted the PI I told you about. His name is Morales—a very competent and discreet private investigator. He has accepted the case and has already started working. We should have news soon.”

I didn’t have to wait long.

Just two days later, I received an encrypted email from Morales through Mr. Roberts. It contained a compressed file full of photographs and a concise report.

With a trembling hand on the mouse, I opened the photos one by one.

The first showed a luxurious villa in a quiet residential area of Miami. A white sports car was parked in the driveway—the model Jay had once described as his dream car.

Another photo.

Jay and Khloe pushing a shopping cart in a supermarket. They looked like a newlywed couple decorating their love nest. Khloe rested her head on Jay’s shoulder, and his hand rested on her belly—a gesture full of tenderness.

The following photos were even more cruel.

The entire Caldwell family enjoying dinner in the villa’s backyard. My mother-in-law serving food to Khloe. My father-in-law laughing heartily. My brother-in-law and his wife were also there, chatting intimately with their new sister-in-law.

They were a real family, and I was just a stranger.

There was also a video of Jay helping Khloe walk in a park. They held hands, stopping occasionally to kiss.

The sight of their happiness made me nauseous.

But what horrified me most was in the last part of the report.

Morales had investigated the lease agreement for the house, the purchase documents for the vehicle, and the registration papers at an exclusive international gynecological clinic for prenatal care.

Everything was in Jay and Khloe’s names—and then the decisive information.

Morales had traced the first money transfer from Jay to Khloe.

It had started three years ago.

Three years.

It hadn’t been a momentary mistake. It wasn’t a fledgling relationship. It was a planned and systematic deception that had spanned a third of our marriage.

For the past three years, while I was working tirelessly at the Solstice Group, while I spent sleepless nights wishing for a child, my husband was building another family behind my back.

For the past three years, while I believed my in-laws were my unconditional support, they were busy covering up their son’s sin and joyfully awaiting a grandchild that was not mine.

All their concern and kind words were nothing more than a pathetic performance.

I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair.

My luxurious office suddenly felt suffocating.

I didn’t cry. Tears were a useless luxury now.

The pain had transformed into another emotion, much colder and sharper.

It was called determination.

The evidence was there—irrefutable.

It would not only be the weapon to end this marriage, but it would remind me every day of the cruelty of these people.

They had stolen ten years of my youth, my trust, and my love.

Now I was going to take back everything that was mine… and everything they owed my father.

A few days later, while trying to drown my sorrows in work, my desk phone rang.

It was a video call from my mother-in-law.

Seeing her smiling face on the screen, a wave of nausea rose in my throat, but I quickly composed myself. I took a deep breath and, forcing a radiant smile, answered.

“Hello, Mom. It’s Sophia. Is everyone okay?”

“Of course, dear. We’re wonderful,” she said in her usual affectionate tone. “The air here is so pure and pleasant. I was calling to see how you were—all alone at home. You’re not working too hard, are you? You look a little pale.”

Playing my part perfectly, I brought a hand to my cheek. “Yes, with the end-of-year rush, there’s a lot of work. But don’t worry, I’m eating well.”

She sighed, looking at me with eyes full of compassion. “Dear, work is important, but family is more important. You’ve been married for ten years. It’s time to think about having a baby. Your father-in-law and I are just waiting for the day we can hold a grandchild. Why don’t you do something? Put work aside for a bit and come spend a few days with us. Rest, have a change of scenery, and the medical technology here is very good. Who knows—we might get some good news.”

Hearing her, I wanted to burst out laughing.

Who was she performing for?

She knew perfectly well that I no longer needed to try. The grandchild she was so eagerly awaiting was already growing in another woman’s womb—in the very house where she was staying.

Her insistence was just an excuse to justify the imminent arrival of that child.

A perfect play.

I forced a sad smile. “Yes, Mom. I wish for it with all my heart, too. Maybe fate just hasn’t willed it yet. As soon as I finish this project, I’ll get another full checkup.”

At that moment, my father-in-law appeared on the screen. With his usual friendly smile, he waved at me.

“Sophia, it’s me. With Jay away on that tough work trip, you have to take good care of yourself at home. Don’t overdo it.”

“Yes, Dad. I’m fine. You two take care as well.”

Another blatant lie.

A work trip.

His family, from the oldest to the youngest, were all exceptional actors.

Together, they covered up a sin. Together, they trampled on my feelings and my trust.

They thought I was a fool who was easily deceived with sweet words and false concern.

When the call ended, the smile vanished from my face instantly.

I stood up and walked to the window, watching the bustling cars below.

Their hypocrisy disgusted me.

For ten years, I had lived among wolves in sheep’s clothing. They pretended to care for me and love me, but behind my back, they were preparing to tear me apart.

I had seen enough of this play.

Now it was my turn to bring down the curtain.

But before I did, I would make sure that every actor in this farce paid a very, very high price for their role.

Before my revulsion toward my in-laws could subside, another blade pierced my heart.

This one was sharper and more cruel, forged from my own father’s legacy.

That morning, Mr. Roberts called me to his office with an expression of unprecedented gravity. He placed a thick folder on his desk.

“Sophia, sit down. Prepare yourself for what you’re about to see.”

He opened the folder and pointed to the detailed breakdown of the Future Light Foundation’s expenses.

“As we already knew, Jay Caldwell has been sending money to that woman, Khloe Morgan, under the pretext of scholarships—but the scale is much larger than we imagined. We’re not talking about a few hundred thousand. It’s millions, transferred in small amounts over three years. Millions of dollars.”

I felt as if someone were squeezing my heart.

This foundation was my father’s pride and joy. He created it to help underprivileged children who wanted to study—to bring the light of knowledge to disadvantaged areas.

And Jay—the son-in-law my father had trusted so much—had dared to turn it into his personal ATM to support his mistress.

With my father’s blood and sweat, with donors’ money, with funds that should have been used to buy books and build schools, he had bought her a luxury house and an expensive car.

“Damn him,” I gritted my teeth. For the first time, I couldn’t suppress my anger. “He’s not human.”

Mr. Roberts placed a comforting hand on my shoulder. “Calm down. Anger doesn’t solve problems. We need a clear head. And this… this is the most important part.”

He slid another stack of papers toward me.

“This morning, Jay’s assistant sent this to your office. She says she needs it urgently to close the year-end audit. Take a look.”

I took the papers. The cover politely read: “Transaction confirmation for accounting audit.”

The content consisted of seemingly normal clauses confirming the company’s investments and transactions for the last fiscal year. Nothing suspicious—a routine procedure done every year.

“Is there a problem, Mr. Roberts?” I asked.

The lawyer turned to the last page and pointed to a tiny clause in an appendix.

“Here. Appendix B, clause 7. Share transfer agreement. Does that look familiar?”

I squinted to see better.

I felt my heart stop.

It was the contract number for the stock assignment and delegation that my father had drafted for me.

The fine print read:

The undersigned, for the restructuring and investment expansion of the Solstice Group, agrees to unconditionally transfer 20% of her shares in the Solstice Group to board member James Caldwell.

This was his real goal.

He didn’t just want the money.

He wanted to swallow the Solstice Group whole—my father’s entire legacy.

He was using my trust in work habits to set a subtle trap for me. A trap designed for me to sign a paper that would make me lose everything.

If I hadn’t been on guard—if I had just glanced at it and signed as usual—it all would have been over.

A cold sweat ran down my back.

“What a devious plan,” Mr. Roberts said with contempt. “He underestimated you. He saw you as an easy girl to fool. He must have had it all calculated. With this 20% added to his existing shares—and the support of other shareholders he may have bought—he would have enough power to oust you from the board of directors.”

I stared at the page.

The hatred inside me reached its peak.

But then an idea crossed my mind.

He wanted to set a trap for me.

Perfect.

I would turn that very trap into his grave.

I looked up and met Mr. Roberts’s eyes directly. My voice was strangely calm.

“Mr. Roberts, we’re going to use this. I’m going to sign his contract.”

“What are you saying, Sophia? Have you gone mad?” he exclaimed in surprise. “If you sign that, you’ll lose everything.”

“No, Mr. Roberts.” I offered a chilling smile. “I will sign—but not now. I’ll tell him I need to review it more carefully. I’ll buy some time. In the meantime, we will prepare another contract with the same format, but with diametrically opposite content. If he wants to play with words, I’ll play with him. If he tries to trick me, I’ll trick him. When the time comes, it won’t be me signing a death sentence.”

I paused, holding his gaze.

“It will be him.”

Reading the determination in my eyes, Mr. Roberts’s surprise turned to understanding, and then he nodded firmly.

“All right. We’ll do as you say. It’s time for this fox to fall into the trap.”

Over the next few days, I threw myself into work like a woman possessed.

By day, I was still the competent and determined marketing director, flawlessly managing all the end-of-year campaigns.

By night, alongside Mr. Roberts and his team, I analyzed the financial reports line by line, tracing the trail of black money Jay had diverted.

The stress of work combined with the tension of betrayal and planning revenge crushed my shoulders.

I lost weight drastically, and stomach pains became more frequent. At first it was a dull ache, but gradually it became a sharp, stabbing pain.

I thought it was due to stress and irregular meals. So I took a few antacids and went back to work.

But one Wednesday morning, while presenting the New Year’s plans to the entire management team—just as I was talking about the expansion strategy in foreign markets that I had worked so hard on—a sharp pain, like a knife twisting in my stomach, struck me.

My vision went dark.

I barely managed to grab the edge of the table to keep from falling, but my legs gave out.

Before I lost consciousness, I vaguely heard my assistant’s panicked scream and the sound of a chair tipping over.

When I woke up, the smell of disinfectant, typical of hospitals, filled my nostrils.

I was in a white bed with an IV in my arm.

My best friend, Emily, was sitting by my side, her eyes red. Seeing me open my eyes, she quickly took my hand.

“Sophia, are you okay? You scared me to death.”

“I’m fine,” I whispered, my throat dry. “Just a little tired.”

At that moment, a kind-looking elderly doctor entered the room. He looked at me with compassion and then addressed Emily.

“Could I speak with the patient alone, please?”

Emily nodded and reluctantly left.

When we were alone, the doctor sat in a chair and looked at me.

“Miss Hayes, I’m Dr. Matthew Castillo, head of the gastroenterology department. We’ve run some tests and an endoscopy. The result is that we found a tumor in your stomach.”

I felt as if my heart had stopped.

“A tumor? Is it serious, Doctor?” I managed to ask, my voice trembling.

Dr. Castillo sighed.

“We’ve sent a sample for a biopsy, but based on the endoscopy images and my experience, it’s very likely to be early-stage stomach cancer. It’s very similar to the case of your late father, Mr. Hayes. He was also a patient of mine.”

Stomach cancer.

The same disease that had taken my father five years ago.

History was repeating itself with infinite cruelty.

The shock was so great and sudden that the tears I had suppressed for so long burst forth uncontrollably. I was strong, yes, but in the face of life’s fragility, I was just a vulnerable woman.

The old doctor waited silently until I stopped crying. When I had calmed down a bit, he continued gently.

“Sophia, I know this is a huge shock, but medicine today has advanced much more than it did five years ago. Since we’ve detected it early, the cure rate is very high. We will perform surgery to remove the tumor as soon as possible, and then follow up with chemotherapy to eliminate any remaining cancer cells. You have to have faith. You have to be positive.”

I wiped my tears and looked out the window.

The sky was still blue. The sun was warm. And life went on.

I couldn’t die.

Not now.

I still had too much to do.

With those who had wronged me and my father still living large, I couldn’t die like this.

This blow wasn’t going to break me. On the contrary, it would make me stronger.

It gave me a reason—and a deadline—to finish everything.

I looked back at Dr. Castillo, my gaze now firm.

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll have the surgery. But could you give me two weeks? I have a very important matter I must resolve. Just two weeks.”

Dr. Castillo hesitated for a moment, but seeing the unwavering determination in my eyes, he finally nodded.

“All right. Two weeks. But after that, you must be admitted immediately. Not a day’s delay. Remember, your life is the top priority.”

“Yes,” I promised. “I will.”

When the doctor left, I closed my eyes.

A new, bolder, and more urgent plan began to take shape in my mind.

Two weeks.

That was all the time I had to finish everything.

My plan for revenge was no longer just a fight to reclaim my inheritance. It had become a race against time—a life-or-death gamble I couldn’t afford to lose.

Lying in the hospital bed, I listened distractedly as Emily peeled an apple while endlessly scolding me for neglecting my health.

I listened in silence, mentally rehearsing every step of the game that would unfold over the next two weeks.

Just then, the tablet on the bedside table lit up.

A video call from Jay.

My heart tightened.

I motioned for Emily to be quiet. I took a deep breath, fixed my hair, and with a smile meant to be natural but vulnerable, I accepted the call.

Jay’s face appeared with an expression of genuine concern.

But now I knew how much cunning and hypocrisy were hidden behind that mask.

“Honey, are you okay? You have no idea how scared I was when I heard you collapsed at the office. What did the doctor say? Is it serious?”

He fired off a battery of questions in an alarmed tone.

I coughed slightly, bringing a hand to my chest to play the part of a weak patient.

“Don’t worry, Jay. It was just a drop in blood pressure from overwork. A few days of rest and I’ll be as good as new. Don’t you worry.”

I couldn’t, under any circumstances, reveal the tumor.

I didn’t need his pity—and more importantly, it would ruin my plans.

He had to keep believing I was the same healthy, naive, easily manipulated fool.

Jay let out a faint sigh of relief. “Thank God. You gave me the scare of my life. You have to take care of yourself. No matter how important work is, it’s not more important than your health. I’m so sorry. I’m so far away and can’t take care of you.”

His sweet words turned my stomach.

Sorry.

If he were truly sorry, he wouldn’t be on the other side of the world taking care of another woman and their future child.

After a few more empty words of concern, he finally got to the point.

“Hey, honey, I know you’re tired, but there’s an urgent matter. Did you see the documents my assistant sent you? The partner here is putting on a lot of pressure. If we don’t decide quickly, we’ll lose this huge investment opportunity. It’s very important for the future of the company—and for our future.”

The fox was finally showing his true colors.

I frowned on purpose, feigning exhaustion. “I think I saw them, but since yesterday I’ve been so tired and dizzy, I haven’t been able to read anything. I’ll have to look at them when I’m discharged. Right now, just looking at letters makes my head spin.”

A flash of impatience crossed Jay’s face, but he quickly hid it. He spoke again in a persuasive tone.

“I know you’re tired, but please make an effort for me. Yes, you just need to sign on the last page. I’ve reviewed all the other clauses, and there’s no problem. Do it for our future, please.”

For our future.

How happy those words would have made me before.

Now they just made me sick. In the future he spoke of, there was clearly no room for me.

“Well, I’ll look at it,” I replied with a slightly reproachful tone. “I feel so sick, and you’re bothering me with company stuff. It seems like you don’t care about me at all.”

“Of course not, honey. You’re the most important thing to me,” he said quickly. “Do you want me to call my mother to come take care of you for a few days?”

He even dared to mention his mother.

What a perfect joint performance.

I shook my head. “No, that’s not necessary. Emily is here. Your mom would have a long trip. Poor thing. Let her rest.”

After a few more meaningless instructions, the call ended.

As soon as the screen went dark, my smile vanished.

I felt completely exhausted—not from the illness, but from the effort of maintaining that unbearable charade.

Jay was impatient.

That was a good sign.

The fish was starting to bite.

I would make him wait a little longer, make him more nervous.

The more anxious he was, the easier it would be for him to make a mistake.

While I was recovering at home after being discharged, Emily practically moved in to take care of me. More than my physical health, she was ten times more worried about my mental state.

She saw me pale and exhausted, but with a constantly calculating look in my eyes, and she suffered for me.

One afternoon, Emily sat next to me and said, “Seriously, Sophia, I know you have a plan, and I support you, but how are you going to handle it all by yourself? Do you need more help?”

“I have Mr. Roberts,” I replied.

“Mr. Roberts can only help you with the legal side. What about the rest? Haven’t you thought that when everything comes to light, the Caldwell family will use the media to slander you—to turn you from a victim into the villain? They have money and connections. They can do it easily.”

Emily’s words were like a splash of cold water.

It was true.

I hadn’t thought of that.

Focused on gathering evidence and protecting my assets, I had forgotten that in this war, there was another front: public opinion.

As I remained silent, Emily continued.

“I have a second cousin who’s an investigative journalist. His name is David Pascal. He’s very good, has integrity, and especially hates hypocritical people. I think he could help you. Do you want me to introduce you?”

I didn’t hesitate for a moment.

I nodded immediately.

He was the missing piece.

We met in a small café hidden in a quiet alley. David Pascal looked younger than I expected. He was tall and thin, wore black-rimmed glasses, and his gaze was incredibly sharp.

I told him my story concisely, without exaggeration or sentimentality—just the facts.

He remained silent for a long time.

“Miss Hayes,” he said finally, “if your story is true, this isn’t just a family scandal. It’s a case of large-scale white-collar crime—embezzlement from a charitable foundation, creation of shell companies for capital flight. With those charges alone, your husband should spend a long time in prison.”

“I know,” I said firmly, handing him a flash drive. “And I have enough evidence to prove it. Here is a part of what I have. I need you to investigate the shell companies Jay has created and his routes for moving capital abroad more thoroughly. And most importantly—be prepared. When the day comes, I want everything to explode simultaneously across all media outlets. I don’t want to leave him or his family any way to deny their crimes.”

David Pascal took the flash drive, his eyes shining with the interest of a journalist facing a huge case.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “I love these stories. Justice must prevail. I’ll start working immediately. We’ll stay in touch through Emily.”

With David’s help, I felt like a tiger that had grown wings.

But I knew that to completely destroy the Caldwell family, I had to attack what they were most proud of: their reputation as a respectable family.

And I found a fatal weak point.

Through my father’s old contacts, Mr. Roberts discovered a shocking secret about my father-in-law.

Before marrying my mother-in-law, he had had a very deep relationship with a woman named Aurora Vance.

He abandoned her when she was pregnant to marry my mother-in-law, who came from a family with better connections. The child was eventually lost.

For decades, Miss Vance had lived alone and in silence in a modest apartment.

I decided to visit her.

It was a rainy afternoon. I found the old building where Aurora Vance lived.

The woman who opened the door had gray hair and a face lined with the wrinkles of time, but her eyes were still clear and beautiful. She looked at me suspiciously.

I didn’t beat around the bush.

“Good afternoon, ma’am. My name is Sophia Hayes. I’m Arthur Caldwell’s daughter-in-law.”

At the sound of that name, Miss Vance’s face changed. She tried to close the door, but I quickly stopped her with my hand.

“Just a moment, please. I don’t come with bad intentions. I’m also a victim of that family. I just want justice for myself—and perhaps for you.”

Perhaps the sincerity in my eyes moved her. She let me in.

The apartment was small but impeccably tidy.

As I told her my story, Miss Vance remained silent, occasionally wiping away the tears that ran down her cheeks.

When I finished, she opened an old wooden box and took out a stack of yellowed letters and a few black-and-white photos.

“This is all that man left me,” she said. “Vows of eternal love. Promises of a happy future. In the end, only abandonment and pain remained.”

She handed them to me.

“Take them. If this helps unmask their true face, my decades of sacrifice will not have been in vain.”

I accepted her memories. My heart felt heavy.

I thanked her with a nod and left.

Outside, the rain had stopped.

With my father-in-law’s love letters in my hand, I knew I had acquired another sharp weapon.

I wasn’t just going to socially bury Jay.

I was going to rip the mask of hypocrisy his entire family had worn for decades.

The next day, I received a call from Dr. Castillo.

The biopsy results were ready.

I drove to the hospital alone.

My mind was strangely calm. I was prepared for the worst.

And when Dr. Castillo, with a compassionate expression, quietly confirmed the initial diagnosis—gastric adenocarcinoma, early stage—I simply nodded.

There were no tears or panic.

Just a cold, clear reality.

The fourteen-day countdown had begun.

That night, I told Emily. I couldn’t keep it from her anymore.

Sitting in the silent living room of the townhouse, I showed her the medical report.

She stared at it, then looked at me, her eyes filled with confusion and disbelief.

“No… it can’t be,” she stammered, her voice trembling. “Sophia, this… this has to be a mistake, right? They must have made a mistake at the hospital.”

She crumpled the paper and burst into tears.

“You have to have the surgery now. Nothing else matters. Your health comes first. To hell with that bastard. To hell with the company. First, you have to live.”

I took her trembling hands and squeezed them tightly.

“Emily, listen to me. I am going to have the surgery. I promised the doctor—but not now.”

“Why?” she shouted, exasperated. “Why not now? Do you realize you’re risking your life?”

“That’s precisely why.” I looked her straight in the eye, my voice firm and clear. “That’s precisely why I can’t go into an operating room just like that.”

“Emily, the Solstice Group isn’t just an inheritance. It’s my father’s life’s work. I can’t let it fall into the hands of a scoundrel who deceived me and siphoned money from my father’s foundation to support his mistress.”

“If something happened to me in the surgery, Jay—as my legal heir—would receive part of my assets. He would use it to continue controlling the company. If that happened, I couldn’t die in peace.”

“I’d rather die than have my father’s legacy tainted by a guy like that.”

Faced with the determination in my words, Emily was speechless. She looked at me, and perhaps for the first time she saw the flames burning in my eyes.

They were not the flames of blind hatred, but of responsibility and protection.

“I only have two weeks,” I continued, lowering my voice. “In these two weeks, I have to finish everything. I have to get Jay to come back—trick him into signing the papers that will strip him of all his rights. Only after I’ve protected my shares will I go into the operating room peacefully. Whatever happens, I will have done my duty as a daughter. Do you understand?”

Emily, without a word, hugged me and burst into sobs.

I patted her back. I knew she loved me and was worried about me.

But in this game, I was the only one who could play.

It was a life-or-death gamble, with my life and my father’s legacy at stake.

I had no choice but to win.

That night, after Emily had fallen asleep, I sat alone in my father’s office.

I opened a drawer and took out an old photo of him.

In it, my father was smiling radiantly, his gaze kind and warm.

I stroked his face in the photo.

“Dad,” I whispered, “trust me. I won’t disappoint you. I will protect the Solstice Group. I will protect everything you left behind, whatever it takes.”

The first and most crucial step in this life-or-death gamble was to protect the heart of the Solstice Group: the shares my father had left me.

If Jay got his hands on them, everything else would be meaningless.

I couldn’t confront him directly on this matter. He had the advantage of being my legal husband.

I needed a surprise move—one he would never expect.

The next morning, I arranged a secret meeting with Mr. Roberts.

The location was neither the company nor his office, but a villa at a resort on the outskirts of the city—an old property of my father’s.

I invited only three people.

Mr. Jimenez, the factory director, one of the founders who had followed my father from the beginning.

Mrs. Alonzo, the chief financial officer, famous for her integrity and prudence.

And Mr. Torres, the logistics director, a loyal and upright man.

They were not only important shareholders, but also people I respected—people who had watched me grow up.

When the three of them entered, they all had worried expressions. They had heard I had collapsed and thought I had summoned them about a health problem.

I had them sit down, served them tea myself, and got straight to the point.

“Ladies and gentlemen, I have gathered you here today for a matter on which the survival of the Solstice Group depends.”

I laid the irrefutable evidence on the table: the photos of Jay and his mistress in Miami, the statements of the millions of dollars diverted from the foundation, and finally the falsified audit confirmation with the addendum to transfer 20% of my shares.

Seeing it all, the faces of the three changed. Concern turned to shock, and then to anger.

Mr. Jimenez, the most hot-tempered, slammed his fist on the table.

“That miserable bastard. After the chairman trusted him so much—after he even gave him his only daughter—how dare he commit such an atrocity. That man doesn’t deserve another day at the Solstice Group.”

Mrs. Alonzo, calmer, had a chilling glint in her sharp eyes.

“It’s an incredibly cunning and evil method. He must have been planning this for a long time. If you hadn’t discovered it in time, Sophia, the Solstice Group could have already changed hands.”

I waited for their anger to subside a bit and then explained my plan.

“I know Jay Caldwell isn’t going to give up on this conspiracy. I will soon have to be away for a while for medical treatment. During that time, I cannot allow my father’s legacy to be in danger.”

“That’s why—although it’s a very risky request—I have no other choice. I want to ask you a favor.”

I paused and looked each of them directly in the eye.

“I want you to temporarily hold 30% of my shares in the Solstice Group, under the supervision of Mr. Roberts, in the form of a legally binding trust agreement. This way, my shares will no longer be Jay’s target, and more importantly, the central power of the group will remain in the hands of the people most loyal to my father.”

The three of them fell silent.

They understood the gravity of the situation. Receiving such a huge amount of stock was not only an honor but also a heavy responsibility—and one that carried risks.

At that moment, Mr. Roberts intervened and explained in detail the legal clauses of the trust agreement, ensuring that everything would be transparent and safe for both parties.

After a long moment of reflection, Mr. Torres—the quietest of the three—spoke first.

“I remember Chairman Hayes once told us that the Solstice Group was his life, and Sophia was his heart. Now both his life and his heart are under threat. We owe him a great deal. We have no reason to stand by and do nothing.”

Mr. Jimenez and Mrs. Alonzo nodded in unison.

“Agreed. We accept. Sophia, don’t worry about anything and focus on your treatment. We will take care of this. We will make sure that this Jay Caldwell doesn’t touch a single blade of grass of the Solstice Group.”

Tears welled in my eyes, but I held them back.

I stood up and bowed deeply to the three of them.

“Thank you. I will never forget this show of loyalty.”

The trust agreement was signed right there.

With the signed document in my hands, I felt as if a huge weight had been lifted from my shoulders.

The first—and most solid—wall to protect my father’s legacy was built.

Now I could move on to the next phase with peace of mind.

Setting the trap and waiting for the big fish to swim right into the net.

With the fortress to protect the Solstice Group firmly erected, I began to weave the web.

I didn’t have much time.

I had to act quickly and decisively.

The theater of my fake bankruptcy had officially begun.

The first thing I did was to deliberately adopt a haggard look. I didn’t need to act. The illness in my body, sleepless nights, and extreme stress had already etched exhaustion and weakness onto my face.

I stopped wearing makeup and chose loose, dark-colored suits to hide my increasingly thin body.

Every time I went to the company, I walked with a heavy step, with deep dark circles under my eyes and a lost gaze.

The image of the always-vibrant CEO was completely gone—replaced by that of a woman crushed by a heavy burden.

Next, I started spreading rumors.

Not blatantly, but with a few carefully chosen words dropped to the right person at the right time.

At a lunch with some longtime, famously chatty business partners, I casually mentioned that a major export contract to Europe had gone wrong, severely affecting the company’s cash flow.

I said with a sad expression that I was looking for financing everywhere, but the situation was not good.

With just that, the rumor that the Solstice Group was in a financial crisis spread like wildfire through the business world.

To add plausibility, under Mrs. Alonzo’s supervision, I ordered the finance department to delay some non-essential payments to smaller suppliers.

Of course, Mrs. Alonzo met with them secretly to explain the situation and guarantee their rights, but to outsiders, it was an unmistakable sign that the Solstice Group was running out of funds.

But the final blow was putting the townhouse up for sale.

I called the largest real estate agency in the city and asked them to list our marital home for sale at a price almost 30% below the market—as an urgent sale. I emphasized that I needed to sell it within two weeks to solve the company’s problems.

The news that a luxury townhouse in a prime area was on sale at a bargain price immediately shook high society in real estate news portals.

Everyone believed the story that the late Chairman Hayes’s daughter was selling her last asset to save her father’s legacy.

Everything was going according to plan.

Company employees began to whisper, and the work atmosphere became tense. Some were already looking for new jobs.

Competitors gloated.

And I, at the center of the storm, maintained an expression of suffering in public, but inside I was strangely calm.

The bait was spread everywhere, and the net was ready.

I just had to wait for the greediest and most foolish fish to jump in on its own.

Every day that passed, the pain in my stomach reminded me that my time was running out.

I wasn’t afraid—just impatient.

He had to come back.

He had to.

I didn’t have to wait long.

Three days after the news of the townhouse sale broke, I received a call from my mother-in-law in the middle of the night.

I purposely let it ring for a while before answering with a sleepy, tired voice.

“Hello… who is it?”

“Sophia, it’s me.” Her voice was sharp and filled with panic. “What the hell are you doing? Why is there a rumor that you’ve put the house up for sale—and at a ridiculously low price? Have you lost your mind?”

I was silent for a moment, and then I started to sob.

“I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.”

“Sorry fixes everything? Explain what happened. Is the company really in that bad of shape?”

I began the drama I had prepared. I told her, between choked sobs, about the canceled European contract, the partners’ demand for compensation, the bank’s pressure to repay loans.

I painted a desolate picture of a powerful group on the verge of collapse.

“It’s all my fault. I’m sorry. Since Dad died—and with Jay so far away—I couldn’t handle everything. I’ve ruined my father’s life’s work. Mom, if I don’t sell the house, I can’t pay the employees’ salaries or the compensation. I think… I think I’ll have to declare bankruptcy.”

I heard her agitated breathing on the other end of the line.

I knew my words had hit the bullseye of her greatest fear: the possibility of losing the money, the townhouse, the golden goose that was the Solstice Group—her family’s infinite ATM.

“Bankruptcy?” she screamed. “What are you saying? No… wait. I’ll tell Jay. He has to come back now. He has to come back to save the company!”

She hung up abruptly.

I put the phone down and wiped away my fake tears.

A cold smile formed on my lips.

It had been easier than I thought. Their greed and ignorance were my best allies.

As expected, about an hour later, my phone rang again.

This time it was Jay.

His voice was a mixture of concern and slight reproach.

“Sophia, what are you doing? How did you let the company get to this point? How many times have I told you to tell me if you had problems?”

I continued to play the role of the weak, incompetent wife.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t want to worry you. I thought I could solve it on my own. I… I’m sorry.”

“Okay, stop crying,” he interrupted.

His voice showed impatience, but he still pretended to console me.

“Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t sell the house, and don’t sign any papers. Understood? I’m coming back immediately. I’ve already bought the ticket. I’ll be there the day after tomorrow morning. I’ll fix everything when I get there. You just wait for me quietly.”

“Really, Jay?” I asked, my voice full of hope and gratitude. “You’re really coming back? Really?”

“I’m coming to help you. Don’t worry about anything.”

He hung up.

I sat in silence in the dark.

The fish had taken the bait. Not only had it taken it, but it was swimming right for the hook.

Unknowingly, this flight back would be his one-way ticket to the end of his opulence.

Welcome home, my dear husband.

I’ve prepared a magnificent death sentence for you.

Two days later, on a cold, late-autumn morning, Jay returned.

I went to the airport to pick him up.

I purposely wore a loose gray dress without a drop of makeup, unapologetically showing my fatigue and dark circles.

When Jay came out of the arrivals gate, he looked tired from the long flight, but he couldn’t hide his savior’s arrogance.

He scanned me from head to toe with a look that was a mixture of pity and disgust.

“What’s with this look? You can’t even take care of yourself.”

Instead of a greeting, he threw a reproach at me as he approached, dragging his suitcase.

I played my role of the guilty wife perfectly, lowering my head.

“I’m sorry. I just don’t know what to do.”

In the car back, Jay relentlessly questioned me about the company’s situation. I described the crisis in detail—the fictitious losses I had logically invented, the difficulties I pathetically described.

The more he listened, the more conceited he became. He started lecturing me, analyzing my mistakes, not forgetting to praise himself.

“You see? One week without me and look at this disaster. Leave everything to me. You just do what I tell you.”

As soon as we got home, he threw his jacket on the sofa and got straight to the point.

“Come on. Tell me the specific situation. How much debt is there? Is there any way to get capital?”

It was time to cast the final bait.

I took out the thick folder Mr. Roberts had prepared for me and placed it on the table.

“Look at this,” I said with a listless voice. “I’ve done what I could. An investment fund is willing to lend us a large sum to get through this rough patch, but the conditions are very strict. They’re asking for guarantees—and for you, as vice president, to take personal responsibility.”

Jay grabbed the folder and started flipping through it.

The papers, dozens of pages long, were drafted very professionally, with complex clauses and difficult financial terminology that Mr. Roberts had purposely included to confuse him.

Debt restructuring. Guarantee contract. Asset security agreement.

Jay muttered the big headlines as he read. He only glanced at the first part with the plausible-looking loan clauses, paying no attention to the annexes at the end.

“What do they want?” he asked without looking up from the papers.

“They want all our joint assets as collateral—the townhouse, the cars, the savings accounts, everything,” I said with a pained expression. “And to demonstrate the seriousness and management capability of the leadership, they demand that you sign a sworn statement assuming full responsibility for this debt. In the worst-case scenario, you voluntarily renounce management of those assets and give them priority to collect the debt. They say it’s an essential procedure to secure their investment.”

Jay frowned thoughtfully.

Greed and overconfidence had clouded his judgment.

In his eyes, I could only see the huge loan in front of him and the opportunity to save the Solstice Group and thereby seize all the power.

He thought that with that money, he could easily turn the company around—and then those asset guarantees would be nothing.

Besides, he was convinced that I, his weak and incompetent wife in his eyes, wouldn’t dare do anything.

“All right,” he said firmly after a few minutes. “If that gets us the money to save the company, let’s do it. We’ll recover these assets and more later. Pass me a pen.”

With a trembling hand, I handed him the fountain pen my father had given me.

I watched him unhesitatingly sign his name on every page of the contracts, agreements, and sworn statements.

His signature on those legal papers—which were, in truth, his death sentence—was clear and energetic, a testament to his stupidity and limitless greed.

When he put the pen down, I held my breath.

It was done.

The trap had closed.

“Good,” he said, leaning back in the chair, satisfied. “Now that I’m here, you rest.”

I nodded and silently collected the folder.

As I touched the paper, still warm from his hand, a shiver ran down my spine.

He believed he had signed a passport to the pinnacle of power when, in reality, he had just signed the sentence that would bury his life.

A week after Jay’s return, I was admitted to the hospital.

The surgery was scheduled for the following Monday morning.

In the last ten days of my life-or-death gamble, I used the time with Mr. Roberts, David Pascal, and my father’s loyal colleagues to finalize all preparations.

Everything was ready.

I was just waiting for the day.

That morning, the sky over New York was overcast, and a fine rain was falling.

Emily drove me to the hospital early.

As I put on the patient’s gown in the room, I felt strangely light, as if the heavy burden that had been crushing me was about to be released.

I took Emily’s hand and gave her my final instructions.

“Emily, if… if something happens to me, please take care of the Future Light Foundation. Don’t let it be used for evil purposes again.”

“Don’t talk nonsense,” Emily scolded, her eyes red. “You’re going to be fine. The surgery will be a success. I’ll be waiting outside for you.”

“I know.” I smiled. “I believe that, too. But before I go into surgery, I need you to send a message.”

I gave her Mr. Roberts’s number. The message would begin everything.

As they wheeled me on the gurney toward the operating room, I saw Jay at the end of the hall. I suppose he had come to play his role as the devoted husband until the very end.

He approached, took my hand, and put on a worried face.

“Be strong, honey. I’ll take care of everything out here. Don’t you worry about anything and get well.”

I looked him straight in the eyes with a depth he could never understand.

“Yes. I’m leaving it all to you.”

The heavy door of the operating room closed, isolating me from the outside world.

The dazzling light of the surgical lamp blinded me, and the smell of anesthesia began to fill the air.

As my consciousness sank into a fog, I knew that in the world outside, a terrible storm had just been unleashed.

Simultaneously, in the lawyer’s office, Mr. Roberts received Emily’s message.

Calmly, he picked up the phone and made two calls.

The first was to his legal team waiting at the courthouse.

“File the lawsuit.”

The second was to David Pascal.

“Publish the story.”

Instantly, the gears of justice and the media began to turn.

At the New York County Supreme Court, a voluminous divorce petition was filed, accompanied by a criminal complaint against James Caldwell for fraud, embezzlement, breach of fiduciary duty, and adultery.

All the evidence was attached: the photos and videos from Miami, the bank statements, and of course, the debt restructuring contract Jay had just signed.

At the Solstice Group headquarters, Jay was sitting triumphantly in my father’s office as if he were king.

He was planning an extraordinary board meeting to announce the restructuring and his takeover.

Just then, the door to his office burst open, and several uniformed police officers entered.

The inspector in the lead said with a stern face, “Mr. James Caldwell, we’re the police. We need you to come with us for questioning in connection with a complaint filed by your wife, Mrs. Sophia Hayes. Please come with us.”

Jay froze, his face pale.

“What? What are you talking about? There must be a mistake.”

But no one answered him.

At the same time, his cell phone began to ring like crazy.

On the screen, major digital media outlets were launching shocking headlines.

Solstice Group VP sued for adultery and embezzling millions.

The article was accompanied by sharp photos of him with his mistress and family in Miami.

Other reports exposed his capital flight network, his shell companies—and even the betrayal his father had committed in the past.

The storm had unleashed with such speed and virulence that he had no time to prepare.

All his bank accounts—and those of his family—were frozen for the investigation.

A travel ban was issued.

Everything collapsed in the blink of an eye.

Jay stood stunned in the middle of his office.

Rage and panic erupted in his eyes.

He roared like a beast and swept everything off his desk.

He understood everything.

It was a trap—a perfect trap set by the wife he had always underestimated.

And at that moment, I, on the operating table, was fighting for my own life.

The red light above the operating room door remained on, indicating that the battle continued.

Outside, the world of those who had betrayed me was burning—and that was just the beginning.

I woke from a long, deep sleep.

The familiar smell of disinfectant was there, but this time it didn’t feel oppressive.

Soft morning sunlight streamed through the window, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air.

The area of the operation ached, but my mind was strangely clear and light.

Emily was dozing, leaning against the bed, her hand still holding mine tightly.

The room door opened silently, and Dr. Castillo entered with a kind smile. He checked the numbers on the monitor and then looked at me.

“Good morning, Miss Hayes. You are a very strong woman. Congratulations. The operation was a complete success. We’ve removed the tumor entirely, and the surrounding lymph nodes are clean. You have won a very important battle.”

A hot tear rolled down my cheek.

This time, it wasn’t a tear of pain or resentment.

It was a tear of relief and rebirth.

I had won.

I had won the fight to reclaim my own life.

While I was recovering, the outside world had been turned upside down.

The storm I had unleashed had swept through the Caldwell family, leaving nothing in its wake.

Emily brought me the news every day, her voice full of satisfaction.

“Hey, Sophia, did you know they have that bastard Jay in pre-trial detention? They say he was screaming like an animal at the station, but it did him no good. Mr. Roberts’s evidence is so solid, there’s no escape for him. His parents tried to pull all the strings they had woven over decades to get him out, but no one dared to help them. This case is known all over the country. With the scandal in the media, who’s foolish enough to get involved?”

I listened in silence with a slight smile.

That was what I wanted—for them to feel the helplessness, the feeling of the world turning its back on them just as they had made me feel.

“And there’s more,” Emily continued. “They’ve frozen all their assets—the accounts, the houses, the land, the stocks, everything. They’ve put seizure notices on that mansion of theirs that looked like a palace. The sisters-in-law, in tears, ran off to their parents’ houses, but it seems their own in-laws are pressuring them to get divorced for fear of being tainted. What a bunch. They lived like queens, and at the first sign of trouble, they’re the first to flee.”

The fall was faster than I had imagined.

A family that had always boasted of its reputation and wealth was now the center of criticism and contempt.

My father-in-law, Arthur Caldwell, after reading the reports exposing his treacherous past—along with the love letters Aurora Vance had given me—suffered a hypertensive crisis and had to be rushed to the hospital.

My mother-in-law, completely broken, locked herself in her house and refused to see anyone.

The castle they had built with hypocrisy and cruelty had crumbled in a single night.

Lying in the hospital bed, I looked out the window.

The trees in the front garden were beginning to lose their leaves, heralding the arrival of winter.

For them, it would be a harsh winter.

But in my life, a new spring was beginning.

More than satisfaction, I felt a strange serenity.

Everything was returning to its proper place.

Karma may be slow, but it never forgets.

A month after the surgery, the first hearing of our divorce and property division trial was held.

Although I wasn’t fully recovered, I decided to attend in person.

I wanted to see with my own eyes Jay’s miserable downfall.

That morning, Emily chose an elegant white dress for me and applied light makeup so I wouldn’t look so pale.

On purpose, I didn’t use a wheelchair.

I walked, leaning on Emily and Mr. Roberts, with slow but steady steps.

My image—that of a woman who, despite having suffered a serious illness, faced adversity with dignity—was immediately captured by the hundreds of journalists crowded at the courthouse doors.

The flashes were incessant, but I didn’t flinch.

I kept my head high and my gaze serene, fixed forward.

The atmosphere in the courtroom was tense and suffocating.

Jay entered afterward.

He was a completely different man from a month ago.

His hair, always impeccably styled, was disheveled. His face was gaunt and unshaven. His eyes were bloodshot.

When he saw me, the hatred in his gaze almost seemed to burn.

If it weren’t for the guards flanking him, he probably would have lunged at me.

The hearing began.

Mr. Roberts, with an imposing demeanor and a firm voice, presented the arguments and evidence one by one.

He projected onto a large screen the photos of Jay and Khloe happily enjoying themselves in Miami, the bank statements of the fraudulent transfers, and finally the debt restructuring contract with Jay’s clear signature.

With each piece of evidence, Jay’s face contorted more.

He tried to argue that it was all a trap set by me, that he had been deceived, but in the face of a document with his own signature, all his words were meaningless.

Jay’s lawyer—probably hired in a hurry by his family—was a young man who tried to argue that, moved by jealousy at not being able to have children, I had conspired to frame my husband.

But that logic was instantly demolished by Mr. Roberts.

“Your Honor,” the lawyer’s voice echoed in the room, “my client, Mrs. Sophia Hayes, has not only been unable to enjoy the happiness of being a mother, but for the past three years has suffered under the deceit of her husband and his entire family. Not only that, but she has been on the brink of death after undergoing surgery for stomach cancer—the same disease that took her father. While she was fighting the illness, the defendant, James Caldwell, was happily awaiting the birth of the child he was having with another woman abroad. I dare to ask what excuse there can be for such cruelty.”

The courtroom fell silent, and all compassionate glances turned to me.

I just tilted my head slightly and, at the right moment, let my shoulders tremble.

At the end of the hearing, the court announced that it accepted my initial petitions.

All disputed assets would remain frozen until the final judgment, and the townhouse and other jointly owned assets would be under my temporary administration.

It was a crushing victory.

As I was leaving the courthouse with Mr. Roberts and Emily, Jay could no longer contain himself.

He broke free from the guards and, pointing his finger at me, screamed, “Sophia Hayes, you’ll regret this, you crazy—! You think you’ve won? You’ll see.”

His anger—his true ugly nature—was captured by hundreds of cameras.

I just turned and gave him a look that was a mixture of pity and contempt.

He had lost.

He had lost miserably—and didn’t even realize that his stupid rage had become the final stab that would completely destroy his image and honor before the public.

While the storm raged in New York, karma was also beginning to do its work on the accomplices.

The situation of my mother-in-law and the mistress, Khloe Morgan, was regularly reported to me by the detective Morales through Mr. Roberts.

I listened to the reports without any emotion, as if I were reading a report of figures.

When the news of Jay’s arrest and the freezing of all his assets reached Miami, the first to act was the exclusive gynecological clinic where Khloe was expecting to give birth.

Her dream of a luxury delivery—treated like a queen—was shattered.

With unpaid hospital bills and no prospect of them being paid, the clinic demanded that my mother-in-law and Khloe leave the facility.

In the midst of that chaos and tension, Khloe went into premature labor.

A weak baby boy was born and had to be placed in an incubator, but the hospital was not a charity.

After providing the necessary first aid, they immediately demanded that they process the discharge and transfer the baby to a more affordable public hospital.

Morales sent me some very vivid photos.

My mother-in-law, who had lived her entire life in luxury, was now supporting her son’s mistress, weakened by childbirth.

They were leaving the luxurious hospital loaded with bags, looking pathetic.

There was no arrogance left on her face—only confusion, fatigue, and humiliation.

They could no longer return to the rented villa. The owner, due to non-payment of rent, had evicted them.

A woman, a young woman, and a premature baby.

They finally had to find a cheap motel in a noisy area with a musty smell.

The life of luxury was over—and hell had begun.

Without money and with no one to help them, the latent conflict between the two women erupted.

My mother-in-law, after the initial shock, began to blame everything on Khloe.

“It’s all your fault, you harpy.” My mother-in-law’s voice on a recording of their violent arguments that Morales managed to obtain was sharp and malicious. “If you hadn’t seduced my son—if it weren’t for that bump of yours—my family wouldn’t be like this. Do you realize Jay is in jail? The fortune lost. You’ve ruined his life.”

Khloe, physically and mentally weakened after childbirth, no longer maintained her false docility.

She yelled back, “Look who’s talking. Why don’t you blame your son for being greedy and stupid? Did I force him to cheat on his wife and siphon company money? When he was giving me money and your whole family came here to live like kings, why didn’t you say anything? Now that everything has blown up, you blame me and this child. You’re the unlucky one.”

They insulted each other, humiliated each other, and even came to blows.

They blamed each other for everything—from the baby’s cries to having to eat instant noodles every day.

Khloe’s dream of turning her life around had vanished like smoke, leaving only the harsh reality of a premature baby and a desolate future.

My mother-in-law had also lost everything: her son, her money, her honor, and even the grandson for whom she had gambled everything.

Now that child had become a heavy burden in the midst of her misery.

I read Morales’s report and saw the photos of them living in that sordid motel room.

I felt nothing in my heart.

It was the price they had to pay.

Together, they had sown the wind, and together they had to reap the whirlwind.

Six months after the first hearing, Jay’s criminal case finally came to an end.

During that time, I focused on my recovery and chemotherapy treatment.

I lost a lot of hair and weight, but my spirit remained very strong.

With the help of the loyal directors, I gradually returned to work at the Solstice Group, stabilizing the company after the media storm.

On the day of the sentencing, I didn’t go to court.

I didn’t want to see his miserable face again.

I just watched the news on television at home with Emily.

With irrefutable evidence and clear charges, the court sentenced James Caldwell to eight years in prison for fraud, embezzlement, and breach of fiduciary duty.

In the civil case, the court also granted our divorce.

Of the marital property accumulated during the marriage, my inheritance and everything derived from the Solstice Group belonged to me.

Jay got nothing.

On the television screen, Jay listened to the sentence standing in the dock.

He didn’t scream like the last time.

He just stood there like a soulless scarecrow with a vacant stare.

As the guards led him to the police van, my father-in-law, Arthur Caldwell, lost his composure.

He tried to jump the security cordon to run toward his son.

“Jay, son,” he cried out in despair.

But as he was stopped by the police, in the midst of confusion and desperation, he suddenly turned and—as if he were seeing me—stared directly at the camera lens and shouted an enigmatic phrase.

“Sophia Hayes, are you satisfied now? You think you’ve won to get that fortune? Do you think your father died in peace? That bastard Jay was just a pawn being used.”

Hearing those words through the television speaker, I froze.

Emily quickly turned off the TV.

“Don’t listen to that old man,” she said. “He’s crazy. He’s just saying anything.”

But his words kept echoing in my head.

Do you think your father died in peace?

What did he mean?

My father had died of the same stomach cancer I had suffered from. The hospital’s diagnosis was clear.

Why, in his moment of greatest desperation, would he mention my father’s death?

Vague memories suddenly flooded my mind.

I remembered my father’s last days.

His illness had worsened much faster than the doctors expected.

Back then, Jay played the role of the most devoted son-in-law. He always prepared the medicines and restorative broths himself—broths he said a renowned herbalist had recommended.

At the time, I only felt gratitude and emotion for his dedication.

But now that I thought about it… something didn’t add up.

I remembered once, after drinking an herbal broth Jay had prepared, my father complained of sharper stomach pain.

When I asked him, Jay explained that it was probably because my father’s body was too weak.

I also remembered another time my father took my hand.

His gaze seemed tired and worried. He tried to tell me something about Jay and the company… but then he stopped.

At the time, I thought it was just my father’s unfounded worries.

Fragments of memory—small details I had overlooked—now came together, forming a terrifying question.

What if?

What if my father’s death was not a natural death from illness?

What if there was a hand that intervened?

And what if that person was precisely the son-in-law my father had loved and trusted so much?

A chill ran down to my bones, more intense than when I discovered the betrayal or when I received the cancer diagnosis.

If this was true, Jay’s crime was not limited to deception and theft.

It was murder.

I jumped to my feet, my gaze turning sharp.

“Emily, call Mr. Roberts. Tell him to come here immediately. It’s urgent.”

I thought my war was over.

But it turned out there was one final, much more terrible act.

I had to find the truth.

Whatever it took, I had to uncover the truth about my father’s death.

Epilogue

One year later.

A year had passed—enough time for the scars on my body to fade and the wounds in my heart to begin healing.

My hair had grown back, not as long and thick as before, but I liked this stylish bob. It symbolized a new me.

I had also regained weight, and after regular checkups, my health was stable. Dr. Castillo said it was a miracle that my strong will to live had played a crucial role in overcoming the disease.

After Jay’s imprisonment, I became a national public figure.

My story of a woman betrayed by her husband who single-handedly fought against illness and a wicked conspiracy to protect her father’s legacy inspired many people.

Interview requests from television stations and newspapers poured in.

At first, I refused them, but I soon realized that my story could help other women suffering in silence.

I agreed to participate in a prestigious talk show on air.

I didn’t talk about pain or hatred.

I talked about the journey of reclaiming my life and self-worth.

I talked about the importance of financial independence, the need to be clear-headed in love, and the courage to stand up for oneself.

My serene demeanor, logical discourse, and extraordinary strength of will completely captivated the audience.

I was no longer the poor victim of a family scandal, but had become a symbol of strength and rebirth.

The fame didn’t change me. It simply gave me a new path—a new mission.

I decided to allocate a considerable portion of my recovered assets to create a foundation to support women entrepreneurs.

The foundation would not only offer funding, but also a team of lawyers, psychologists, and management consultants to provide comprehensive support to women in difficult marital situations, helping them start new autonomous and independent lives.

On the day of the foundation’s inauguration, I stood on stage and looked at the faces of the hundreds of women below, their eyes shining with hope.

I knew this was the sweetest revenge: transforming my pain into a force to help others.

But amidst the busy work and social activities, there was still a ghost that haunted my mind.

The investigation into my father’s death—which Mr. Roberts was conducting secretly—had reached a dead end. After five years, there was hardly any physical evidence left.

My father’s medical records only recorded the normal course of a terminal cancer patient.

The tonics Jay brought him were impossible to find.

Everything remained a suspicion—a subtle ache in my heart that never subsided.

I knew that until the truth came out, my father’s soul could not rest in peace, and my life would have an unfinished chapter.

After a year of relentless work, I decided to treat myself to a real vacation.

I chose Paris, a city my father adored.

I hoped that by walking the same streets he had, breathing the same air he loved, my soul would finally find true peace.

One afternoon, under a honey-colored sun, as I strolled along the banks of the Seine, I entered an old bookstore hidden in an alley.

The smell of old paper and time comforted me.

While browsing a leather-bound book on Renaissance art, a soft, deep voice spoke to me in English from my side.

“Excuse me—are you American?”

I looked up and, for a moment, froze.

The man standing in front of me had a familiar, strong, intelligent face. He, upon seeing me, seemed equally surprised.

“Sophia.”

“Sophia Hayes.”

“Daniel.”

“Daniel Harrison.”

The name escaped my lips before I could stop it.

He was a brilliant college classmate—Daniel Harrison—someone my father greatly appreciated and praised.

He was an exceptional talent in architecture and had gone to France on a full scholarship right after graduation.

We hadn’t seen each other in over ten years.

The unexpected encounter delighted us both.

We decided to have coffee together at a small nearby café.

Daniel had become a successful architect in Paris. He told me about his work, his life in France. He was still single and retained the same romantic air and warm smile as always.

As I told him the tumultuous story of my life, he just listened silently, his eyes full of compassion and respect.

“You’ve been very strong, Sophia,” he said. “Mr. Hayes, from heaven, is surely very proud of you.”

At the mention of my father, sadness washed over me again.

I unconsciously took out a small book of Eastern medicinal herbs from my purse that I always carried with me.

It was my father’s favorite book.

As I flipped through the yellowed pages, I found a small folded piece of paper tucked deep inside.

I had no memory of putting it there.

Curious, I unfolded it.

It was my father’s handwriting.

On the paper were the names of several medicinal herbs, with notes about their effects next to them.

But on the last line, my father had circled two unfamiliar herbs.

Next to them was a large question mark and a hastily written note:

Jay’s broth. Ask Dr. Monroe again.

I felt my heart stop.

Dr. Monroe was a friend of my father—an expert in traditional medicine.

I vaguely remembered reading somewhere that those two herbs, harmless on their own, when combined with certain ingredients in the herbal broth Jay used to prepare and taken long-term, could slowly destroy the gastric mucosa, aggravate the condition of a cancer patient, and even nullify the effects of conventional medicine.

“Daniel,” I said, handing him the paper with a trembling hand, “look at this.”

Daniel took the paper, read it carefully, and frowned. He instantly understood the gravity of the situation.

“This Dr. Monroe… do you know where he is?”

“I’m not sure,” I said. “But Mr. Roberts could find him.”

“Sophia.” Daniel placed his hand on mine, his gaze firm. “I have some friends in the European pharmaceutical industry. They can help further analyze the toxicity of this combination. Don’t worry. You’re not alone. We’ll find the truth together.”

I looked at him.

A warm feeling I hadn’t felt in a long, long time blossomed in my heart.

We left the café and walked together under the sunset, lowering slowly over the Seine.

The shadows of two people stretched long on the cobblestones.

The investigation into my father’s death had found a new light.

And more importantly, I now had a trusted companion by my side.

I didn’t know what the future held, but I knew that a new, brighter, and more hopeful chapter in my life had truly just begun.