At 3 AM on Valentine's Day, my husband's little mistress bought a trending hashtag on X. "The great Victor Harding just got my nickname tattooed on his 'manhood.' Please take good care of him over the next few days, Mrs. Harding." Social media blew up. The whole of New York City was taking bets. Would I pay a fortune to bury the scandal like I did the year before last? Or would I show up at the mistress's door to tear her apart, just like last year? Almost everyone was placing bets. Only my husband, the one who loved the drama most, replied lightly under that trending hashtag. "Don't be jealous, wifey. No matter what they tattoo, they'll never be as beautiful as you were back then." Page Six immediately dug up a photo of me at eighteen, arriving in Manhattan with Victor Harding. He carried me off the yacht, bathed in the flashes of cameras and the stares of the crowd. That scene overlapped with the massive headline in the tabloids: [Knocked-Up Mrs. Harding is SO Forgiving!] I looked at the gossip and rumors, but I didn't get angry like I usually did. I calmly picked up my phone and posted a photo under that explosive hashtag—a picture of me resting against a muscular man's chest. "Deeply in love. Do not disturb." … The photo went out, but I didn't see the expected wave of mockery. Less than three minutes later, my account was banned for "spreading false information." My iMessage thread with Victor, which had been empty all year, was suddenly flooded with his texts. "Who is that guy?" "Where are you right now? Get your ass home!" "Not replying? Fine. Don't let me catch you two, or I'll make you pay!" After seven years of marriage, this was the first time I had to think about how to reply to him, rather than finding an excuse to bother him. But looking at his profile picture—the fifth matching couples' avatar he had changed to this month just for Ashley—my fingers paused. Suddenly, I felt it was all so meaningless. I simply turned off my phone, rolled over, and went to sleep. Half an hour later, the door to my Four Seasons hotel suite was kicked open. Before I could even react, an iron grip seized my arm. Victor was breathing heavily, his eyes sharp as an eagle's. "Where is the guy?" I tried to pull my arm away, but I couldn't. "He just left." The moment the words left my mouth, he roughly dragged me into the bathroom and shoved me into the bathtub. With a cold face, he held the showerhead and blasted my body with freezing water. Watching me shiver from the cold, he used his free hand to rip open my collar, searching for marks. Smack! I raised my hand and slapped him hard across the face. Instantly, his cheek turned red, but it still wasn't as red as the fresh hickeys on his neck. Victor laughed and threw the showerhead aside. Seeing the cold water mix with blood, I finally realized he had injured my wrist. "Wifey, I knew you were lying to me. You're just jealous." "What man would even want you? Everyone in New York knows you followed me here from the middle of nowhere when you were eighteen. Now, besides the title of 'Mrs. Harding,' what do you actually have?" He wrapped me in a bath towel and carried me to the sofa. The fruity cologne on his body mixed with the suite's aromatherapy. It smelled absolutely nauseating. "I can allow you to be jealous, but you absolutely cannot hurt Ashley. You know full well who she is to me, aside from being my lover." I lowered my eyes, watching his hand—the one wearing his family signet ring—press against my flat stomach. I said flatly, "Victor, how about I give the title of Mrs. Harding to..." "What?" Victor looked up, having just finished typing a text with a smirk. I shook my head. At that moment, both of our phones buzzed simultaneously. He had texted Ashley: "Happy Valentine's Day, baby. Love you forever." I had texted an unknown number: "I want to go home. As soon as possible." Victor looked at me with my wet hair, staring down at my phone, and inexplicably felt uneasy. In the past, every Valentine's Day ended with me tearing apart whatever mistress he had, making the whole city know he married a fierce, unhinged woman. So much so that when I came home from fighting his battles, he'd look at me with disgust, retreating to his phone to flirt passionately with his other side pieces. And I would just look at him with pleading eyes, hoping he would quietly sit and share a simple late-night meal with me. Victor cleared his throat. "At the family Thanksgiving dinner yesterday... did you finally get approved for the family trust?" I froze. Getting voted into the family trust was a strict Harding tradition. Only the daughters-in-law who passed the board's vote were considered true members of the Harding family. But I was the only one. I had waited nearly ten years, and I still hadn't passed. Even the club dancers Victor casually brought home could easily get an approval vote. He always joked that it was because I was too abrasive and unrefined to blend into New York high society. Thinking of this, I shook my head. "Didn't get it this year either." A trace of confusion flashed in Victor's eyes. "That shouldn't be right..." If I didn't know the truth, hearing those words right now would have moved me. I would have thought he was frustrated on my behalf. But his confusion wasn't out of pity for me. I still remembered the phone call he had with his mother three days ago. At first, I thought he was just telling Ashley a bedtime story like usual. But the more I listened, the more wrong it sounded. "She's pregnant. Let her into the trust this year. Otherwise, it won't look good for her to be walking around the social circle with a big belly." "Mom, I know you don't like Rain... and I definitely won't just forgive her either. Her first year, when she was supposed to pass the vote, didn't I secretly swap her ballot for a veto?" "We've punished her enough for what happened back then. It's time to stop." Lying in the soft bed, my blood ran ice cold. So, all these years, he had been blaming me for her death (Sarah's death). Victor seemed like he wanted to say something comforting, but before the words could come out, there was a knock on the door. "Mr. Harding, Miss Ashley says the equipment is ready. She wants you to personally go and... give her a matching tattoo." Hearing this, Victor stood up so abruptly I was nearly dragged off the sofa. Lust surged in his eyes, and he completely forgot about me. Leaving behind a brief "take care of the baby," he opened the door and left. My phone's calendar notification popped up: [Day after Valentine's Day: Get a divorce.] At the City Clerk's office, I handed over my marriage certificate. A few seconds later, the clerk frowned and pushed it back. "Ma'am, this certificate is fake. The notary seal is forged." My breath hitched. "That's impossible. Please check again..." "There really is no record in the system. You and Mr. Harding are actually both listed as legally single..." The clerk turned the monitor around to show me. I suddenly felt overwhelmingly dizzy. Memories flashed frantically in my mind. One moment, it was our wedding day, when Victor impulsively took me camping on a private island and asked his family to handle the marriage paperwork. The next moment, it was returning from the island, taking the certificate from my mother-in-law's hands, and noticing the strange look on her face. And then, there was the time after that incident happened. Victor was a mess for days, crying every night. I had heard his drunken confession. He said he didn't want to get married. Only now did I understand. Maybe it wasn't that he was afraid of marriage; he just never wanted to marry me. I stood up unsteadily. When I finally came to my senses, I was sitting outside a clinic room in the hospital. A few nurses pushed a cart past me. "Some people just have all the luck. You know Victor Harding's 'adopted sister'?" "Which one?" "Oh, you know, his little mistress they claim is his god-sister. Ashley. She's got it made. Gets a paper cut and comes to the hospital for a full physical." "Then look at some other people. Like her." One of the nurses covertly pointed her chin in my direction. "Brought in the middle of the night a while back with heavy bleeding. From admission to discharge, the embryo was disposed of and not a single person came to check on her. So pathetic..." I subconsciously placed my hand on my stomach. That baby... Victor and I had both eagerly awaited her arrival once. Even after Victor stopped caring, I still hoped. But maybe it's better this way. She left, so I could leave cleanly, too. I planned to go back to the house to pack my passport and IDs to return to the West Coast. But the moment I walked through the door, I noticed the atmosphere was wrong. Ashley was wrapped around Victor like a water snake. Her eyes were red, like she had just been crying. Seeing me walk in, she pointed at me and yelled. "Rain! Do you think just because you live with Victor, you can challenge my sister Sarah's place in his heart?!" "Where did you hide my sister's photo? Give it back right now!" Ever since I "married" Victor, Ashley had been finding trouble with me every few days. Either she claimed I hired thugs to ambush her, or she said I was the one leaking her scandals to the tabloids. At first, Victor still believed my explanations. Later, he would just watch me cry coldly, then assign a dozen more bodyguards to protect Ashley. He would brush me off, saying, "Her sister Sarah took care of me in the past. Now that she's dead, I have to take good care of her little sister." Even when I caught them in bed together, I was naive enough to believe his excuses. Seeing me standing there, supposedly unable to defend myself, Ashley smirked triumphantly. But then I said, "Who knows? Maybe your sister found out in the afterlife that you've been seducing her ex-fiancé, and she got mad." "What did you say?!" Ashley stomped over in her Christian Louboutin heels, raising her hand furiously. Before the slap could land, I grabbed her wrist and gave her a light push. Exactly as I expected. I didn't even use any force, but Ashley collapsed into Victor's arms, acting like she had sprained her ankle. Her eyes filled with tears. "Victor, my ankle hurts so much! What if I can never dance again?" "But Sarah loved watching me dance..." The name "Sarah" was the ultimate taboo in the Harding house. Victor's eyes instantly turned icy, chilling me to the bone. "Ashley is still young. Why are you picking fights with her?" "If she didn't take it, she didn't take it. Do you think she'd frame you?" I suddenly really wanted to ask: Has she framed me a few times? Try constantly. But thinking of our wedding night, when he secretly looked at that woman's portrait behind my back... Thinking of how he actually went to a psychic to ask if marrying me had cursed that woman to death... I lost all my strength. "Apologize to Ashley. If you don't..." Before Victor could finish his threat, I bowed deeply at the waist. "I'm sorry." He froze slightly. He must have forgotten that in this house, my pride had been broken a long time ago. The last time I refused to apologize, the consequence was being forced to stand in the estate's freezing lake for thirty-six hours in December. Ashley personally supervised, smiling as she watched me. "A homeless country girl coming to New York has to follow the Harding family's rules." Honestly, I really hate the cold. My bowing made Ashley smirk. She tilted her chin up. "Take off those emerald earrings and give them to me." I took off the emerald earrings my mother gave me before I left the West Coast. Victor, of course, knew what they were. He frowned, a rare expression for him, and said, "I'll have Ashley return them to you in a few days." Return them? Of course she will. I thought to myself. Not only will she return them, but in a few days, I'll make sure you both pay it back with interest. I ignored the two of them being overly affectionate in the hallway and went upstairs. They had clearly just had a wild round in the master bedroom. The maids were using glass cleaner to wipe handprints off the glass frame of our wedding photo. Others were carrying out tied-up garbage bags that smelled questionable. When the maids saw me enter, they bowed in greeting, their faces full of indescribable pity. I avoided their gazes and opened the safe. As I stuffed my IDs into my bag, a blank piece of paper fell out. I glanced at it, and an idea formed in my mind. Then, I took the wedding ring off my ring finger and placed it in its velvet box. "Everything is fine, why are you taking the ring off?" Before I could turn around, I felt the cold touch of metal on my neck. Looking down, it was a stunning sapphire necklace. "I'm afraid of losing it, so I'm putting it in the box for now." I made a weak excuse and dodged Victor's attempt to embrace me. He didn't get the joyful expression he expected from me after giving a gift. He looked displeased, and a strange sense of foreboding hit him. "Isn't this the Tiffany sapphire you wanted most? You've been talking about it for a month." "Yeah, right. Thanks." I did want it two years ago. But after seeing Ashley wear the exact same one for the last six months, I didn't think it looked that pretty anymore. I gently pushed away Victor's hand as he tried to rest it on my stomach. Just in time to meet Ashley's hateful, doe-like eyes at the door. She swayed her hips as she walked in, bumping me out of the way. "Victor, Mom wants us to go back to the Long Island estate for dinner tonight. Let's get ready." Saying this, she glared at me triumphantly. Victor nodded. Usually, I'd go to the estate alone for a miserable, thankless dinner. Then the next day, my mother-in-law would have Victor bring Ashley for the real family dinner. Knowing my place, I calmly looked away. But out of nowhere, Victor said, "Rain, you should come with us tonight." Those words made Ashley look like she was about to grind her teeth into dust. I thought about the antique safe hidden behind the painting in the Harding estate and nodded. It's time to take back what belongs to me. Ashley dressed up dripping in jewels. I, however, picked an outfit from my closet that looked exactly like what I wore the day I first arrived in New York. This time, I didn't desperately try to sit next to Victor and force my way into their conversations. Instead, I chose a seat far away and sat quietly. When we arrived at the Harding estate, Mrs. Harding greeted Ashley warmly. Then, she glanced at me from the corner of her eye and scoffed. "What are you doing here?" Victor, however, proactively took my hand. "Mom, how could we have family Thanksgiving dinner without my wife?" I looked down at our intertwined hands, a bit dazed. For a second, I couldn't tell what year it was. Was it the year I loved him the most, or the year I still didn't know someone else was living in his heart? Mrs. Harding said sarcastically, "Fine. Of course." "But before you sit at my table, you have to follow tradition." Tradition. The hazing. Years ago, when Mrs. Harding tried to use this to humiliate me—forcing me to serve her tea on my knees—I flipped the table. Back then, Victor laughed and called me rebellious and edgy. He said it was exactly his type. Today, he hesitated for a moment, then waved his hand. A servant shoved a cup of scalding hot tea into my hands. I endured the numbing pain in my palms. "Mrs. Harding, this is the last time I will ever serve you. After this cup, I want my blessed amulet back from the family vault." "So petty. It's just a cheap trinket. Our family doesn't care about it." Mrs. Harding didn't notice the shocked look on her son's face. That amulet was something I had climbed hundreds of cathedral steps on my knees to pray for, just to ensure Victor would live a safe and prosperous life. But today, I finally realized... This man was unworthy. Just as a servant retrieved the amulet and was about to hand it to me, Ashley suddenly raised her voice. "Godmother! My sister Sarah was supposed to be the real Mrs. Harding. Even though she passed away, she is still part of this family. By the rules, shouldn't Rain serve her tea, too?" "At the end of the day, the first to arrive is the wife, and the latecomer is just the mistress!" With that, Sarah's black-and-white portrait was brought out and placed at the head of the table. Looking at Ashley's face, a fire suddenly surged in my chest. I pushed away the boiling tea they tried to hand me again. The hot liquid splashed, perfectly scalding Ashley's foot. "Your sister and you are exactly the same—nobodies with no titles. Even back in the day, mistresses had to be invited in. You're the only one throwing yourself at him." I sneered and turned to scold the servant. "Give me the amulet." "Don't give it to her!" Ashley took a step forward. "Who are you to insult me and my sister? I bet you were the one who killed her! Otherwise, why would Victor have ever married you?!" I glared at her. "Don't you know exactly how your sister died?" Ashley instinctively looked back at Mrs. Harding. In her panic, Mrs. Harding grew furious. "You bitch, what kind of nonsense are you spouting?!" In the chaos, Ashley suddenly leaned back, grabbing my sleeve, and knocked over the black-and-white portrait. Glass shards sliced my arm. The photo Ashley had been screaming about me "losing" earlier that day landed right at my feet. Ashley threw herself into Victor's arms, wailing. "See! I told you Rain stole my sister's photo! I heard they practice witchcraft in the countryside—she was definitely trying to curse Sarah!" "And now the portrait is broken! Those people were right, Rain killed my sister, and now she wants to kill me and my godmother!" I looked up and met Victor's deep, dark eyes. He enunciated every word clearly. "Make my wife kneel. Make her bow and serve the tea."
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