Chapter 4

The next morning, long before dawn broke.

The transport van from the reform school pulled into our driveway.

After freezing in the damp basement all night, Leo was shivering violently, curled up into a miserable ball.

The moment he saw Mark, he lunged forward and grabbed his pant leg.

"Dad, I'm sorry! I'll never do it again!"

"Please don't send me away! I'm scared!"

He was sobbing uncontrollably, wiping snot and tears all over Mark’s trousers.

Staring at the boy's familiar face, a flicker of hesitation crossed Mark's mind.

But the memory of that "0.00%" on the paper turned that sliver of pity into pure disgust.

He kicked Leo off with a look of revulsion.

"Don't call me Dad! I'm not your father!"

Two burly instructors in tactical uniforms stepped forward, grabbing Leo firmly by his arms.

"Don't worry, Mr. Vance. Leave him to us. In one year, we guarantee to return a disciplined, obedient boy."

The instructor's cold smile sent chills down the spine.

I had done my homework.

That facility was infamous—a literal boot-camp nightmare where kids came out stripped of their dignity and sanity.

In my past life, Leo had used Mark’s money to torture me to death.

In this life, I would let him taste what it felt like to be crushed like an insect.

Leo was dragged kicking and screaming into the black van.

As the sliding door shut, his face pressed against the tinted glass, glaring at me with raw, venomous hatred.

I stood gracefully on the porch steps, offering him a sweet, breezy little wave.

Bye-bye, you little monster.

The van sped away, swallowed by the morning fog.

Mark stood frozen, staring blankly in the direction it vanished.

I walked down the steps and gently looped my arm through his.

"Honey, it's chilly out here. Let's head inside."

Mark nodded numbly and followed me into the house.

At breakfast, he was completely out of it.

He was so distracted he nearly shoved his spoon into his nose while eating his oatmeal.

I put on a face of deep concern.

"Mark, are you overwhelmed at work?"

"Why don't you take a couple of days off and rest at home?"

His eyes darted away, dodging my gaze.

"I'm fine. A big project just landed at the firm. I need to oversee it."

I laughed internally.

A big project? He was dying to go confront his beloved mistress.

Sure enough, the second breakfast was over, Mark snatched his car keys and bolted out the door.

Standing before the floor-to-ceiling window, I watched his Range Rover speed out the gates.

I dialed my private investigator.

"Keep your eyes glued to Mark Vance. Whoever he sees, whatever he says—record everything."

"I want high-definition video and crisp audio."