Chapter 4

The sheer horror of the dark had crushed every ounce of defiance left in me.

I dragged myself forward across the cold concrete floor, grabbed his pant leg, and sobbed uncontrollably. "I know... I was wrong..."

Julian finally seemed satisfied. He pulled me up and led me upstairs to the guest room where Vivian was resting.

She had a mild fever. Julian stroked her cheek with deep concern, then turned to me, his tone turning ice-cold. "Because of you, Vivian has been sick in bed for three days. Apologize."

I had lost all my fire. Shivering, I took a step forward and bowed my head mechanically.

"It was my fault."

Vivian turned her face away with a scoff. "I didn't hear that."

I looked desperately at Julian. When I saw the irritation deepening on his brow, sheer terror gripped my chest.

I was terrified he would order them to throw me back into the dark.

I raised my voice, frantic. "It was my fault!"

Vivian sat up against the pillows, speaking like a stern school principal lecturing a delinquent.

"Mrs. Hayes, you've never had a real career, so you don't understand how things work. An apology requires a proper structure—who is apologizing to whom, and for what specific offense. Professionalism matters."

Julian looked at her with open admiration.

"You really are a professional."

Then he turned to glare at me, frowning.

"Even with someone walking you through it, you still can't do it right?"

My heart squeezed.

I used to be a lead software engineer at a top tech firm. But Vivian had claimed that according to the late Mrs. Hayes's rules, a good wife should stay home, support her husband, and keep out of the public eye.

I was forced to abandon my career in cutting-edge tech design.

And now, I had no children.

And he was calling me a useless waste of space who didn't understand how the real world worked.

The trauma had pushed me past my breaking point.

I turned to Vivian, forcing out every single syllable: "I apologize to you. I shouldn't have put my hands on you. I am sorry."

Julian wrapped an arm around Vivian and asked softly, "Are you satisfied now?"

She buried her face in his chest, her voice sweet and delicate. "I'm not that petty, Julian."

Only then did he treat the matter as settled. He waved a dismissive hand at me.

"Get out. Don't disturb Vivian's rest."

Like a prisoner granted a temporary pardon, I turned and stumbled away.

Behind me, Julian's voice rang out again:

"And don't ever bring up that divorce nonsense again. I don't want to hear it."

I ran into the guest room, threw myself under the covers, and pulled them over my shaking body. The muffled sobs finally tore out of my throat.

I couldn't understand. If he didn't love me anymore, why wouldn't he just let me go?

This sprawling mansion was nothing more than a gilded cage.

I wanted to escape, but every exit was rigged with invisible traps.

I had followed him with so much conviction back then, only to end up like this.

As the tears blurred my vision, darkness rushed in. In my delirium, the face of a younger Julian appeared before me.

He had that boyish, reckless grin, a backpack slung over one shoulder, running toward me through the golden afternoon light to pull me into his arms.

He had pulled me through winding back alleys, and in an abandoned train car, we shared our very first kiss.

Back then, he had held me tight and laughed, saying:

"Meeting you gives me the courage to defy the whole damn world."

Now, I finally found my own courage. I smiled and whispered to that memory of the boy:

"Julian Hayes, I don't want you anymore."

Dead or alive, I don't want you.

Moments later, the terrified screams of the housemaids shattered the silence downstairs.

"Call 911! Mrs. Hayes jumped from the balcony!"

"Somebody help! Hurry!"