Chapter 4

Felicity's POV

Saskia screamed and yanked my arm, slamming me into the candlestick beside us.

The metal candlestick toppled over. The burning candle caught the tablecloth and the sheer fabric of her dress.

Flames shot up instantly.

"Help! Fire!" Saskia collapsed to the floor, sobbing and wailing, deliberately pressing her own arm into the flames.

In the chaos, she pulled me off balance, and sparks caught the hem of my dress.

Then a bucket of ice water came crashing down on us both.

The fire went out.

I was soaked to the bone, completely humiliated. Saskia curled up on the floor, clutching her burned and swollen arm, crying like her world was ending.

"Felicity! What did you do?"

Michael shoved through the crowd like a man possessed. He didn't even glance at me — he went straight to Saskia, pulled her into his arms, and stared at the burns on her arm, his eyes bloodshot with rage.

"You killed Valencia three years ago, and now you want to burn her sister alive too?" Michael snapped his head up and glared at me.

"Have you lost your mind? How far are you going to take this?"

The people around us were already whispering.

"Oh, my God. She actually attacked someone at a dinner party."

"I heard she burned Michael's first love to death to marry him. That's terrifying."

Saskia hid in Michael's arms, trembling. "Michael… don't blame Felicity… it was my fault for not being careful… she just wanted to scare me with the knife…"

Her acting was terrible. But Michael believed every word.

He stood up with Saskia in his arms and looked at the bodyguard, his eyes cold. "Take this lunatic away. From now on, she doesn't appear in public without my permission."

The bodyguard stepped forward — and then a low, bone-chilling voice came from the back of the crowd.

"I'd like to see anyone try."

Raymond.

He stepped in front of the bodyguard and pulled me behind him.

His expression was calm, composed, every bit the gentleman.

Everyone in the room turned to look at him, surprised he'd get involved in something like this.

Michael frowned, clearly annoyed.

"Since when does Mr. Carter stand up for women?"

"You've got the wrong idea." Raymond ignored the dig. 

"I'm responsible for tonight's event. Something like this happens, of course I'm going to step in. The security here is thorough — why don't we wait until we have the full picture?"

Saskia let out a weak moan, like she was about to pass out.

Michael's face filled with worry. He didn't answer Raymond — just scooped her up in his arms. Then he turned and shot me a look. 

"Don't follow us. You murderer."

"My private hospital is the closest from here," Raymond said. "I'll take you."

He turned to me and held out his hand. "Come on, Mrs. Johnson. You're hurt too."

My heart jumped. I looked up into his gray-blue eyes, and a strange, uneasy feeling washed over me. I placed my hand in his as naturally as I could.

"Thank you."

Michael carried Saskia to the car. As the bodyguard opened the door, he looked back at me — like I was doing something deeply wrong.

What right did he have to judge me?

I held his gaze and got into Raymond's car.

At the hospital, Raymond personally brought in his private medical team.

"Ms. Fuller has minor injuries — a few days of treatment, and she'll be fine. Ms. Moore, however, has burns on her lower leg and arm. It'll take about two weeks to heal. She needs to rest and keep the wounds dry."

"Thank you."

Raymond walked the doctor out.

Michael stared quietly at the bandages wrapped around Felicity's arm and leg. A flicker of guilt crossed his face.

Saskia caught it.

"Mr. Johnson, please don't be too hard on Felicity. She just wasn't thinking straight. She had no intention of hurting me. Felicity and I are good friends — just like she and Valencia used to be. Why would she ever want to burn me?"

The moment he heard "burn" and "Valencia," Michael's fist clenched tight. A vein pulsed at his temple.

"Friends?" He let out a sharp breath, his chest heaving, eyes locked on Felicity with a hatred that cut to the bone.

"She used people's trust against them — that's how she was able to do what she did. Someone like her should've been burned at the stake a long time ago."

I froze.

I knew Michael despised me. I just never realized it had turned into something this deep, this ugly.

I wanted to say something. My lips parted — but nothing came out. Helplessness and exhaustion washed over me, and suddenly I felt like a joke.

What was the point of this marriage anymore?

"You're right."

I curved my lips into a pale, hollow smile.

"Then let's get a divorce."

Michael went still. A few seconds passed. Then his voice came out hard and vicious.

"Not a chance."

"You don't get to choose. This is your punishment. You will never be free. Not in this lifetime."

Saskia gripped the blanket, watching me with barely concealed resentment.

Michael hated me this much. He should've been pushing for a divorce. So why hadn't he ever brought it up? I wanted to know too.

Raymond watched us both, something unreadable in his expression.

Just then, his phone rang. One of his bodyguards.

"Mr. Carter, we've pulled the security footage."

"Got it."

Raymond hung up, opened the video his bodyguard had sent, and held it out for Michael and Saskia to see.

"Mr. Johnson. Here's what actually happened."

The footage showed everything — Saskia spilling the drinks on the floor, cutting herself with the knife, knocking over the candlestick, and pressing the knife into my hands while I stood there too shocked to move.

"This was all Saskia's doing. Mrs. Johnson is not a murderer."

Michael stared at the screen, jaw tight, and slowly turned to look at Saskia.

Caught. Saskia's expression flickered with panic. She raised a trembling hand to her head, playing weak.

"Mr. Johnson… I feel so dizzy… my chest feels so tight…"

And then she passed out.

"Saskia!"

Michael grabbed her arm and shook her. No response. He called for a doctor immediately.

Raymond led me away from the commotion and into the room next door.

I had injuries all over — beyond the bandaged wounds, my knuckles were scraped raw.

"Sit down."

Raymond guided me to the couch, took out the medicine the doctor had prescribed, and started treating my wounds himself.

I was in such a dark mood I forgot that was supposed to be the doctor's job. I didn't stop him.

"Thank you." My voice came out rough. "Don't worry — I'll get the divorce finalized as soon as I can."

Raymond kept applying the medicine, his voice even.

"There's no rush."

I watched him work, careful and steady, and the questions I'd been holding back began to scratch at me like something I couldn't ignore.

"Mr. Carter… can I ask why you chose to marry me?"