Chapter 3 I'll Be the One to Make Him Pay

Ronald Whitmore's anger erupted in a single breath.

"You bastard!" he roared again as he strode toward Tristan. "Is this how you repay the trust I placed in you?"

Without a moment's hesitation, Ronald raised his fist. His face was flushed crimson, and the veins in his neck bulged as he struggled to contain the fury that had finally broken free.

But before the punch could land, a smaller hand gently caught his arm.

"Uncle..."

Moana's voice was soft, yet it was enough to stop Ronald in his tracks.

"Let me beat that bastard!" Ronald growled. "That insolent brat has gone too far!"

"Uncle." Moana slowly shook her head. "Don't."

"But he—"

"Don't dirty your hands because of people like them."

She spoke without raising her voice, yet her words were enough to plunge the room back into silence.

"I was the one who arranged your marriage," Ronald said heavily. "I was the one who convinced you that Tristan would be a good husband. This... all of this... is my fault."

Moana gave him a faint smile.

A smile that only made Ronald's chest tighten even more.

"This isn't your fault."

"Then whose fault is it if not mine?"

"A person can only deceive others until their mask finally falls away."

Her gaze slowly shifted to Tristan.

"Today, I simply saw who he really is."

There was nothing left to say.

Without another word, she turned and walked out of the office, never once looking back.

"Moana!"

Ronald immediately hurried after her, leaving Tristan and Christina standing speechless inside the CEO's office.

"Moana! I'm sorry."

She shook her head.

"You don't need to apologize, Uncle."

"I'll teach him a lesson."

This time, Ronald's voice was firm and unwavering.

"I'll make him regret everything he's done to you."

Moana looked at him for a long moment.

A quiet warmth slowly spread through her chest.

In a world that had just shattered every hope she had, there was still someone willing to stand by her side without asking for anything in return.

"Let me do it."

Ronald frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"If Tristan regrets this one day..." she said quietly, "I want that regret to come from the consequences of his own choices, not because you punished him."

Ronald fell silent.

For the first time, he saw something different in Moana's eyes.

She was no longer the gentle woman who always chose to yield.

She was someone who had just lost every last trace of her innocence.

"I'll handle the divorce myself," Moana continued. "And after that... I won't be a burden to anyone ever again."

Without waiting for Ronald's response, she walked toward the parking lot.

The grand classical mansion they had called home for the past three years now felt utterly unfamiliar.

Moana opened the front door.

Silence greeted her the moment she stepped inside.

She stood in the living room for several moments, taking in every corner of the house she had once decorated with such enthusiasm. The flower vase on the table had been her choice. She had even had the living room curtains resewn because Tristan had once mentioned that white made the house feel more comfortable. Even their wedding portrait still hung neatly on the wall.

The irony was that the house had never truly been a home.

Moana walked into their bedroom.

She slowly opened the wardrobe.

From the corner, she pulled out a cream-colored suitcase and began folding her clothes one by one.

There wasn't much that truly belonged to her.

Most of the dresses hanging in the wardrobe had been birthday or wedding gifts from Ronald. Even the jewelry in the drawer had come from the Whitmore family.

Moana chose to take only a few books, a photograph of her parents, and a small wooden box filled with childhood keepsakes.

Not long afterward, the sound of a car pulling into the driveway echoed outside.

She paused.

A few seconds later, the front door opened.

It was followed by a woman's laughter.

"So she really did come home."

Christina.

Moana took a slow breath before leaving the bedroom, pulling her suitcase behind her.

In the living room, Tristan had just taken off his suit jacket.

Christina stood beside him with a victorious smile, as though the house already belonged to her.

Her eyes immediately fell on the suitcase in Moana's hand.

"That's a relief," Christina said lightly. "I thought you were going to make this difficult."

Moana didn't answer.

She simply continued walking toward the front door.

But Christina suddenly stepped in front of her, blocking her path.

"You forgot something."

Before Moana could ask what she meant, Christina suddenly snatched the suitcase from her hand.

Crash!

She hurled it onto the floor without a second thought.

The zipper burst open.

Moana's clothes and personal belongings scattered across the living room.

The framed photograph of her parents flew out, hit the floor, and shattered into pieces.

Moana froze.

Her eyes fixed on the cracked glass splitting the faces of her mother and father.

Slowly, she lifted her head.

This time, there was no sadness in her eyes.

Only anger.

"What are you doing?"

Christina folded her arms across her chest.

"I'm throwing you out."

"This house doesn't belong to you."

"Not yet." Christina curled her lips into a mocking smile. "But it soon will."

Moana walked toward the shattered picture frame.

She crouched down and carefully picked it up.

"Don't touch my belongings again."

Her voice was so cold that Christina's smile faltered for a brief moment.

But before she could respond, Tristan spoke first.

"That's enough."

Moana rose to her feet.

Tristan's gaze was just as cold as it had been in his office.

"Since you've decided to leave, then leave properly."

"I am leaving."

"Good."

His eyes swept over the scattered contents of her suitcase.

"Then remember one thing."

Moana waited.

"Don't take anything that was given to you by the Whitmore family."

She frowned.

"What do you mean?"

"The car you've been driving. Your supplementary credit card. Even this house."

Tristan stepped closer.

"They all belong to the Whitmore family."

He stopped directly in front of her.

"If you want to become homeless, do it on your own."

Christina smiled in satisfaction.

But Tristan wasn't finished.

"I'll also make sure Uncle Ronald won't help you."

His eyes were as cold as ice.

"If I have to, I'll make him choose between you and me."

Moana looked into her husband's face for several long seconds.

Then, slowly, she smiled.

A smile that made Tristan furrow his brows.

"In that case..."

Moana picked up her small handbag, carefully retrieved the photograph of her parents, and left the suitcase—and everything inside it—lying on the floor.

"I won't take anything."

Without another word, she walked out of the house.

As the front door closed behind her, it was as though the sky itself collapsed.

Rain poured down in torrents, soaking her clothes within seconds.

She kept walking aimlessly down the road.

Each step felt heavier than the last.

Still, Moana forced herself to keep moving.

Several minutes later, the headlights of a luxurious car slowly approached from behind.

The gleaming black vehicle slowed before coming to a stop beside her.

Moana halted.

Slowly, the rear passenger window rolled down.