Chapter 3

Three days later. The Waldorf Astoria downtown. The annual family syndicate charity gala.

It was an event I had to attend. I needed to hand over the final equity transfer agreement to the board, completely severing all business ties between Vance and me.

I wore a minimalist haute couture gown. My face was still pale, but my makeup was flawlessly applied. Holding a glass of sparkling water, I stood quietly in the most inconspicuous corner of the ballroom.

At 8:00 PM, the massive double doors swung open.

Vance, dressed in an impeccably tailored bespoke suit, made a high-profile entrance. Hooked securely around his arm was Lorna, wearing a white strapless gown and styled to look like an innocent angel.

His gaze prowled through the crowd like he was hunting prey. When his eyes swept over the room and locked with pinpoint accuracy onto me in the corner, a smug, certain smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

He thought I had shown up to bow my head to him. To beg him to come back.

I broke eye contact, my face entirely devoid of emotion.

Just then, a sudden commotion erupted at the entrance of the ballroom.

Several burly, menacing-looking men shoved past security and barged in. They made a beeline straight for Lorna, who was standing in the center of the crowd soaking up the praises.

"Lorna, isn't it about time you pay back the thirty million you borrowed from our loan sharks?" The leader, a man with a scarred face, sneered. He ruthlessly slapped a thick stack of IOUs and heavy bank transfer records right across Lorna's face.

The papers scattered all over the floor. The surrounding guests gasped in shock and quickly backed away.

Lorna's face drained of color. Terrified, she cowered behind Vance. "Y-You've got the wrong person! I never borrowed any money!"

"Wrong person? Your name is written on it in black and white. We even have the security footage of you taking the cash straight into the casino!" Losing his patience, the scarred man reached out, grabbed Lorna by the hair, and delivered a vicious slap to her face.

The crisp smack echoed throughout the luxurious ballroom.

"Ahhh!" Lorna shrieked, covering her face and bursting into tears.

Vance flew into a rage. He kicked the scar-faced man away, firmly shielding Lorna behind him. "Who the hell are you people? How dare you cause a scene here!"

The scarred man chuckled darkly. "A debt is a debt. What, you gonna pay up for this dirty slut?"

Vance's chest heaved violently. Suddenly, as if realizing something, his head snapped around. Across the distance of the massive room, he glared dead at me in the corner.

His eyes were brimming with fury, disappointment, and a sickeningly self-righteous certainty.

In his mind, how could Lorna possibly borrow money from loan sharks? This had to be a setup engineered by me, Sloane. It was my revenge. My way of forcing him to leave her by hiring thugs to publicly humiliate her.

Vance strode toward me, radiating a murderous aura.

The surrounding guests automatically parted to make way for him. Everyone in our circle knew the M.O. of our psychotic marriage; they were all just holding their breath, waiting for a bloodier, more dramatic spectacle.

Vance stopped right in front of me. Towering over me, he gritted his teeth. "You're really something else, Sloane. A perfect little scheme. First, you nearly cause Lorna to miscarry, and now you hire thugs to frame her. When the hell are you going to stop this madness?"

I looked up at him, feeling like I was staring at a ridiculous stranger.

"What? Cat got your tongue?"

When I refused to answer, Vance suddenly did something that shocked the entire ballroom.

He grabbed a steak knife from a passing catering cart and, without a second of hesitation, viciously slashed his own arm.

Blood erupted instantly, staining his pristine white dress shirt crimson. A collective gasp of horror rippled through the gala.

And then, Vance dropped to his knees right in front of me.

"Sloane, you wanted me to bow my head, didn't you?" He stared up at me, his eyes bloodshot, his voice laced with a sick, toxic desperation. "I'm on my knees! I've bled for you! Is it enough?! Please, just let Lorna go. She can't handle your sick, twisted revenge!"

He leaned heavily on the word 'please', wielding it like a weapon to force my compromise.

I stared at his aggressively bleeding arm. A sharp, fleeting sting pierced my chest.

"Vance." I finally spoke. "You absolutely disgust me."

Vance froze. He clearly hadn't anticipated this exact reaction from me.

I reached into my clutch, pulled out a pre-signed document, and tossed it onto the carpet right in front of his knees.

"This is the equity transfer agreement. As of today, we are completely even."

Without giving him so much as another glance, and ignoring the stunned silence of the entire room, I picked up the hem of my gown and walked resolutely toward the massive double doors.

"Sloane! Stop right there!" Vance roared hysterically from behind me.

I didn't break my stride.

In the backseat of the car heading toward the airport, I checked the time. There were exactly forty minutes left until my flight took off. I pressed the power button on my phone and turned it off completely.

Three hours later, after cleaning up the absolute mess Lorna had made, Vance returned to our hillside villa, radiating exhaustion and profound irritation.

"Sloane!" he roared as he shoved the front door open.

He was entirely met with a deathly, suffocating silence.

Frowning, Vance flipped on the living room lights.

There were no smashed vases. No debris scattered across the floor. Everything was so immaculately clean that it was unnerving.

He pushed open the bedroom door.

The bed was perfectly made.

An inexplicable surge of panic suddenly seized his chest. He rushed into the walk-in closet and threw open the wardrobe doors.

It was empty.

All of my clothes, my bags—everything was gone.

He spun around, and his gaze landed on the trash can. The diamond wedding ring he had personally slipped onto my finger all those years ago was lying silently at the bottom of the bin.

Vance's breath hitched violently in his throat.

He stumbled backward a few steps, his eyes darting back to the massive king-sized bed in the center of the room.

Resting right in the middle was a stark brown manila envelope.

With visibly trembling hands, Vance walked over and tore the envelope open.

Two pieces of paper slid out.

The first was the Divorce Agreement, bearing my signature.

The second was an official medical diagnostic report from the hospital.

As Vance's eyes landed on those few stark lines of text, every last drop of color drained from his face.

[ Patient: Sloane ]

[ Diagnosis: Severe trauma from external blunt-force impact, resulting in a complete miscarriage. Dilation and Curettage (D&C) surgery successfully completed. ]