Chapter 3

The icy wind howling through the stairwell on Christmas Eve cut straight through my bones. I was curled into a pathetic, shivering ball on the concrete floor, wearing nothing but thin, cotton loungewear.

My skin had turned a sickening shade of purple. Every breath I took felt like inhaling crushed glass.

Just inches away, the door of apartment 702 radiated warmth. But it wasn't the heat that mocked me—it was the laughter.

"Look at this, Evan! Do you like what Mommy Yvette got you?" Yvette’s sweet, venomous voice drifted effortlessly through the door.

"It's amazing!" Evan cheered. "Mommy Yvette’s remote control car is a hundred times better than Diana's! Let's never let her come home!".

Diana. Not Mom. Diana. My own six-year-old son, bought and paid for with a plastic toy. He was the sharpest blade they had, and they were twisting it right into my heart.

My vision blurred as delirium set in. How did I end up here?

My mind cracked under the weight of the betrayal, dragging me back to seven years ago. A brutal rainstorm had completely flooded the city streets. I was bedridden with a dangerously high fever.

Frank didn't own a car back then. He was flat broke.

But he rode a rusty bicycle thirty kilometers through the freezing downpour just to bring me a warm bowl of stomach-soothing porridge.

I married him for that bowl of porridge.

My wealthy parents furiously objected to me marrying a penniless nobody, but I didn't care. I chose him over my family's money.

For seven years, he played the ultimate, devoted family man. He surrendered his entire paycheck to me every month. He rarely went out drinking or socialized.

When I smelled strange, sweet perfume on his collars, I blindly swallowed his lies about crowded elevators.

When he wanted to build his own company, I handed over my deceased parents' entire estate to fund his startup without a second thought.

It was all a flawlessly executed scam.

There were no late-night projects. His exhausting "business trips" consisted of walking down a single flight of stairs from the 8th floor to the 7th floor.

While I was upstairs mourning my parents and managing their leftover assets, he was building a second life directly beneath my feet.

The harsh glare of the morning sun finally broke through the hallway window.

Click. The door to 702 swung open. Frank stood towering over me.

He looked completely rested, wearing fresh clothes. He didn't even look at me as a human being.

He carelessly tossed a ratty, old puffer jacket at my freezing face. He threw it exactly like he was tossing table scraps to a stray dog.

"Are you done throwing your little tantrum out here?" Frank sneered, his eyes filled with absolute disdain. "Put that on. You're embarrassing me."

I clutched the jacket with numb, trembling fingers. My jaw locked from the cold.

"Listen to me very carefully, Diana," Frank ordered, his tone dripping with arrogant authority. "If you behave yourself and stop provoking Yvette, our lives can go on exactly as normal.".

"Normal?" I shrieked softly, my throat completely shredded. "You have a pregnant mistress living beneath my floorboards!"

"Yvette is pregnant with my second child," Frank snapped, his patience instantly vanishing. "You only ever gave me Evan. You should be generously thanking Yvette for expanding our family!".

Thank her?

He wanted me to bow down and thank his mistress for stealing my husband, my son, and my inheritance?

The sheer, unadulterated audacity of this monster finally shattered my remaining illusions. The boy who rode through the rain was dead. Standing before me was a greedy, narcissistic sociopath who had meticulously drained my family dry.

If I fought him right now, I would lose.

He had already locked me out. He had the neighbors firmly on his side. He had threatened to throw me in a psychiatric ward if I caused another scene.

I needed my phone. I needed to get inside.

I swallowed the bitter, burning hatred rising in my throat.

"Okay," I sobbed, letting my voice crack with utter desperation. "I'm sorry, Frank."

Frank’s eyes lit up with arrogant triumph. He took a step back, soaking in his victory.

"I was just so scared of losing you," I whispered, looking up at him with the ultimate fake, submissive gaze. "I'll listen. I'll do whatever you want. Please, just let me go inside.".

He smirked, completely buying my act.

"Good girl."