When Natalie saw me return, a flicker of triumph flashed in her eyes. She drew her foot back slightly and looked at me with open provocation.
“Zayn,” she said coyly, “I told you there’s no need to wipe my feet…”
Zayn spoke without turning around, his voice so tender that it sliced through me like a whispering wound. “You’re always walking around barefoot. It’s easy to catch an infection or hurt yourself. I’ll have the butler lay down some carpets later. Go pick the texture you like best.”
Then Natalie deliberately called out, her tone dripping with false sweetness, “Yvonne, you’re back.”
Hearing the sound, Zayn stood and finally turned to look at me. His brows immediately furrowed.
“Go take a shower,” he snapped coldly. “You’re filthy—can’t you see that even one of Natalie’s toes outshines you?”
My chest tightened painfully. I fled upstairs in humiliation.
As I was gathering my documents, the door suddenly burst open and there stood Natalie.
She kicked over my suitcase with a sharp thud, her eyes glinting with venom. “Yvonne, you think copying my little ‘runaway act’ will make Zayn care about you?”
Her smile twisted, cruel and mocking. “What a pathetic fantasy! Zayn doesn’t love you—he never has. He won’t care even if you die, just like he didn’t care when your sister did.”
At the mention of my sister, my heart clenched violently as if countless fine, cold needles were piercing straight through it.
I stood frozen, unable to breathe, when Natalie suddenly kicked me hard in the chest. The pain burst through me and I stumbled back a few steps.
She folded her arms, her expression dripping with arrogance. “Yvonne, let me make this clear—Zayn loves me. He’ll only ever belong to me. If you have any sense left, you’ll obediently keep testing my drugs. Maybe, when I tire of torturing you, I’ll let you go.”
My trembling fingers tightened into fists. Quietly, without her noticing, I switched on the recorder hidden at my side.
My throat felt raw as I forced out, “So you admit it—you’ve been torturing me on purpose?”
Natalie answered without any shame. “Of course! I can’t stand women like you—ordinary or low-status people pretending to be noble, elegant, or high-class.”
She sneered. “I’m not worse than you, so why did you get lucky? I was so jealous that I joined your family as a doctor. I didn’t expect your relationship with Zayn to be so weak. A few words from me and you two fell apart.”
I stayed silent.
From the very beginning, my marriage with Zayn had been an accident—something I forced myself to believe in.
Out of the corner of her eye, Natalie noticed the urn. She stepped forward and kicked it over.
I rushed to protect the ashes, gathering the dirt and pieces in my hands. I didn’t notice that Natalie suddenly clutched her chest and dropped to the floor.
When Zayn arrived, she immediately started moaning in pain.
“Natalie, what’s wrong?” he asked, panicked, rushing to hold her.
Natalie leaned weakly against him, voice trembling just enough to sound pitiful. “I just came to tell her to rest for a few days… not to rush the medicine tests. But I found out she was stabbing my little doll—it was right behind the door.”
Zayn’s eyes snapped toward me, cold and sharp.
“I didn’t! It’s not me…” I tried to explain.
But before I could finish, he pulled out a small doll from behind the door—its face looked exactly like Natalie’s, even marked with her birth date and time.
“Still denying it? The proof is right here. What else can you say for yourself?”
Faced with his furious questioning, I stood frozen, unable to defend myself.
