I had just finished saving the evidence the detective sent over when the bedroom door was kicked open.
Bartholomew's face was terrifyingly dark. In his hand was a black sandalwood box.
I knew that box better than anything in this world. After I lost my first child, I had placed the ashes inside it with my own hands.
I shot to my feet, my chest seizing tight, my voice shaking beyond my control.
“What are you doing with my child? Give that back to me!”
Bartholomew's eyes were ice. He raised the sandalwood box into the air, his fingertips tracing the surface, his tone dripping with menace.
“Kay. Apologize to Vivien. For pushing her, for every vicious thing you've said and done. Bow your head and admit you were wrong.”
I stared at the urn in his hand, tears flooding my eyes in an instant, but I refused to let them fall.
“I didn't push her. She staged the whole thing. I will never apologize! Bartholomew, that is your own flesh and blood. How dare you use him to threaten me!
“What wouldn't I dare?”
Bartholomew let out a quiet laugh. He slowly opened the lid and set the box on the windowsill.
“As long as you refuse to apologize, I'll throw him out right now. He won't even have a place to rest. You know I keep my word.”
There was no warmth in his eyes. Not a trace. For Vivien, he would weaponize his own dead child. He would crush the last shred of anything I had left.
My lower abdomen still ached with a dull, throbbing pain. I looked at the sandalwood box, and every ounce of strength drained from my body.
Humiliation and despair crashed over me like a tidal wave. I clenched my fists so hard my nails broke the skin of my palms, blood beading along the crescents.
But in the end, I lowered my head. My voice came out wrecked, barely recognizable.
“I'm sorry.”
Bartholomew wasn't satisfied. “I told you to apologize to Vivien. Look at her and say it.”
I turned my head slowly toward Vivien, standing behind Bartholomew, her face a perfect portrait of smugness dressed up as innocence. I forced the words out with everything I had.
“Vivien, I'm sorry. I was wrong.”
Vivien's lips curled into a smile. She waved her hand with exaggerated magnanimity.
“Kay, I don't blame you. We've always been like sisters. I know you just lost your temper in the moment.”
Bartholomew's expression eased slightly. He tossed the urn back to me.
“Remember what you said today. From now on, know your place. Be the wife the Vance name requires. And don't upset Vivien again.”
He paused, looking down at me from on high.
“The day after tomorrow is Vivien's birthday gala. I'll announce her pregnancy in front of everyone. But after the child is born, it will be registered under your name. You'll raise it. You'll remain the Vance family's wife in name. That is the most generous arrangement I can offer you.”
“At the gala, you will hand over the full jewelry set and the Vance family ring to Vivien. Give her and the baby the recognition they deserve.”
I laughed. The irony was suffocating. He spoke as if he were tossing scraps to a beggar and expected gratitude in return.
He wanted me to keep the title of Mrs. Vance while raising his mistress's child. That was what he called generous.
I said nothing. I just held the urn against my chest, and scalding tears fell onto my hands, each drop landing like a burn.
Bartholomew, this is the last time I will ever cry in front of you.
He wrapped his arm around Vivien and left without a single glance back.
Two days later, I left the house early. First, I picked up the finalized divorce papers. Then I went to the hospital.
Lying on the operating table, I felt the cold instruments enter my body, felt the child who shared my blood being separated from me piece by piece.
Tears slid down in silence. The pain in my heart had gone numb.
After the procedure, I held myself together long enough to bury both children's ashes side by side.
Then I went back to the house, grabbed the bags I had already packed, and walked out without looking back.
I pulled out my phone and dialed the number.
“Irvin. I need you to come get me.”
Irvin didn't ask questions. He agreed immediately.
“Okay. I'm on my way. Wait for me.”
After I hung up, I took every piece of evidence the private detective had sent, along with the video of Bartholomew and Vivien together, bundled it all up, and sent it to every major media contact in the capital.
【A birthday gift for Ms. Pruitt!】
I hit send, and a smile tugged at the corner of my lips.
A second later, my phone rang. Bartholomew. I didn't need to guess. He was calling to rush me to Vivien's birthday gala.
I didn't answer. I stared at his name on the screen and whispered,
Bartholomew, I hope you and Vivien enjoy the gift.
May it destroy you both.
