I had already bought the plane tickets to leave the country.
But then came the news—Nicholas and Geoffrey were dead.
When I saw their bodies—blackened, swollen, no signs of medical aid—I felt the sky collapse. Poisoned and left to die.
Margaret used to control me through the children. A hundred times and a hundred times she succeeded. She knew I would always give in—for the kids, I would grovel, sacrifice my pride, even my dignity.
But now, she had no leverage.
I lowered my head, gently cradling the urns in my arms and smiled through my tears.
“Nicholas, Geoffrey… You’re with Daddy now. You won’t have to leave me ever again.”
Margaret sneered, her face pale with suppressed fury. “Stop pretending. Those two worthless jars—how dare you make a scene with them?”
She stepped closer, eyes glinting coldly.
“James, I’ll say it one last time—get out. You’re humiliating yourself. What, you think I won’t divorce you?”
Only when I moved closer did I see it—her eyes, brimming with rage. She no longer cared about the stares and whispers around her. She gave her bodyguards a nod and they moved to throw me out.
Some people in the auction hall saw what was happening and wanted to help, but they were quickly stopped.
“Don’t stick your nose into Margaret’s business. You want to go down with him?”
“Look at this guy. Probably deserves it. His wife cheats on him so blatantly and he still doesn’t leave. He’s a joke.”
“Maybe he got himself into this. Foolish enough to marry her—he asked for it.”
The guards threw me out like trash. I nearly lost hold of the urns. Desperate, I lunged forward and used my own body as a cushion.
Barely managed to keep them safe.
“I’m sorry,” I choked through sobs, hugging the urns tight. “I’m sorry, Nicholas… Geoffrey… Daddy failed you…”
One of the guards sneered and kicked me hard. “Why don’t you go back to being a nanny, huh? Stop playing victim.”
“You mess with Mrs. Leighton, you won’t even know how you died.”
And sure enough, that night—
A gossip account posted a video and it exploded online.
In the clip, just over ten seconds long, I was shirtless, kneeling in the snow, being whipped.
The whip had barbs. With every lash, blood gushed from my back.
The headline blazed across the screen:
Scandal! CEO Margaret’s “Husband” Caught Cheating and Whipped in Public!
Within half an hour, it shot to the top of trending searches.
I watched the video, hand trembling, as malicious comments poured in:
[Isn’t this the lunatic who made a scene at the auction today? He cheats and still dares to show his face? Disgusting.]
[Poor people really are pathetic. He probably brought this on himself.]
[That whip wasn’t nearly enough. Should’ve been beaten to death.]
No one knew the truth.
Ever since William moved into the Margaret’s villa, every time he had a bad mood, he’d whip me. Margaret even handed him the barbed whip herself.
Why?
Because years ago, when I was still paying for William’s tuition, my mother walked in on him—in a lace nightgown—lying in our bed, seducing my wife.
My mom was furious. Called him a shameless fox. An ungrateful parasite.
And she lashed him—thirty strokes.
Margaret never forgot.
