Laurence's ambitions had always been sky-high. He wanted to build his own empire, but he refused to sell off the family heirlooms to fund it.
I couldn't bear to watch him struggle, and I didn't want to wound his pride.
So I hid my real identity and invested in him in secret.
Every executive who owed me a favor, every connection I had—I funneled them all toward Laurence, quietly feeding him projects and contracts.
Over four years, his company grew bigger and bigger.
But before he'd even truly reached the top, he'd already learned to pamper his mistress and grind his wife into the dirt.
Fine. At least now I knew.
There was no reason to be soft-hearted anymore.
I didn't surrender. Instead, I whipped my head around and sank my teeth into Camille's wrist.
She'd leaned in close to savor my humiliation. She never saw it coming.
Camille screamed, shoving at my head with both hands, trying to wrench herself free.
By the time the bodyguards pried me off, the bite mark on her wrist was deep enough to show bone. She was sobbing, wailing.
"Mr. Morton, she's jealous that you gave me the pendant! She did this on purpose to get back at me!"
"You have to stand up for me, or I swear I won't go on living!"
Laurence was beside himself with rage. He drew back his foot and kicked me hard in the stomach.
I crumpled to the ground, every organ inside me feeling like it had been knocked out of place.
"Gillian, you never learn, do you? Fine. Since you don't appreciate the chance I gave you, Camille will take your place as Mrs. Morton. She's a thousand times more obedient and well-behaved than you ever were!"
"You like biting people? A dog that bites its master doesn't need teeth. Someone get over here and pull out every single one of hers!"
"No anesthesia. Let her remember this pain so she learns to stay in her lane as a mistress and never lays a hand on Camille again!"
A bodyguard fisted my hair and yanked my head back, forcing my face upward. My scalp screamed, then went numb.
Camille's face split into a triumphant grin. She mouthed the words at me: You lose.
Another bodyguard pried my jaw open. Cold steel pliers clamped down on one of my teeth.
Before they could pull, a deafening roar erupted overhead.
Ten helicopters appeared out of nowhere, hovering low, their rotors shaking the air.
Over a hundred bodyguards in black-and-gold uniforms, steel batons holstered at their hips, descended from rope ladders.
They fell into formation behind a man with a striking face and a look that could kill.
Camille stared, slack-jawed, then clapped her hands over her mouth in excitement.
"Mr. Morton! Did you hire a male model troupe to celebrate my birthday? This is incredible!"
I let a slow smile curl across my lips.
I hope you can still smile like that when they're grinding you into the dirt.
