The women laughed even harder.
Finally, the one who had remained silent spoke up from her seat on the sofa, her voice heavy with a sigh.
"Just go."
"Even if you knelt here and kowtowed a hundred times, we still wouldn't help you."
Because Kathleen had given them explicit instructions beforehand.
Punishment was punishment.
For three full years, they were forbidden from showing me any mercy or offering me the slightest assistance.
Only then could they properly avenge her assistant, Nathan.
So how did I eventually scrape together that five hundred dollars?
I walked into a hospital and sold my blood.
When I finally brought the money to the prison, I was told Kathleen had already been released on medical parole.
That money passed through several hands before reaching one of Kathleen's friends.
I was so desperate I nearly dropped to my knees.
"Please—make sure this gets to Kathleen. She can't afford any more trouble."
But at that very moment, Kathleen was with Nathan at Disney, posing for photos.
She took my five hundred dollars and tossed it at a staff member like a crumpled receipt.
"Dirty money from God knows where. How revolting."
Just like my devotion—trampled without a second thought.
And now, here was Kathleen herself, displaying a blue-and-white porcelain vase worth over a million dollars as mere decoration for Nathan's birthday celebration.
Every detail had been meticulously planned.
But I had no stomach to watch any more.
Several times I nearly lost control—nearly charged in there.
I wanted to appear before Kathleen and slap her across the face, again and again.
I wanted to demand why she had deceived me for three years. Was it really just because I made Nathan work as a servant for three days?
I wanted to show her everything—every wound I'd suffered over those three years, every scar on my body.
Lay it all bare before her eyes.
But in the end, I did nothing.
I watched the woman who should have been behind bars for three more days. She stood there in a couture gown worth a small fortune, looking every inch the ruthless queen.
She had thrown this lavish, extravagant birthday party specifically for her assistant.
She had summoned her entire social circle to celebrate, gazing at Nathan with open adoration as she wished him happy birthday.
Then I turned away, expressionless, and returned to the basement rental.
Dark. Damp. I had lived there for three years.
The bathroom was right by the entrance, its walls thick with mold that had accumulated over time, the stench of decay drifting through at random.
I still remembered my first days there—the constant nausea, the retching.
For the first twenty-five years of my life, I had wanted for nothing. I was the eldest son of the wealthy Sanchez family, raised in privilege, never having tasted hardship.
I was also an internationally renowned painter, my shelves lined with prestigious awards.
At the height of my success, Kathleen Vance—the heiress of the Vance family—had pursued me relentlessly until I agreed to marry her.
After the wedding, I had effortlessly become what people called a "winner at life."
Until Kathleen hired a timid, unassuming assistant named Nathan.
He was the son of my family's housekeeper, yet he competed with me at every turn.
His clothes weren't as fine as mine, so he mocked me as a useless pretty boy.
His abilities couldn't match mine, so he whispered behind my back that I had only gotten where I was through birthright or my wife's influence.
Worse still, he had schemed his way into becoming Kathleen's assistant—and never missed an opportunity to poison her against me.
He told her how I supposedly mistreated his mother at home, ruined his clothes.
How I had made him kneel and serve as a manservant.
I had always believed the truth would speak for itself. I never bothered to defend myself.
Until the day I finally completed the painting I had worked on for two full years.
I was about to have it framed. I stepped out for just a moment.
When I returned, it was drenched in ink.
