With a sharp crack, blood burst out instantly.
Solana's strength drained away and she collapsed to the floor, her complexion whiter than paper.
"Solana!"
Wilbert's pupils shrank violently—terror and panic flooding his eyes in a way she had never seen before.
He lunged forward, scooping her into his arms and sprinting for the door as though chased by death itself.
"Doctor! Save her! You must save her!"
Half-conscious, Solana heard his hoarse, broken voice above her.
She forced her eyes open, breath thin as silk.
"Wilbert... I, Solana Scott... never bow..."
And with that, darkness swallowed her.
...
When she woke again, the first thing she saw was Wilbert sitting beside her bed.
Dark shadows pooled beneath his eyes. He clearly hadn't slept in days.
But Solana felt nothing—no warmth, no relief. Only disgust at how fake it all seemed.
The moment he saw her awake, Wilbert shot to his feet, concern spilling from his expression.
"Does anything hurt? Are you feeling uncomfortable?" He reached out, wanting to check her wound.
Solana jerked her head away, avoiding his touch as if it were poison. "Don't touch me."
The ice in her eyes froze him mid-movement.
A flicker of panic crossed his face—quick, subtle, even he hadn't expected it.
He opened his mouth to speak, but the ringing of his phone cut through the air.
"...Rest first. I'll take this outside."
The moment Wilbert stepped out—Imogen pushed the door open without hesitation, a triumphant glint blazing in her eyes.
"Solana, aren't you always so proud? So noble? Didn't you look down on us 'low-class people' all your life?"
Twisted hatred flashed in her gaze. She grabbed a thick stack of photos and flung them across Solana's face.
"Take a look at yourself. Even the cheapest streetwalker has more dignity than you."
The photos were taken from vicious angles—shots of Solana disheveled, drugged, seemingly throwing herself into the vagrants' arms.
Solana's expression darkened. Her fists clenched so tightly her nails nearly broke skin.
"What are you trying to do?"
Imogen's lips curled, venom dripping from every word.
"Oh? You haven't heard? These photos are everywhere now. The entire internet knows that the almighty Miss Scott—your glorious family's jewel—is actually an easy, filthy slut who even lets beggars touch her."
Solana's knuckles turned bone-white as she gripped the bedsheet, her gaze sharp enough to tear flesh.
"Imogen, I'll kill you."
"Oh? I'm shaking," Imogen mocked, fake fear covering her face.
The fear vanished instantly—replaced with savage jealousy and hatred.
"But will you really? Do you think Wilbert would let you lay a finger on me? He's always on my side. A few tears from me and he drops everything for my sake. And you? You're nothing but a pathetic, unloved joke."
Her voice dipped, twisting darker. "I might as well tell you the truth. I always knew it was your mother in that car. I did it on purpose because I wanted her dead."
Solana felt the world crack open.
"And you don't even know—she tried to call you for help. If I hadn't stabbed her a few more times myself, she might've held on long enough for you to see her alive."
A thunderous roar exploded through Solana's mind.
Rage—pure and absolute—flooded her veins.
Before Imogen could react—Solana grabbed the flower vase beside her and smashed it onto her head.
"I'll kill you!"
Crack!
Shards of porcelain and blood sprayed across the room.
Imogen howled, clutching her bleeding head.
Solana, eyes blazing red, yanked her by the hair and raised the vase again.
But Imogen suddenly laughed—low, poisonous.
"Oh, did I forget to mention? Wilbert knows about all of this. Every detail. And he said as long as I'm happy, I can do whatever I want. He'll clean up after me."
She leaned closer, whispering like a viper coiling around Solana's ear.
"Even those photos? He was the one who released them. And all the past scandals of you being with other men—who do you think helped spread them?"
Her smile widened, drenched in triumph.
"The one who wanted to destroy you... was Wilbert. Your beloved husband."
