By the time I got home, my chest was still tight with anger, but I barely made it past the foyer before Tina stormed toward me. Her face was red, her eyes sharp as knives.
“Did you sell Hunter’s things?” she demanded. “The ring, his motorbike, the planes, all of his assets?”
“Yes,” I said flatly. “I sent them all to the auction.”
Her jaw dropped. “Do you have any idea how much those were worth? That’s money—money that belongs to this family!”
“He was my husband,” I replied, my voice cold. “I owned those things.”
“Where’s the money?”
“I donated it,” I said simply. “To charity.”
For a moment, the room went deathly still. Then her hand shot out, yanking my hair so hard I gasped.
“You evil brat!” she spat. “I knew it—you were just hiding your true colors all this time!”
I gritted my teeth, meeting her glare. “You’re the one hiding your true colors. You pretended to be kind, to care for me—”
“How dare you talk back to me?” she hissed.
The first slap came hard enough to make my vision flash white. Then another. And another. One. Two. Three. By the fifth, my ears were ringing. By the tenth, my cheek was on fire. She didn’t stop until she’d struck me twenty times, each blow chipping away at whatever strength I had left.
And through it all, Hunter pretending to be Harold was standing just a few steps away—just stared.
“Go on,” he said coolly. “She deserves it. Alicia told me what happened at the auction. How you tried to hurt her and even stole the night that was supposed to be about her painting.”
My legs gave out, my body folding under the weight of pain and humiliation. I could barely breathe. My hands trembled against the floor.
And still, no one helped me. No one stopped her.
But I’ll be okay. This will be the last.
My phone buzzed on the nightstand as I rested after what happened.
It was a message from Martin: Everything’s final. I’ll pick you up tomorrow. Make sure you finish whatever you’re dealing with.
My fingers hovered over the screen before typing back: Yes… there’s one more thing. But after that, I’ll be with you.
I dropped the phone onto the bed, my chest rising and falling with a strange mixture of relief and dread. I didn’t notice the shadow by the doorway until I turned.
Hunter—pretending to be Harold—was leaning against the frame, arms crossed. “Who were you talking to?”
I froze. “It’s none of your business.”
His eyes narrowed. “Is it the man who bought the ring? Who is he? Tell him I’m willing to buy it back.”
A bitter laugh slipped from my lips. “Why? It was never your business to begin with. I owned it.”
“I’m doing it for my brother’s memory,” he shot back. “You’re so quick to marry someone else when you could just… stay. I’d take care of you. You could be here, be a good aunt to my baby… with Alicia.”
I stared at him for a long, cold moment before laughing outright. “Your brother is dead. Which means our marriage is no longer valid. I don’t belong here.”
“What?” His expression twisted. “Where are you going? Are you leaving?” His eyes dropped to the luggage by the corner of the bed.
Before I could reply, Alicia’s shrill scream pierced the air from downstairs. “Help! Something’s wrong with Hash!”
Hunter turned pale. “Our baby!"
I didn’t move.
He grabbed his keys. “Do not dare leave, Victoria. We’re going to talk when I get back. There is no way you’re gonna marry someone else!” His voice was firm, almost threatening, before he ran out with Alicia in tow.
The moment the front door slammed shut, I snatched my phone.
Kidnap their child. That’s the last one. Once they hear about my dead body, it’ll be done.
Martin’s reply came within seconds. Understood. I’ll handle it. Be ready.
I grabbed my luggage. My legs felt like they were made of stone as I dragged the bag down the hall. Every step toward the door felt like shedding a chain.
By the time I stepped outside, a taxi was already waiting at the curb.
Hunter’s POV
The harsh scent of antiseptic clung to the air as I paced the hospital corridor, Alicia’s frantic voice echoing from inside the room. Hash’s tiny cries had turned hoarse, and the doctors were still running tests. My chest was tight, panic clawing at my ribs.
I had one hand buried in my hair when my phone buzzed in my pocket. Without looking, I answered. “What? I’m busy.”
“Sir—” The butler’s voice was breathless, urgent.
“I said I’m—”
“Sir, something happened.” His words cut through mine like a blade. “Miss Victoria… she got into a car crash.”
I froze. “What?”
There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice trembled. “…She’s dead.”
