"Anything."
"Please find out which hospital my grandfather is staying in."
There was a brief pause before she answered, "I'll handle it."
It was already late at night when Alaric returned.
A thunderstorm raged outside, and rain hammered against the windows. The ward door slammed open so hard it hit the wall.
I opened my eyes.
Alaric stood there breathing heavily. His clothes were soaked, and water dripped from his coat and hair.
At first, I thought it was rain.
Then I looked closer.
The liquid running down his sleeve wasn't clear.
It was red.
Blood.
Before I could say anything, he strode toward me.
His face was dark and furious.
"Olivia, why the fuck did you do it?" he demanded.
I frowned. "What are you talking about?"
Alaric let out a cold laugh. "You really want to ask me that?"
I stared at him in confusion. "What happened?"
Without warning, he pulled out his phone and threw it onto the bed. The corner slammed painfully against my hand.
I flinched and looked down.
Photos filled the screen.
Photos of Margaret from years ago.
The night she'd been carried out of a hotel.
The headline above them read:
Famous Female Lawyer Assaulted After Drinking!
Thousands of comments flooded the page. People called her a mistress, a homewrecker, a slut, and a disgrace.
Slowly, I looked back up.
Alaric's face was terrifying.
"I found the reporter," he said coldly. "I tracked down everyone involved, and you know what he told me? He said a woman surnamed Muffin contacted him. She didn't want money or fame. She only wanted one thing." He stepped closer. "She wanted to destroy Marga."
The room suddenly felt suffocating.
Alaric stared directly into my eyes. "The evidence is overwhelming. Tell me, what else am I supposed to think?"
I immediately shook my head. "It wasn't me."
"Olivia..."
"It wasn't me," I repeated, forcing the words through my aching throat. "I swear it wasn't me."
For a brief moment, doubt crossed his face.
Then it disappeared.
His jaw tightened.
The next second, his hand swung across my face.
Smack!
My head snapped to the side as pain exploded across my cheek.
The slap left my ears ringing. My face burned, but somehow that wasn't what hurt the most.
Alaric stood over me, his eyes cold with anger, looking at me as if I were the criminal, as if I were the one who had ruined someone's life.
"Olivia, how the fuck did you become this vicious?" he demanded, his voice low enough to make an entire boardroom fall silent.
Slowly, I turned my head back toward him. Blood lingered at the corner of my mouth where I'd bitten myself.
"I didn't do it," I said hoarsely.
But Alaric wasn't listening anymore.
His fists tightened as he said, "Marga slit her wrists because of this. She almost died, Olivia. She cried while people tore her apart online, and you expect me to believe you had nothing to do with it?"
Every word sounded like an accusation.
"This isn't over," he continued. "You don't get to hurt her and walk away."
Then he turned and left without another glance, without asking whether I was telling the truth, without caring enough to hear my side.
The door slammed shut behind him.
The room fell silent.
I stared at the empty doorway for a long time before a quiet laugh escaped me. It sounded more like a sob than laughter.
In my mind, I heard the vows we had exchanged on our wedding day.
What a joke.
"Alaric," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "what exactly did you ever manage to keep?"
A few hours later, I finally understood what he meant when he said this wasn't over.
Margaret's scandal disappeared overnight. Every article, every photo, every trending topic vanished as though none of it had ever existed. The internet moved on from her.
It didn't move on from me.
Instead, a new scandal exploded online.
Mine.
Or rather, the version they wanted people to believe.
AI-generated photos flooded every platform. Fake images showed me tied to a bed. Others showed my dead brother standing over me. More fake pictures appeared with strangers, old men, young men, anyone they could use to paint me as something disgusting.
None of it was real.
None of it mattered.
People believed it anyway.
My name, my face, my entire life were thrown onto the internet like bait.
The comments multiplied every second.
"Disgusting."
"No wonder she's crazy."
"Like brother, like sister."
"Maybe she enjoyed it."
"She's jealous because Marga is prettier."
"She's trying to destroy another woman because her husband doesn't love her."
My hands started shaking as I gripped the phone harder and harder.
No. No. No!
They're fake. Every single one is fake. My brother never touched me, never.
The lies that destroyed me years ago had returned, only this time they were even worse. My chest tightened, the room began spinning, and suddenly I couldn't breathe. The courtroom flashed through my mind, followed by the whispers, the stares, the prison cell, the humiliation, and the hatred. It felt as though invisible hands were wrapping around my throat and squeezing harder with every second.
Somewhere in the distance, voices shouted.
"Olivia, look at me! Take a breath and stay with us!" someone yelled urgently.
"Call a doctor, now!" another voice shouted.
My vision blurred as everything dissolved into noise. Then something covered my mouth and nose. A breathing mask.
One breath.
Two breaths.
Three.
Gradually, the darkness retreated. Shapes returned. Colors returned. Eventually, so did Alaric.
His face appeared above me, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw genuine worry in his eyes. Then his phone rang.
Margaret.
Of course.
Always Margaret.
He answered immediately. "Marga, what's wrong? Talk to me."
I couldn't hear what she said, but I watched him leave anyway.
Before disappearing through the door, he said gently, "The posts are gone now. Don't worry, I won't let this happen again."
Then he left.
Again.
And I was alone.
Again.
...
Over the following days, Alaric rarely came to see me. The internet, however, made sure I knew exactly where he was.
Photos appeared online every day.
Margaret and Alaric walking along the beach.
Watching the sunset together.
Sitting side by side on a mountain overlook.
Laughing.
Smiling.
Looking like the perfect couple.
The comments adored them. Nobody cared that Margaret had knowingly pursued a married man. Nobody cared that I was still his wife. Instead, people called them soulmates, true love, and a romance destined to happen.
Stories spread across social media.
Some claimed Alaric once bought gifts for an entire class just so he could secretly give one to Margaret without attracting attention.
Others said Margaret casually mentioned wanting a cake from another city, and Alaric immediately boarded a flight to bring it back to her that same night.
The stories became more ridiculous every day.
People loved them anyway.
Some even begged Alaric to divorce me and marry Margaret.
Margaret made sure I saw every post, every screenshot, and every article. She sent them to me personally, one after another, hoping to provoke me and make me lose control.
I ignored all of it.
I'd already made my decision.
I didn't want this man anymore.
Not now.
Not ever again.
That night, I opened the app connected to the hidden cameras. At first, I only wanted to make sure they were working.
Then the video loaded.
And I froze.
Margaret stood in her bedroom completely naked, tears filling her eyes. Across from her stood Alaric, his face tense and conflicted.
"Alaric, this is my fourth wish. You promised me six wishes, and this is all I'm asking for," Margaret said as she stepped closer and grabbed his hand.
His frown deepened. "Marga, don't do this. You know this isn't right."
Tears rolled down her cheeks as she shook her head. "Please. Just this once. Don't refuse me."
Alaric's jaw tightened.
He closed his eyes.
For a long moment, neither of them moved.
He should have pulled away... He should have walked out. He should have refused but Instead, he hesitated.
And he stayed.
That was enough.
A slow smile appeared on my face, not because it hurt and not because I was angry, but because it confirmed everything I already knew.
I copied the video.
Saved it.
Then turned off my phone.
