When Valentina saw Rafael’s message, a small spark of warmth returned to her chest.
She tapped a reply immediately: [Okay.]
One month… too long, she thought. One week will do.
In seven days, she would vanish for good—finally severing every tie with Don Desmond Hackett and his world.
The moment she stepped into the Hackett estate, she froze. Selene lounged on the couch in a silken nightgown—Valentina’s nightgown.
The sound of the door made Selene glance up, her smirk sharp as a blade. “Back so soon? You look like a wreck.”
She rose gracefully, stalking toward Valentina, fingers tilting her chin with calculated malice.
“Tsk… that face—pale as parchment. One would think you’re on your deathbed.”
Selene leaned closer, her chest heaving with pride, showing off the marks of last night. “See these bruises? Courtesy of Mondy. Last night… unforgettable.”
Her words grew bolder. A mocking whisper slid into Valentina’s ear.
“In your own bed, he told me I’m the only one who makes him feel like a real man. You? Like a lifeless doll… utterly boring.”
The words struck like bullets. Valentina’s eyes darkened. She raised her hand and struck her sister hard across the face.
“Selene, know your place. I’m still Desmond’s wife. You’re the mistress, nothing more.
“Push me further and I’ll make the world see who you truly are—a maid’s daughter, trying to steal her sister’s husband.”
Valentina had no intention of engaging with her, but Selene insisted on digging her own grave.
Before Selene could respond, Desmond appeared in the doorway. Selene’s knees buckled, and she collapsed to the floor.
“Avy, I’m sorry! I never should’ve come back! I’ll leave today! I’d die if it means I’m out of your way!”
Before Valentina could react, Selene leapt up and bolted toward a pillar.
Desmond was fast—catching her just in time.
“Yannie,” he barked, voice steel, “I invited you. If anyone has a problem with you, they have a problem with me!”
Valentina’s lips curved bitterly.
Supporting Selene, Desmond turned and snapped, “Valentina, apologize!”
“I did nothing wrong. There’s nothing to apologize for. Desmond, don’t you even wonder where I was last night?”
“Did you—” he began, frowning.
She cut him off. “Aren’t you curious—”
“I don’t care where you were!” he snapped. “You will not harm Yannie! Apologize now, or you’ll be suspended—until you admit your wrongdoing!”
To him, Valentina was just his loyal worker. Suspension would be punishment enough.
What he didn’t realize: Valentina had never loved the work. She toiled so that Desmond’s life remained effortless.
Her despair cut through him, tightening his chest with guilt. Yet he turned away, Selene in his arms.
Before leaving, he ordered the maid coldly: “Do not feed her until she apologizes.”
Valentina watched him go, tears tracing silent lines down her face.
This was the man she had loved for seven years. And after this… she would love him no more.
For days, Valentina remained locked inside the estate.
Three times daily, the maid asked if she had realized her mistake.
She never answered, only staring out the window, counting down the days. Five more days—then she’d be free.
Sitting on the balcony swing, her phone buzzed constantly. Every message—Selene.
On the day Valentina planned her departure, another came:
[Bitch, you couldn’t win over our mothers, and you can’t win over a man. One word from me, Mondy won’t come home for a month.]
And Selene proved it.
For two full days, Desmond did not return.
Yet Selene sent footage relentlessly:
Kissing him on the beach.
Photos of him cooking for her.
Intimate, vulgar videos from every angle.
Once, Valentina would have cried. Now… she felt nothing.
A man that flirty, that disloyal, was better off abandoned.
On the fourth day, still refusing to “admit mistakes,” she survived only on water. The maid withheld food.
That evening, she walked into the garden as usual.
A golden retriever lunged at her, slamming her to the ground. Normally harmless, the dog’s strength was deadly to her weakened body.
She collapsed, pain ripping through her belly. Blood soaked her pants. Her face drained of color.
She understood immediately.
Two months ago, during one of the few intimate moments with Desmond, they had not used protection. Now the searing pain told her everything.
Gritting her teeth, she cried out to the bodyguards. The driver rushed her to the car, speeding toward the hospital.
But the streets were blocked.
“Ma’am,” the driver said nervously, “today is Ma’am Selene’s birthday. Sir Desmond shut the roads for her party. We… cannot pass.”
Her clothes soaked in blood, fireworks lit the sky above—Desmond’s love, displayed for Selene.
Valentina closed her eyes in despair.
With what strength she had left, she tore her wedding ring from her finger and flung it out the window.
Her husband. Their marriage. She wanted nothing to do with either anymore.
