“No! You’re too protective of him. Do you love him more than me?! If that’s the case, then live with him—I’ll just stay out of the way!”
Andrew shrieked and raged, more like a shrew than a man.
I could hardly believe it. The gentle, refined Victoria—betraying me for such a low-class, foul-tempered man?
Yet she trembled, terrified he would leave her, and so she turned on me instead.
“You’re the one at fault here. Go back and reflect on yourself for a few days.”
My heart splintered. The woman before me was a stranger.
Under Andrew’s demand that I be punished for “false reporting” and slander, the police took me in. As they led me to the patrol car, Victoria chased after us, her voice soft with pity.
“Andrew’s words are sharp, but his heart is kind. Next time you see him, just avoid him.”
I met her eyes with cold silence. Words are useless now.
At the station, I called Susan, my father’s trusted lawyer. I told her to slip the divorce agreement into the documents and trick Victoria into signing.
Seven days later, I was finally released. That day happened to be the anniversary of our son’s death.
Every year, Victoria and I went together to his grave. Today, I set aside all resentment. I only wanted our son to see that his mother had not forgotten him.
But the maid whispered that Victoria hadn’t come home in a week—she had been staying with Andrew.
I called her. Instead, Andrew answered, his voice venomous.
“You bastard! What do you want with my woman?!”
I was about to curse him when Susan arrived, holding the signed divorce papers. Victoria had already signed. We were no longer bound. There was no point in arguing.
“Today is the anniversary of her son’s death,” I said coldly. “If you want to tell her, do it. If not, forget it.”
Enraged, Andrew opened a video call.
“See this? Victoria’s son is alive and well. If you dare curse our child again, I’ll beat you to death!”
On screen, Victoria sat at a dining table with two children—a little girl around two, and a boy barely one. A birthday cake glowed before them. Victoria cradled both in her arms.
“Come here, Mommy will give you a hug.”
When she noticed me on the call, she froze, guilt flickering across her face. She didn’t even blame Andrew for showing me.
I was rooted to the floor. Though I had cut ties, the sight gutted me.
During the three years I fought for my life abroad, she and Andrew had two children.
Then Andrew, with cruel delight, twisted the knife.
“Oh, that’s right—you mean your son who died at birth? How unlucky. Today happens to be my and Victoria’s son’s birthday.”
“She has no time for the dead. Go visit alone!”
The call ended with a snap.
Moments later, Victoria sent me a message:
Hubby, you’re so understanding. I’ll visit our son with you tomorrow. Please, believe me—I still love you.
I stared at the words, laughing bitterly.
You never know pain until you’re struck, Victoria. And I will repay you in kind.
Masking my turmoil, I told Susan quietly, “Don’t tell anyone about the divorce. I have other plans.”
That very night, I booked a flight overseas, vanishing completely from her world.
Andrew mocked me online, his posts dripping with scorn:
“Hahaha! Defeated and fleeing in disgrace—what a shameful fall for someone so high and mighty!”
But Victoria panicked. She searched frantically, hiring private investigators across the globe, desperate to find me.
She even issued a bounty, offering thirty percent of Hayes’s shares to anyone who could find me, later raising it to fifty.
But no one responded.
A year later, fate arranged our meeting. At Disneyland, Victoria, with her son and daughter, suddenly ran into me—holding a child of my own.
Her gaze locked onto the infant in my arms. Tears welled in her eyes as she rushed forward.
“Hubby, I finally found you.”
She had no idea I had appeared on purpose—ready to bring them down.
