In that split second, Coleen didn't know where the strength came from—but she grabbed the nearest chair and smashed it hard against the kidnapper's head.
The man collapsed. She twisted her dislocated arm free from the ropes and bolted toward the dark forest outside the factory.
Her arm throbbed with pain as she fumbled with her phone. Coleen tried to call the police, but her injured fingers kept missing the button. Panic rose in her throat, and she pressed her phone's emergency contact instead.
She prayed—prayed—that Bruce would answer.
But time after time, the call was hung up.
She stumbled, fell, dragged herself up, and ran until she had no strength left.
Until she had no strength left.
Until exhaustion consumed her.
Until the camera captured her terrified, desperate face.
And in that moment, she thought faintly, 'So this is how it ends.'
...
The police arrived too late.
At the hospital, the doctors assessed her condition and concluded that she was temporarily unable to care for herself. They contacted her emergency contact.
Bruce walked into the hospital room, looked at the woman lying on the bed, and spoke with chilling detachment. "You brought this on yourself."
Coleen didn't try to explain.
Even with all the evidence in the world, people only believe what they want to believe.
She gave a faint, mocking smile. "Please leave. We're already divorced."
"The divorce hasn't been made publicly yet," he replied flatly. "As far as the media's concerned, you're still my wife. That means I'm obligated to visit you."
He glanced at his watch and added, "The new product launch is at two this afternoon. As my wife, you'll attend. A driver will pick you up in twenty minutes. Unless, of course..."
He stared at her with cold eyes. "...you'd rather your clinic stays shut down for good."
Her stomach clenched. She thought of the staff at the psychological counseling clinic—doctors and assistants who had turned down higher-paying jobs because they trusted her.
She'd already been forced to suspend operations for half a month. She couldn't let their careers be destroyed too.
So she went.
And when she saw Emily standing on stage in a dazzling gown, she realized how ridiculous her decision had been.
Her plaster had just been removed, her wrist still twisted and weak. Exhaustion clung to her. Next to the youthful, radiant Emily, she was nothing but a shadow.
"Ms. Vega, why did you come to the press conference?" Emily's voice rang out, clear and loud. "Your paper plagiarism scandal is still all over the news—it'll bring a negative impact to the company!"
Her shocked tone drew everyone's attention.
All eyes turned toward Coleen again—accusing, scrutinizing, judging.
This time, she didn't hesitate.
Even though her hand ached, she raised it and slapped Emily across the face.
Gasps rippled through the room. Emily stared at her in disbelief, anger flashing in her eyes.
Coleen's expression didn't waver.
"If you want to accuse me of plagiarism, show evidence. Otherwise, I have the right to sue you for defamation."
The hall erupted in chaos.
Then Emily laughed softly, covering her reddened cheek. Her voice dropped to a whisper meant only for Coleen. "Proof? I wonder if this will satisfy you."
The massive screen behind them flickered—and suddenly, the image of Coleen's terrified face, taken just hours earlier, filled the display.
Her pupils contracted. Her body went cold.
"Scared now?" Emily cooed. "You should be trembling."
Before Coleen could react, Emily swayed and deliberately fell backward toward a table of champagne flutes.
Security rushed forward. The photo was quickly taken down—but the damage was done. Coleen knew her reputation had been destroyed.
Her face turned pale, but she no longer hoped for rescue.
Bruce's furious voice thundered in her ears.
"I can publicly dismiss this as a rumor to protect the company—but you should know it yourself, Coleen. You're shameless!"
"I've already arranged for you to be sent to a private psychiatric facility abroad. From now on, you'll stay away from the public eye!"
He pulled Emily into his arms as security cleared the venue.
Coleen was dragged out toward the airport.
"Mr. Sandoval said," one of the men told her coldly, "your father's ashes are already on the plane. If you refuse to board, the jet will still leave—with or without you."
A threat.
By now, there was no affection left between them—only control and humiliation.
And yet Coleen didn't resist.
Because she saw someone in the distance—her old university mentor—waiting anxiously in the terminal.
When their eyes met, the mentor's expression eased, and Coleen understood.
Everything that followed felt like fate.
She excused herself to use the restroom. Her mentor distracted the guards.
And just before the gate closed, Coleen slipped aboard the private jet bound for Australia.
That cursed marriage of thirteen years—built on love, deceit, suspicion, and ruin—ended with a silent explosion in the sky.
The plane that carried her, and all the wreckage of her past, was swallowed whole by the sea.
