Jillian stared at him as a cold chill crept deep into her bones.
The man who had once sworn he would marry her was now standing in front of her, deliberately driving each word like a blade into her chest.
Dennis really was despicable. There was no softer way to put it.
Drawing on what little composure she had left, she knocked his outstretched hand aside. "Don't touch me," she said, her voice sharp as her expression hardened.
She turned without hesitation and headed upstairs. This place no longer felt like a home. She needed to leave.
But the moment she pushed open the master bedroom door, she froze. Melany was inside.
So that was the reason Dennis had come back. He had brought her here.
Jillian's eyes swept over Melany, stopping almost instantly at the necklace resting against her collarbone. It was exactly the same as the one Dennis had given her earlier that day.
A hollow, bitter laugh rose in her chest. He really had no shame, giving the same gift to two different women without a second thought.
The faint amusement vanished just as quickly. Her gaze dropped to Melany's hands, and her expression changed abruptly. Her eyes widened with alarm.
"What are you doing with my paper?" she demanded, rushing forward, only to come up short as her fingers closed on empty air.
Melany had already reversed her electric wheelchair, gliding back out of reach with practiced ease. A thin, mocking smile curved her lips. "So you wrote a research paper at fourteen," she said lightly. "And it was handwritten too."
She had studied physics abroad, just like Jillian, which was the only reason she had been able to impersonate the so-called mute girl without being exposed.
But she had chosen the field for appearances, drawn to the prestige rather than the work itself. In truth, she understood very little, and everything she had built rested on a lie. She could not make sense of the paper, but she understood one thing clearly. Dennis could never see it.
Fearing what Melany might do, Jillian forced herself to stay calm. She softened her tone, trying to reason with her. "You already have everything you wanted. That paper is old. It poses no threat to you. Just give it back."
It was the first piece of work her mother had guided her through. It had never been published, but its value to her had nothing to do with recognition. It was the last thing her mother had left behind.
Melany gave a quiet laugh, clearly enjoying herself. "If it means so little, why do you care so much?" she said. "Tell you what. Kneel and beg me. Maybe I'll consider giving it back."
"Don't push me," Jillian said through clenched teeth, her hands curling into fists.
Melany raised a brow, unimpressed. "Not willing to kneel? Then I suppose I'll just burn it." She pulled a lighter from her pocket, flipping it open with deliberate slowness.
"Don't!" Jillian cried out instinctively.
Fire. The memory hit her like a shock. When she was fourteen, she'd been caught in an accidental fire—and the smoke had damaged her throat, leaving her unable to speak.
Even now, the sight of flames made her chest tighten. But losing that paper… losing the last piece of her mother…
"I'll kneel," she said, her voice strained.
The steel pins in her knee made bending painful, each movement slow and deliberate.
She lowered herself gradually, but her attention never left Melany's hands, the paper, the lighter.
Then, in a sudden burst, she moved. She lunged forward, aiming for the paper.
Melany reacted instantly. The wheelchair jerked back with a sharp mechanical sound, putting distance between them in a split second.
"So you really do care about this worthless thing," Melany said, her voice turning cold. "Interesting. I happen to enjoy destroying what matters most to you."
She struck the lighter. The flame flared, catching the edge of the paper almost immediately. With a careless flick, she dropped it to the floor.
Jillian's breath caught as the fire spread, the sight sending a wave of dizziness through her.
The dry pages burned quickly. There was no time to hesitate.
Forcing herself to move despite the fear clawing at her, she rushed forward and stamped at the flames, biting down hard on her lip as panic surged through her.
By the time she put it out, half the pages were already gone, reduced to blackened fragments.
Melany let out a soft, amused laugh. "What a pity. It was almost completely destroyed."
Perhaps it was better this way. Even if Dennis saw it now, there would be nothing left for him to recognize.
Tears blurred Jillian's vision as she carefully gathered the fragile, charred remains. The last thing her mother had left her was ruined.
She wiped her tears roughly and lifted her head. The despair in her eyes faded, replaced by something colder, sharper. "So," she said quietly, "you enjoy destroying my things?"
Before Melany could react, Jillian surged forward, slamming the wheelchair back against the wall and wrenching the lighter from her hand.
She feared fire. But in that moment, anger drowned everything else.
Her hand trembled as she flicked the lighter on again, holding the flame to Melany's carefully styled hair, the same hair she spent so much time and money maintaining.
The ends caught almost at once.
"Help! Dennis, save me!" Trapped against the wall, unable to move, Melany screamed in panic, thrashing helplessly.
The noise brought Dennis running. He took in the scene in an instant, his expression turning dangerously dark. "What are you doing?"
He crossed the room in seconds and shoved Jillian aside. But it was already too late. A large section of Melany's hair had been scorched, leaving behind a burnt, acrid smell.
Melany clung to him, burying her face in his jacket as she sobbed uncontrollably. "She tried to burn me alive! Dennis, she set me on fire. I was terrified."
Jillian let the lighter fall from her hand. It hit the floor with a dull sound. Ignoring them both, she carefully placed the damaged pages into a small box.
When she finally looked up, she met Dennis's gaze. It was cold. Hateful.
She had only ever seen him like this once—when her leg was broken.
Back then, that ice-cold hatred had been aimed at the men who hurt her. Now, he was aiming it at her.
Her chest tightened painfully, as though something inside her was being crushed.
"She burned my things first," Jillian said, her voice flat, her face empty of expression.
But Dennis only frowned at her, as if she were saying something absurd. "Melany is terrified of fire," he said sharply. "How could she have done something like that?"
