My husband, Thomas Lewis, fell in love with someone else. He had another home, outside of ours. He would carry her bags, hold her when she was angry, and proudly introduce her to his friends and parents. And me, his former love, he hated with every fiber of his being. After I miscarried, he held me and told me I wasn't worthy. I blinked back the tears, pretending not to care. "You deserve this, Sienna," he'd said. 1 This was the fourth year of my marriage to Thomas. Everyone knew it existed in name only. They also knew he had another home, another woman. He would take her to the lavish parties of their circle. A circle I once belonged to, but was now shut out of. Thomas's friends called her "Helen." I heard she had charmed his parents, that on her first visit, they'd gifted her a family heirloom—a priceless jade bracelet. And me? I was Thomas's legal wife. And only that. No love. No child. Just wasting away, day after day, year after year, in the role of Mrs. Lewis. 2 As the clock struck midnight, I blew out the candles on the long marble dining table and whispered, "Happy anniversary, Thomas." Then, I jumped from the thirtieth-floor balcony of our penthouse in the Riverbend Estates. As I fell, I closed my eyes, a strange sense of liberation washing over me. The wind howled past my ears, and then, with a sickening thud, I hit the ground. I bounced, then fell again. Bright red blood pooled around me. My entire body screamed in agony, as if a train filled with sand had run over me again and again. I couldn't move. Only my throat still made a hoarse, gurgling sound as I fought for air. Life was draining from me at an impossible speed, but a single thought consumed me: When Thomas sees me dead, will he feel a single pang of regret? Or will he and Helen continue their perfect life, completely untroubled? 3 Thomas arrived a little after five in the morning. His hair was a mess, as if he’d been driving with the windows down. The dampness of the cold night clung to his shoulders. He instinctively reached for a pack of cigarettes, his brow furrowed in irritation. My phone vibrated on the marble table, buzzing insistently before falling silent again. This happened several times, testing the limits of his already frayed patience. He ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Sienna, what the hell are you playing at now? Get down here in five minutes." The phone screen lit up, then went dark, lying silently on the table. I wouldn't be answering. "If you don't answer, don't ever bother coming back." I would never be coming back. Thomas stood there, his eyes downcast, his fingers unconsciously curling into a fist. He was still waiting. But I was never coming down. The old woman who lived next door called out to him. "Thomas, you're back." Her voice was like a crackling old radio, slow and weary. "Go… go and see… Oh, my…" Her face was a mask of unspeakable pity. In that instant, Thomas's hand, holding his phone, dropped to his side. 4 "Based on the security footage, Ms. Su appears to have taken her own life." The young police officer sat across from him, his hands clasped on the table, his expression grave. "If there are no further questions, please sign here." A thick report lay open in front of Thomas. Black ink on white paper, officially declaring my death. Thomas didn't even glance at it. He just sat there, silent. The officer swallowed hard. "Mr. Lewis, if you have no objections, please sign. We will then proceed with transferring Ms. Su to the morgue." Thomas remained silent, as if he had retreated to another world, detached from everything. Just as the young officer resigned himself to a long wait, Thomas spoke. "Was it painful for her?" "Well… uh…" The officer was taken aback, clearly not expecting that question after such a long silence. Before he could answer, Thomas let out a faint, cold snort, as if realizing the stupidity of his own question. His pale lips moved. "Sorry. Forget I asked." He snatched the report and scrawled his name across the signature line. The force of his pen was so great the ink seemed to bleed through to the next page. The young officer opened the door. "Please, follow me." Thomas stood, his long legs striding forward, once again the unflappable business elite. In the narrow corridor, the officer's voice was hesitant. "Mr. Lewis, I need to warn you. Your wife's… body is not intact." His voice grew quieter. "Falling from such a height… there was a significant impact, and then a rebound." He paused. "You should prepare yourself." Thomas just grunted in acknowledgment and said nothing more. The officer glanced up at him and sighed. He'd done his duty. When they reached the morgue, the attendants followed procedure and wheeled "me" out. Thomas gave the gurney a cursory glance, then, with an unnervingly calm expression, he helped the police with the transfer to the cold room. The young officer kept stealing glances at him. He remembered his own reaction at the scene—he'd thrown up until he was dizzy. My body had been shattered by the fall. My limbs were broken, hanging limply. My head was crushed, my face a mask of thick, congealed blood that matted my hair. I was no longer recognizable as a person. The fear of death is etched into the human psyche. Few people could look upon such a sight with Thomas’s chilling composure. When it was all over, Thomas stood in the darkness, his hands in his pockets. "Can I go now?" The young officer, stunned, just nodded. Thomas turned and walked away without a backward glance. As if my entire existence had meant nothing to him. 5 Thomas didn't go to Helen's. He went back to our home. When Helen called, he soothed her in a low, gentle voice. "Helen, I'm fine. You don't need to come over." She must have been offering words of comfort, because he murmured "mm-hmm" occasionally to placate her. Then, his voice rose slightly, a hint of anger creeping in. "Helen, Sienna's suicide was her choice. She deserved it. It has nothing to do with you." His narrow eyes darkened. "If there's any retribution to be had, let it come for me." There was a moment of silence on the other end. Thomas, realizing his tone had been too harsh, softened his voice. "Helen, go to bed early. Don't make me worry." The room fell silent. He lay back on the American-style sofa, his eyes closed, as still as a statue. Just when I thought he had fallen asleep, I heard a barely audible, deeply sarcastic whisper. "Idiot…" An idiot? Yes, I was. How else could I have been with him for ten years before realizing he loved someone else? How else could I have, after exposing his lies, stubbornly insisted on marrying him anyway? 6 Thomas and I were college sweethearts. From the very beginning, his parents disapproved. The concept of "matching social status" was a mountain between us. Thomas came from wealth, a golden boy who'd never wanted for anything. All his life's hardships, it seemed, were because of me. First, my initial indifference, which only made him fall for a quiet, complicated woman like me. Second, when he fell for someone else, I trapped him with a child, forcing him into a marriage he didn't want. I remember the day I showed him the positive pregnancy test. The pain in his eyes was visceral. "Sienna, you're manipulating me." But I was consumed by a desire for mutual destruction. I laughed scornfully. "Thomas, are you going to take responsibility or not?" He eventually gave in, out of guilt or a sense of duty. It didn't matter. I had won. When Helen heard the news, she slit her wrists. Thomas abandoned me to rush to her side at the hospital. While he was gone, I went to a clinic for an abortion. As the cold instruments entered my body, I thought of the rainy night Thomas's parents had summoned me for a "talk." When he heard, he waited for me outside my dorm, anxious and rain-soaked. The wind whipped his hair, his nose was red from the cold. He approached me cautiously. "Sia…" I gave a noncommittal hum. He tentatively tugged at the corner of my sleeve. "Do you still want me?" he whispered. When had the pampered young master ever looked so pathetic? As I stumbled out of the clinic, clutching the wall for support, I ran right into him. He was holding a takeout container. He saw me and took two steps back, as if facing an enemy. "Sienna, what more do you want? Helen can't handle any more stress. Whatever you have to say, we can talk about it at home. Don't make a scene." He tried to push me out of the hospital. The rough handling made me cry out in pain, but he didn't seem to hear, continuing to push. I froze. Does he love her that much? I had only smiled at him. I hadn't even said a word. Yet he was convinced I was there to hurt her. A stubborn defiance rose in me. I shook off his hand and marched to the information desk, loudly asking for Helen's room number. He lunged forward and clamped a hand over my mouth, his breath hot with a warning. "Sienna, that's enough." His eyes were filled with an intense irritation, his face screaming that I was being unreasonable. He really loves her, I thought. Loves her enough to ignore my obvious weakness, to stand against me without a second thought. I bit down on his hand, hard, but he wouldn't let go. I stomped on his foot, but he didn't flinch. I thrashed in his grip, but he held me tight. Finally, exhausted and overwhelmed by a surge of rage, I fainted. Only then did he realize something was wrong. 7 Blinding white light filled my vision. Thomas sat by my bed, chain-smoking. "You hate me that much," he said, his eyes red as if he'd been crying. His gaze was fixed on my stomach. "So much that you'd kill our child." At that moment, I was so consumed by hatred that I wanted to hurt him with the cruelest words I could find. A needle only hurts when it pierces your own skin, right? "Yes, Thomas. I killed him to get back at you." His voice trembled. "Our problems were between us. Why did you have to bring a child into it?" Why bring a child into it? I wanted to ask him the same question. But what I said was, "If you had ended things with Helen, he wouldn't be dead. You killed him. You and Helen, you killed him together." "Sienna—" He cut me off, his voice sharp. "Don't you dare bring Helen into this. She didn't know anything." God, I wanted to laugh. Even now, he was protecting her. "Thomas," I said, looking straight at him. "I never realized you were so stupid. Did Helen not know she was hurting me, or did she not know she was being a mistress?" His brow furrowed. "Sienna, don't be so aggressive. There's nothing between Helen and me." Aggressive? I stared at the man yelling at me. He was a stranger. A complete stranger. I looked at him and sneered. "Thomas, your hypocrisy disgusts me. You and Helen both deserve to die." He flinched, then grabbed my shoulders, a sudden, sharp laugh escaping his lips. "Sienna, do you have any idea what the consequences of this will be?" Consequences? I just wanted to tear them both to shreds. I stared at him. "I, Sienna Su, can afford any consequence." My defiance flushed his face with anger. He gasped for breath. We were like two cornered animals, ready to tear each other apart. Then, he pulled me into a tight embrace, as if we were lovers again. He whispered in my ear, so softly I could barely hear. "Sienna, you know… after Helen recovered, I was going to start over with you." He paused, a cruel twist to his lips. "But you're not worthy." He enunciated each word, infusing them with all his hatred. "Don't worry, I won't divorce you. I want you to watch as Helen and I live a long, happy life together. I want you to suffer in the role of Mrs. Lewis." Silence filled the room. For a fleeting moment, I saw the seventeen-year-old Thomas again, tugging at my sleeve, asking, "Sia, do you still want me…" "Fine." Fine, Thomas. I still want you. So please, don't ever make me sad again. Grief was a dull knife, slowly carving up my heart. The pain was unbearable. But I hugged him back. I heard myself reply, my voice light and quick, "Then I wish you two a love stronger than gold, inseparable even in death." 8 Thomas was a man of his word. He moved out of our marital home that very night, setting up a new love nest for himself and Helen in a villa across town. I barely saw him, except at necessary functions. News of their life together came to me through Monica, the girlfriend of one of Thomas's close friends. Monica never understood my feud with Thomas. She thought I should have just played dumb, married him, and dealt with Helen later. Men like Thomas, she said, usually tired of their flings. By confronting him, I was only creating a stronger bond between him and Helen. I was handing Helen the knife to stab me with. I just gave a noncommittal "hmm." Monica was right. Thomas's parents had said the same thing after my miscarriage. They called my actions foolish and self-destructive, a waste of my top-tier education. But I had seen the pure, fierce love of the seventeen-year-old Thomas. I couldn't accept this betrayal. I chose to be foolish. I chose to crash and burn. I chose the most painful, most tragic way to show him my pain. Thomas had a soft heart. I wanted to drag him down into misery with me, to a place where neither of us could find release. Only when he hurt would I be happy. It was just as his parents had said to me years ago: "Sienna, your family background is… complicated. Children from homes like yours tend to be extreme. We don't want our son to get hurt." Their words had been a prophecy. I jumped off a building to get my revenge.
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